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18.18% Mha: Accumulating Energy / Chapter 2: Photo Album

Chapter 2: Photo Album

In a modest hospital office, Daphne Miller sat, listening intently to the doctor's words in front of her.

"Miss Miller, calm down, really!", Dr. Hoken said, dropping the pair of papers in his hand onto the table separating them.

"What assures me that this is so? That my little boy doesn't 'explode' again, a few words aren't enough!", the decibels in her voice increased with each word uttered, was her Quirk.

"Sigh, okay. I'm telling you one more time, but please don't activate your Quirk."

"Hmph," Daphne folded her arms but heeded because she wanted to be with her son again.

"Well, let's go back to the beginning then," Hoken took the papers he had dropped, "the reason it took little Nathan so long to 'wake up' his Quirk and that it was also in a violent way, is nothing more than something that sometimes tends to happen with some individualities that need more time than others."

Hoken put a hand to his chin and thought of an example that could better illustrate what had happened with the boy, his schedule was full so he wanted to hurry.

"Think of your son as if he were a butterfly, Miss Miller," Daphne pondered the words, "butterflies, before they became what they are, were larvae, right? Well, those larvae, in order to become butterflies, first have to feed a lot to charge energy," Daphne nodded, "after they have eaten well, let's ignore the chrysalis, that's the moment when it transforms into that beautiful insect."

"In a nutshell, your son's Quirk was always just passively collecting sunlight until it finally activated, and since it was the first time it was released, there was no control."

Daphne nodded again, this time more sure of the words that came out of the doctor's mouth.

Dr. Hoken briefly looked at the father's file and said:

"It's something that possibly Mr. Miller experienced as a child, after all, they have the same Quirk. Although few really get to remember it as adults."

"I got it...but still, I insist that he should stay for a week in case anything happens."

Understanding that when she wanted something she was very stubborn, he nodded.

.....

It had been a week since my world fell apart and a day since I warily accepted my new reality.

Although I had managed to remember what led to my death, it all seemed surreal, like a nightmare or hallucination.

It was simply unbelievable.

As I regained consciousness after falling, I looked at myself as soon as I could in the reflection of the window. I had to stand on my tiptoes and stretch my neck. A chubby, pale face accompanied by extravagant orange curls made me blink.

I pinched both cheeks until they gained some color, pulled at the curls falling down my forehead until I felt like I was about to rip them out, and closed and opened my eyes in an attempt to "wake up." At all times, the reflection projected in the mirror followed exactly all my ridiculous actions.

There was no case.

In my desperation, I discovered that I was in a hospital room, a very tiny and rather shabby rest room much to my chagrin. Despite that, the aroma was unmistakable.

However, when I tried to go further and open the sliding door to see if there was anything to indicate that this was not reality, a girl did it first.

"Nate...what are you doing barefoot? You're going to make yourself sick!" she said, leaning over and, without asking permission, taking me in her arms.

Her unbearable fruity fragrance left me disoriented, so she took the opportunity to return me to the bed I had escaped from.

She tucked me in with that thin sheet I had kicked off and, again without asking first, lay down next to me. She hugged me, and strangely my body lost all strength of resistance.

I had no choice but to pretend to sleep while my head filled with more questions.

Nate? who was Nate? and who was she? and why so much confidence? was she some kind of big sister?

Actually, I was this "Nate" or "Nathan", and she was my "mother", although I discovered that information later.

However, when drowsiness invaded me again and I fell asleep, the nightmare that followed gave me pause for thought.

My father had died and I only managed to get him to pour me a glass of wine.

Despite having slept, eaten, gone to the bathroom and woken up in this new reality, I still had hope that I was actually dreaming or something.... But, despite my efforts to keep that hope alive, it just vanished.

"Come on, Nate, put on a smile for the picture!"

My lips remained still, but my brow furrowed.

"Since it's your last day here, I want a perfect shot for the photo album."

My jaw tensed; "my" body rebelled at my refusal and followed the orders of the blonde in front of me.

This was not the first time that my body ignored my thoughts and obeyed the woman's words to the letter.

"That's right, say 'cheese'!"

The flash of the handheld camera flooded my vision, but there was no hesitation in my lifeless eyes.

"It's done?", I said.

I didn't wait for an answer and snuggled back into the sheets; I just wanted to sleep.

The dark circles around my eyes betrayed my unfortunate relationship with that primordial act.

As someone who had always slept excellently, it was a chastisement not to be able to fall asleep properly.

I longed to sink into a deep sleep, wishing that the nightmare of my death would not repeat itself as it had on so many other occasions.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, little boy? Get your ass out of bed already and change your clothes, we're leaving!" his tone was playful and without a hint of malice.

But, aside from impertinence and disobedience, what i hated most in anyone was bad language.

My father had instilled it in me and honestly, it made perfect sense. Bad language and slips of the tongue were for ill-mannered and uncivilized people.

In spite of my harsh thoughts, I did not express my opinion because my mouth refused to want any fair criticism against her.

"Good, that's the way I like it!"

My body, instead, executed the orders she had dictated to me and took the clothes lying on one end of the bed. They were winter clothes.

Was it harassment the vestige of the will of the original owner, of the kid whose body I had stolen?

"I'm done, mother..."

....


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