Wishful Thinking (Fiction)

Friday, The 11th of some Month

 

You ever catch yourself thinking about something you shouldn't be thinking about? No? Just me?

Alright then.. I tend to think a lot. Growing up, dad would tell me about how everything had a consequence. Everything. Sounds insane, doesn't it? Every little breath; every sound; every word. As a result, I grew up anticipating the consequence. Always expecting the worst outcome and just doing all in my power to avoid it. I was not living, just avoiding death.

The doctor I'm seeing says it's the reason my shade hasn't formed yet. "His shade is essentially locked inside him and can only manifest if he's unconscious".

What a funny thing to say in front of your patient. 

So I lay in bed, every night, thinking about all the abilities I could have. Maybe if I had an Umbra, I'd be able to skip classes. Or maybe I'd have a cool pet familiar made of shadows. Or I could be an Igniter and always show everyone how I feel. With a circlet of fire around me when I'm angry or a pool of tears if I'm sad. Maybe I'd be a jumper, jump between shadows. Imagine all the places I could be if I were a jumper. Man, would it cut down transport expenses.

Sometimes, though, I think about the consequences. How bad it would be if I had a shade. I mean, I cannot forget the time I exploded on a friend because I was stressed at my part-time job. If I were an Igniter at the time, I'd probably have ruined my phone... (again). And honestly, I feel like my "true self" as the doctor put it is just a monster. If I were an Umbra, I'd probably be locked away in seconds. I imagine my shade would be some giant pig that could trample anyone around it. Or if it were a clone of me, it'd be a rebellious selfish prick that hurts people having known their weaknesses. Surely there are consequences to me having a shade after all.

Dad says I'm perfectly fine, and that as long as I don't keep feeding myself negative thoughts I'd eventually manifest my shade, but I feel very doubtful. I mean what's the first thing he knows about being an anxious weak mess. He's literally the striking reflection of everything that isn't those traits. Despite being an Igniter, he mostly stays level-headed. He walks everywhere like he owns the place and he always knows the right thing to say. And for god's sake, he married mom. Mom is literally a Queen. You do not score a queen unless you were a king. So how can someone who's just.. perfect, know what it's like to be run-of-the-mill garbage.

To give myself some credit, I am fairly smart myself. It's probably the only thing I managed to inherit from him. The rest, Bert and Vinny took.

In any case, I hope by the next time I write to you I have better news. For now, nothing you don't already know

Sincerely, S. 

PS (Who signs a diary entry, dummy?) 

(What of it? I like it)