Pat 3Mature

It wasn't nerves. By the time I made it to the library where we were doing the interview I had lost the ability to do most math. A fact that I didn't catch on to until she started asking technical questions and I started panicking. I was so flustered, in fact, that she felt the need to imply that I had stolen my work. Which is the moment my power chose to kick on. I felt this massive flush of rage hit my stomach, which together with the swelling in my brain convinced me to paint that bitch writer with the contents of my loathsome belly. Which pretty effectively washed the smug from her expression. I felt the floodgate of rage just burst in me. Felt it rush out, like the best orgasm you've ever had. I was suddenly, blissfully empty.

It was pretty awesome until the librarian hit her with a chair.

Then people started coming out of nowhere. Leaping off of bookshelves, climbing over tables. One man leapt off the second floor railing swinging one of those spinning magazine racks like a greatsword. So I ran. Dodging screaming psychotics the whole way. I was well out of the library and sprinting down the street when I noticed that there was someone running next to me.

There was a partially showered homeless man about to pass me by. He must have been washing in a restroom somewhere, skinny guy with a filthy yellow windbreaker drawing a harsh line between his soapy, naked torso, and his muddy corduroys. As he blew by he turned to look at me, wide-eyed, and let out this terrified scream. A scream that, much to my heart-stopping surprise, was echoed by the fifty or so people who hadn't caught up to me yet. That was when I blacked out. I woke up a couple of days later at a lab in Florida. Apparently, when I had passed out everyone else had followed suit and one of the onlookers called 911. After hearing some eye witness statements someone in management had decided to have everyone involved tested for “abnormalities” and I got tagged.

The End

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