Here we are again, running for our lives. This time is different however.. She passed out on me.. Damnit. I was carrying her on my shoulders, running for dear life because my damned wings gave up on my when I needed them the most.. Oh, sorry,
/you must be lost.. Well let me give you some info on what's happening here, but to do that we need to start at the beginning, which is far, far, far away..

I was about three when my mother realized there was two patches of fluffy, mint colored feathers sticking out if my back. It was at this time I realized that I wasn't the only one with some sort of this all began whena
small child radiated a bright, radioactive, light that exploded and traveled a little more than three quarters of the planet.. Almost eighty percent of the human population received a "power" of some sort.. It wasn't long until peoplewith
a "quirk" became a normality. It also wasn't long until people with quirks started using them for evil. This eventually became what's known as "The Hero Age".. Heroes would fight off this evil and did their best to keep people safe.I'm
a third generation quirk user, as the doctors would call it.. After a while I also learned I had inherited a quirk from my parents, the ability to use electricity..I learned to properly fly and master my newfound skills by the
age of six. I've always been facinated by the fact that I wasn't the only person to have such power, the scent of smoke from my palm always made me kind of dizzy or woozy, so I stay away from my hand when using it. The sound of the crackling light
always did have this weird affect with me where it would make me sleepy..

I entered a public school, kindergarten to be exact, when I was seven. I made what I thought to be my first friend here. She was beautiful, her peach pastel skin always glimmered in the sun. She had adorable freckles which weremy weakness..
She had amazing, silky blonde hair, she would never let it grow past her elbows, however.. We became friends, and being the stupid, generic boy I was, I fell in love. I don't know what came over me during that time because I never let anything she
said get through to me. I didn't realize she never really considered me as her friend till I was twelve, sixth grade. When she told me, boy it hit must've hit me harder than a truck.. I was twelve years old when I told her how I felt.. I was twelve
years old when I fell into depression because of what an eleven year old girl told me.. She told me "Are you serious?