floating in a tin can

jewsinspace
spaceodyssey

It’s Halloween. Michael hates Halloween.

A lot of mutants have grudges against it. Others love it. Michael used to be bitter, especially as a child, because he felt it was hokey and juvenile and tried to make it seem like there was no such thing as real monsters in the darkness that could hide in your closet or appear out of nowhere. Now he’s just irritated because he’d be the best at scaring the shit out of anyone in New York, and instead of being the life of the party he’d probably get put in prison.

So he’s not celebrating. In lieu of that, he’s doing what he’s been doing most nights since May: practicing. He’d been put off of it for a couple weeks in August after seeing Wolfgang again (and the subsequent disastrous not-talk with Morris), but had eventually decided that being insane wasn’t going to make his abilities any less real. Since then, it’s only made him more determined to gain as much control over them as he can. If he’s crazy, he has to be twice as careful.

For the past week or so, he’s been experimenting with distance. How long can he make a shadow? How far can he travel from one to another? He has a goal for the second one tonight: his room to District X. Much farther than he’s tried before. Nerve-wracking. He still doesn't know what happens if he fucks it up.

Don’t overthink it, Ginsberg. Taking a short breath, he puts his hand on a shadow on the wall next to his dresser, and slips into another place.