Author's notes: For Jaelle n'ha Gilla's last birthday. Thanks to Waterbird for the speedy beta-job and her support of poetic licence.
Comments and concrit are love.
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Break-out
In the beginning, there was water.
Then, there were no brothers or sisters, just others. First, they pretended to be like him, but he knew that he was different. Soon, they knew as well. Even though he couldn't yet show them. It wouldn't have been wise. He could only hone his abilities, develop his superior powers in secret so that nobody would suspect a thing. Yet.
Encoffined in his small world, always surrounded by others, he longed for solitude. All the time, huddled together with the others, enduring endless lessons about life, his face schooled into a mask of bored interest, he secretly dreamed about leaving the place. Its depressing grey walls, the tristesse in every breath he took tried to wear him down, but he wouldn't let them. He knew that he was special.
He wanted nothing more than to rule the world.
He wasn't cruel on purpose, not at that young age. But the end justified the means and so he pushed his fellows aside, used them for his own purpose. His ultimate goal was to dominate. No. Others might set goals, but to him, this was more than a goal. It was his destiny: a superior being to force everyone under his will. To weed out the weak. To breed the strong. To create others like him. Well, almost like him.
Only the rain brought relief. Every now and then, they were allowed to stay outside in the shabby backyard for a while. Others preferred the sun. He relished the wet feeling on his skin, the way the water flushed away the dust and dirt of the city. The clouds in the sky were his friends, the puddles on the asphalt felt like the home he never had.
The day he was taken away, rescued from that place, so dull and grey, felt like heaven. He was going to live a better life from now on, one worthy of his talents. A sound trembled in his throat, but he fought it down. Better not to draw attention to himself, lest his true nature would be seen too soon. He was prodded and tested, but he stayed silent, pretending to be unaffected. He was unaffected. Nobody could touch him and yet, there was a lot of touching.
Hands on his skin. Cold. Wet. Trembling. Nervous. They held him tight and he struggled, but he couldn't escape. He tried, and he hit the road ever so often, his mind set firmly on what he wanted to achieve most. He had to go back to the water, to start his great journey to conquer the world from a place he could call home. But they always found him, always brought him back.
Back into the clumsy hands of the boy who carried him around in his pockets, not realising that he needed more air and more wet, wild rain on his skin.
Trevor croaked softly and plunged once more into freedom.
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The End