Jericho looked at the mirror and turned his head from one side to the other. He lifted his hair and nervously ran his fingers through it. He stared in disbelief at a patch of white hair that protruded from his scalp. The white patch intertwined with his black hair forming a gray mask.
“What the hell is that?” He rubbed and felt at the patch looking for any more irregularities. The hair was healthy with similar tactility as his regular, black hair. It was neither brittle nor coarse. He would have been relieved, but the unknown maintained his uncertainty.
Jericho focused his energy onto his fingers and placed his index and middle finger on the patch. He closed his eyes and breathed softly allowing the energy to flow through him. He opened his eyes expecting to see the hair returned to its original color, but was met with the same white patch of hair. He swore that there was more white this time.
He went back into his room and grabbed his journal. He slid the top of his index finger across the edge of a page and blood trickled out. He focused his energy again, this time without closing his eyes nor touching the cut, and he sealed the opening. He squeezed at his finger trying to burst the seal, but it remained intact. Although he was happy that his powers were working, this still meant that this white patch of hair was something that he could not heal. This discovery confused Jericho even more.
White hair occurred due to many reasons, but the only ones he could think of were because of health reasons. But if that were the case, then surely he would be able to heal the white patch back to its original state. Was this something he could not heal because he was incapable of doing so or because he had not reached that point yet?
He opened a search engine on his phone, but quickly put off that idea. Maybe his white hair was due to genetics, or even stress. He laughed thinking about how much he brooded when he did not have an ability. His hair change could have occurred over the course of months or even years and he was only just noticing.
He wanted to write off disease as a cause since he should hypothetically be able to heal it, but he never tried healing a disease before. All he practiced so far was healing his own cuts and broken bones, which was good progress as any, but eventually he would have to venture out and see who and what else he could heal.
He wrote his observations down into his journal hoping to figure it out later. A new entry titled white hair took up a fresh page.
It was best that he forget about the situation for now and relax a little, but he flipped through his journal and assessed the information.
Since the day Jericho activated his ability he tracked his progress meticulously. When he first started he would spend days healing cuts on his hands, then he hit a plateau. He took a break for a couple of days, and his ability was milder in nature. He equated it to his body situating and cooling down from activation. It was normal for abilities to sporadically go off, then coast. Now, he would spend hours tinkering with his powers trying to get them to work. Sometimes they did and sometimes they did not.
Jericho realized quickly that rest was vital. He remained steadfast to a prompt sleep schedule not skipping a beat. He ate healthier to promote his overall health and well-being. Basically, he started making changes in his life to enable the growth of his ability. He had a lot of catching up to do.
But, perhaps, he was going too fast. He wrote down the thought into his journal. What if he was progressing too fast for his body to handle? It made sense. When he ran and went to the gym he would have rest days to promote growth. Why would he think it would be any different for developing an ability?
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Jericho touched his white hair again. Maybe this is due to overworking myself?
He tried again to heal the white patch but failed just the same. Was he even capable of healing anything else apart from cuts and bones? Was he only able to heal himself? He added onto the list of things he would test out later on.
It would be weird to scout out a sick person to test his powers on, but maybe he could pop by his mom’s work at the hospital and see what he could do. He immediately scratched that idea out, since he was cautious to leave a trail, even if it was a slight one.
Jericho was also more cautious towards internet searches and opted for anonymous library and VPN-assisted sessions. He even went as far as to look through library books for a sentence of information.
Jericho closed his notebook and then his eyes. All this thinking exhausted him. He went to his kitchen to cook a meal hoping food would boost his energy. His energy increased to acceptable levels, and he went back to his room to practice.
His notebook flipped open again and he wrote down the date. He pulled out the rest of his tools: a first-aid kit, a microfiber towel, his stopwatch application on his phone, and a pocket knife. He began to practice.
He steadied his left hand, and using the pocket knife he sliced the pads of his fingers. The cuts he applied were deeper than the paper cut he had inflicted on himself earlier but were deep enough to prove a challenge. He wished he could experiment differently and up the ante of his cuts, but Jericho was not numb to the injuries. He squirmed less when applying the injury, but he still cringed from the pain.
There were still so many things that he did not know about his abilities. From the cuts alone, he did not know how deep he could cut. Sure he could attempt to go deeper, but that would only bring trouble. What if he cut a nerve, cut the wrong artery or vein, or was too tired to heal himself? The first-aid kit was there for that purpose, but it would not be able to patch something more severe. A hospital stay or the possibility of accidentally bleeding out were things that would hinder progress. He figured that doing less meant more, and if that meant by beginning with smaller cuts, then so be it.
Jericho placed his hand palm-faced down and allowed the blood to drip onto the towel. He flipped his hand over, his palm now faced up. He allowed the blood to pool, streaking down to meet his hand’s center. First, he practiced on the thumb.
He closed his eyes, focused his mind, and he reached for a figurative pocket of energy. He first noticed the presence when he activated his ability. It was the odd sensation that ran through his body back then when he was in his Glow phase. At the time it felt like his emotions were all over the place, but he realized it was a peacefulness that he felt, a state of tranquility. He replicated the feeling, noticing it produced the most success for his abilities. The pocket of energy went by many names, but it was most notably known as The Visceral Plane.
Jericho tapped into the visceral plane, his mind flowed with its presence. He breathed in and guided the energy onto his thumb. It required effort to selectively heal his cuts, but it expended less energy than if he were to heal his entire hand. It was efficient to focus and pinpoint the energy onto specific locations. It was similar to applying lotion when the bottle was running empty. It would make sense to put lotion onto his palms to spread onto the rest of his hand, but it would not make sense to apply lotion onto his wrist when he meant to apply it into the crevices of his fingers. He needed to liberally pass the energy around otherwise it would be wasted.
He soaked the energy into the cut on his thumb. The cut healed before him, the skin stitching together seamlessly without interruption. He moved the thumb to check for pain, then pressed into it with his index finger. He noted the time on his stopwatch and jotted it down into his journal. Next was the index finger.
He repeated as he did before, then continued until he finished with his pinky finger. He flexed his fingers and tried to force out blood but his fingers were sealed.
He waited for his blood to dry until he could flex the flaky blood from his hands before he would go again. The fact that he performed this exercise many times before did not make the experience any easier for him. He required a break for himself and for his ability. He squirmed and cringed right before applying the incisions like he did many times before. He doubted he would ever become numb to the pain.
The five healed cuts were now open again, and he reentered the visceral plane.