Author's Notes: Yes, well, I'm bored and playing Psychonauts. And it hit me: when Raz is older, kids in the Psychonauts universe will see him as some sort of God. He'll be like the ultimate badass role model. I was also thinking of one of my OC's. Thus, this was born.

Goggles rule. I own nothing except Vaskar Björndattir.

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My brother hit me on the head, and my mother has told me I'm going to bed without dinner tonight. My dad has told me ten times to quit obsessing. My sister says I have a problem.

I don't care.

All my life I've been alone. A psychic in a family of non-psychics. A freak trying to mix with normal people. And I never really put much thought into it, but I guess it's been bugging me for a while now. Sometimes I wish I had a psychic to talk to. Somebody who didn't hate me for my clairvoyance.

I don't have that. I probably never will. But until then, I've got something.

It's called True Psychic Tales. It's just a comic, and I've only got old issues people don't care about anymore. People want to know what's going on with the characters, the people, now. I don't. I guess I'm seeing this in a way no one else does. That's how it always is with clairvoyance.

They see a raggedy old issue, badly drawn, about a runaway ten year old. I see an inspiration.

Other kids like Super man. I like Razputin Aquato. He's so cool and happy and energetic and just plain awesome. The kids at my school compare each other's Spiderman shirts. I'm making goggles kind of like his.

In fact, that's what has gotten me into all this trouble. I stole some of the purple discs from my brother's disco ball. I took my dad's old swim goggles that were missing lenses. I took my sister's super glue from her backpack and that's why my mom is so mad at me. I've been up for six hours now, watching and waiting.

To get the glue to set right, I have to turn it over in my hands every so often. And I keep having to go back to fix tiny holes and air bubbles and sculpt the glue so it looks smooth. So what was once a simple two hour drying process has been tripled. My windows are all open so the smell won't kill me.

My mom is worried about me, and keeps coming in to check on me. My dad stopped by ten minutes ago, when I hit the six hour mark. He stand here and watches me work, and work I do. I check and recheck the bulk of it, at different distances, turning them over and over again. There's a glass of water next to me, but it's not for drinking. Every so often I use telekinesis to hold the goggles and I wash the glue off of me and dry my hands so I won't mess up. Telekinesis is my only other power and I suck at it, so I try to get through that part as quick as possible. My mind hurts a little from the effort. (I really suck at it.) But it's okay. Everything will be okay when I'm done.

My dad leaves after a while, because it's getting late. Now that I've finished applying glue and no new holes are popping up, the end is in sight. Two hours ahead.

Some people have psychic communities, with psychic parents and psychic siblings. Some people have psychic friends who understand how much it can suck to be the freak of the school. Some people have people who understand. I don't have those.

But until then, I have goggles.