Lucas sat cross legged staring blankly into the crack in his basement ceiling. ‘Clear your mind’ the book had said. Easier said then done. He tried again, squeeing his eyes shut. He lasted ten seconds before his thoughts spiraled faster than reasonably possible, despite his explicit orders, pondering penguin knees and cereal soup. 

As Lucas sat on a cot, in his damp, dusty basement, A faint mildew smell wafting throughout. He tried to “search within himself”. It was not going well. He opened his eyes with an irritated sigh, glancing at the white noise machine he borrowed only frustrated him further. The various meditation books he’d stolen from his sisters room, that confirmed what he already knew. Meditation: nonsense. He tried once more to enter some kind of zen state, but he'd been going for to long alread, and his annoyance just wouldn't let him.

Giving up he walked over to the mini fridge, filled with mountain dew, he'd set up down here a while ago. Grabbing a can and taking a deep draw he plopped down into the office chair in front of his desk. Lucas had always thought that meditation was supposed to be relaxing, especially if his sister was supposed to be believed. She always was droning on about some new life style trend, or diet like it was going to change his life. Yeah, sure.

He normally wouldn't have tried a thing like this, no matter the billions everyone is clearly desperate to offer me he chuckled to himself. However no matter what he did he just couldnt get the thoughts out of his head.

Last night as he was drifting off to sleep, and idly thinking about the eased workload summer break would joyously bring, he felt a tug somewhere he felt almost impossible to describe. Something deep within was being pulled with a sharp pain. He felt a spark of something, and an extreme peace before slamming into a deep slumber.

The next morning he expected to awake with a start, but instead he woke feeling the most rested he could remember in a long, long time. He also noticed a semi-strange calmness and alaertness that he did not usually wake up with being the night owl he was, that faded not long after he woke up. All morning he'd tried to recapture that weird feeling he remembered from the night before, but just couldnt find it. 

Rolling up to his computer, he booted it up. Closing the usual offenders, that autostarted without his consent, he idly looked around on a few of his favorite places. After a while, a message popped up from julio, his best friend.

“Games at my place?” -Julanator

“I don't know, you sucked so hard last time, i might need a new best friend” - TheRightGlove

“Dude you know BetterCousins isnt my game” - Julanator

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“Ill be over in 30” - TheRight Glove

“If your 3 hours late again, ill disown you” -Julanator

He rolled out from his chair, grabbed some clothes, and his base ball. He and Julio almost always either played some new couch co-op game, or threw a ball around as they talked. Though occasionally you might see them attempting an overly complicated board game. As Lucas walked out the door he tried again to suppress the annoyance, and get back to his usual happy, and a little silly personality. As he was making his way out the door however, he couldnt stop the irritation from over flowing. Guess i'm not the 1 in a million. He laughed bitterly at himself, 1 in a million. Guess no one ever is, huh. And that wasnt even taking into account how those odds were notoriously skewed by the people who just inherited everything. He didnt hate them directly of course, but it always grated on him that some people could just be born into powers.

He tried to avoid thinking about the world of capes and masks as much as possible. Ever since he was a kid he always felt inexplicably drawn to everything about superheroes, and villains. Though, he supposed the same could be said for just about anyone. Regardless, it just wasnt healthy, he knew he'd never get to be an Adept. The moment he'd learned that the chances of him becoming one, especially with no relatives, or other such connection to any were abysmal he'd been depressed for a week.

The fact that he lived in one of the most Cape driven, countries, states, and cities in america only made the issue so much worse. There wasnt the slightest spark of hope that he'd ever get to live that life, no matter how much he hoped or dreamed. With the assurances of everyone in his life that he had to give up on that at the “crucial” age of thirteen, he “focused on more practical things” for the subsequent 3 years. He understood of course, this wasnt one of those dreams that could be achieved through hard work, talent, or even luck really. 

Lucas tossed the baseball up in the air as he walked, he snatched it from the air and squeezed as the frusuration gripped him again. He had had his hopes up higher than even he realized. He briefly thought about cancelling with julio, but as the thought crossed his mind something else bubbled to the surface. A root of real and true anger sprouted in his chest why cant it be me he thought. Was it really just his own imagination getting the better of him?

As these thoughts and feelings threatened to overwhelm him, he tried his best to shove them down. But he imagined holding a flood back would be simpler. The power raced throughout him and a weight settled on his chest. His pulse quickend, and his sight narrowed.

A searing crimson light erupted from his chest, streaking towards the baseball clenched in his hand. It glowed like molten metal, red hot and alive, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. All the anger and frusteration hed felt about being ordinary not just today but his whole lufe surged to the surface and was ruthlessly ripped away by the whirlpool of emotion being sucked into away. For a second his world flickered, and his gaze went dark. Then as suddenly as it started the lights finished coalescing around the ball. As this happened the anger left Lucas, and he started calming down. He looked to the simple baseball in shock, it had mostly faded by now, but still glowed with a faint red light.

Lucas sat on the curb, staring at the baseball in his lap. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his hand still tingled faintly, like it was remembering the light. He glanced around, half expecting someone to jump out and accuse him of... well, something. But the street was empty. It was just him, the baseball, and a whole lot of questions.

“Damn” he whispered to himself staring at the softly glowing baseball. His heart pounded. What the hell had just happened?