I don’t have powers—not that I know of.

But I do? No, I don’t.

I do.

What’s the answer?

It was probably nearing midnight already.

I’m not going to be able to sleep soundly if I don’t entertain this thought…

The old man claims to be the Prophet and he says I am the Survivalist.

What does being the Survivalist entail? There are a bunch of soldiers out there, why not them? I’m sure they are better suited to be called the Survivalist, aren’t they?

I have a power? What even is a power?

It doesn’t look like I’m going to be sleeping anytime soon…

Throwing the blanket aside, I bounced my way off the bed and found my backpack which laid on the side of the bed. It wasn’t too hard to find despite the room being pitch dark. Compared to the cities, the light pollution was almost non-existent. There was really no need to have window curtains when there was no light to be blocked. Compared to the city, it was really quiet and almost soothing. I’d assume naturally ambient sounds only existed in the wild. But really, there were no sounds at all. Perhaps the villa was sound-proof…

Wouldn’t it be a problem? The villa had a pool right next to it and it is out in the open… It could be a breeding ground for bugs—no, there should be chlorine and stuff in the pool.

Unzipping my backpack, I stuck my hand inside and scrambled around for a cylinder. While I couldn’t see in the dark, that did not hinder me in any way.

It didn’t take too long until I found it, buried beneath the pile of junk and other stuff I deemed important.

With the crisp click of a button, the light switched on revealing a bright luminescent circle on the floor. While it was only a cheap plastic LED flashlight I found in a 99 cents store, I found it worked pretty well despite being extremely fragile. I had refilled it with new batteries not too long ago so it should last a while.

I aimed it out the window for a moment and the light was only met with more darkness. Either the light wasn’t as bright as I may have thought, or the sheer abysmal depth of the darkness outsourced the light.

Looking through the bag, I found the notebook I had been looking for as well as a pen.

The first page had no words.

The second had wrinkles.

The third had a chart.

It was a rather simple chart that recorded the superpowers of people I found online. I only recorded the ones caught on videos and most of them happened to be on social media which was just begging me to write it down. While these videos could very obviously be faked with a green screen, I doubted it. While I held a healthy amount of skepticism before, upon seeing that group of hooligans on the train wielding a fireball, it forced me to believe. It was such a comical thing. ‘Superpowers actually exist!’ Should I be elated? Or should I be in despair? Maybe this encounter with a supernatural phenomenon was what caused me to laugh at the time. The situation was just ironic. Maybe I wished for superpowers to be a joke.

It’s crazy.

People who don’t deserve something will get the power to achieve what they want. The losers in this society will become the tyrants upon awakening their power. The leaders of huge conglomerates will grow even further or be crushed with a single misstep.

Or maybe the source of my angst isn’t the upheaval following. Maybe it is in knowing that the law can’t do anything about it. What if someone awakened an overpowered superpower? Like being immortal? Unkillable? A real-life Superman? The power to destroy the Earth—no—the solar system. What then?

I guess death is the quickest solution.

But I shouldn’t succumb to that. At least… Not yet.

To overcome the surreal, become the surreal… That’s what I want to say.

But the benefit of doubt clouds me.

‘What if I don’t have any powers?’ or ‘What if I have a weak power?’

And maybe even ‘What if it doesn’t matter?’

While I could still entertain the wet dream of me having the strongest power...

Perhaps humanity is doomed either way.

The chart went on for a couple pages straight.

Skipping all the way to the halfway point, 50 pages in, I found the place to start.

With a normal no.2 pencil in hand, I started writing the title of what would be… What exactly should I call it?

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to get into journalism. Aha!—

How to Think. What an excellent—no, that’s too cringe. What the fuck kind of title is that?

How about The Curiosity of the Chicken?—Fuck that too. Is there anything that isn’t bad? How the fuck do authors think of such great titles for their books?

Aha! I got it!—The Primordial Illusion—FUUUUCK! That’s too childish.

Known Unknowns—no. New Era—hell no…

Then again, it is only a journal and nothing more. It doesn’t necessarily require a title.

How about a flashy quote?

I fear not the man who knows multiple powers, but the man who knows one… That doesn’t sound quite right.

Maybe…

The cow does not moo, and neither does the moon shine.—That doesn’t even mean anything!

I guess…

Well, it won’t be a journal if I don’t write. I guess I should just write even if it is stupid. It’s not like anyone will read it… That better not be a flag waiting to detonate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Quote: Your mom

Day 1

Today marks the day I embark on my new life; a new journey you could call it. In search of… I wonder. What is it that I am searching for? Perhaps it is meaning that I want to add to my meaningless life. It is interesting to contemplate such a meaningless act. Searching for meaning when there isn't is still meaningless. The universe's contingency has nothing to do with me—it will largely remain unaffected if I died. Heck, if planet Earth vanished, I bet it wouldn't affect the well-being of the universe either. After all, we are only a speck of dust floating in who knows what.

And on the individual level, it really doesn’t matter since everyone will meet their end one day. Yearning for immortality is foolish. I sure do sound like a middle-aged man going through his midlife crisis.

But how did it all start? I too wonder. Maybe I will come to a better understanding of the future. Or maybe even then, I have no clue. Perhaps if I reflect on it more, I can crack the puzzle. Maybe it isn’t actually a puzzle that needs solving. It could just be a simple illusion.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

What was it that presented this opportunity? I suppose I could speak of it for my future self to reminisce of. Even now, I question why I am writing this entry. I know not what it means, but it definitely has a meaning.—not the quote, but Your mom is quite funny. I wonder if I will still laugh at this childish joke in the future. What doesn’t make sense, after all, is the greatest comedy, and the greatest disappointment. But seriously, why of all days am I writing at night? I probably should have washed the flashlight if I was going to hold it with my mouth...

It’s already midnight and yet, I write. I’m such a fool. I threw my phone away so I couldn’t be caught and yet, I brought my headphones. Maybe it is my lingering attachment with this article of equipment that has brought it to me… Even knowing that one day, we must part since a headset can only last so long.

It’s not like I’m going to have dementia or amnesia anytime soon, but maybe I’ll achieve some sort of enlightenment in the future. Words show more than pictures after all.

It all started on that weird school day. I encountered a bunch of thugs on the train, so I disciplined them a bit and ended up accidentally killing them. I thought it was a prank at first, which was quite funny at the time. After all, ‘Why would the universe want to play this prank on me?’ Solipsism is scary.

I didn’t know it at first, but it turns out, people can conjure fireballs out of the palms of their hands. How crazy is that? That didn’t stop the thugs from getting beat up though—obviously by yours truly.

There isn’t really much to mention about the school day. It was naturally boring and a waste of time. It’s hideous—this education system. The stragglers are crushed by the pressure of 'mandatory education' while the average is just average. And the well-learned are stopped by a barrier that prohibits them from learning any further in the name of ‘equality.’ If only a merit-based education system had been established, I wouldn’t be in this sorry state… But that in itself has a bunch of other issues as well.

If my memory doesn’t fail me, it all started at lunchtime. I was smoking some chicken pot pie—did I mention my obsession with chicken? I wonder if future-me still likes chickens. By Plato’s definition of a human¹, I am a cannibal.

Anyway, I was walking along the sidewalks for absolutely no other reason other than walking. Some fresh air is always good after all. It was then that a blonde British guy came up to me acting entitled to touch me. I’d have mistaken him for a gay pedophile if it weren’t for the fact that he had no balls. He constantly tried for a piece of my face, swinging his arms everywhere in hopes of feeling my smooth skin. I easily took him down with a single punch. The thought had never occurred to me before, but—and I’m saying but: ‘What if I was actually the incarnation of Muhammad Ali?’

Anyway, I waited for him to get back up after being knocked out. While I didn’t have any rope or anything, I was certain that he wasn’t going to be able to escape me. As I asserted my dominance and interrogated the poor British guy, he readily submitted himself. That being the case, he brought me to see his boss, an old man called, ‘Ze’ Grande Prophet.’ Having asserted my alpha male dominance over him as well, the old man made a contract with me.

The contract states that in exchange for assisting him, I will be paid and guaranteed whatever I want. Seeing how great of an offer it was, I had no choice but to take it. What moron wouldn’t take such an offer? And thus, I was brought to Trevor’s muscle cave hidden deep in the mountain forest.

Upon meeting Trevor, I was even surprised. If I had to say, his alpha male factor was almost equal to mine! His muscles weren’t too shabby either! And thus, is the day I start living in this cave with Trevor…

Yeah, that’s about it. It’s 100% accurate and since future-me is reading this, you probably already know how accurate it is. Of course, as they say: it is the winners who tell the story. If you’ve already forgotten or were struck with a shameless sense of amnesia because of some universal plot point, it must suck to be me, right?

What I don’t understand is the power that the old man mentions. He claims my power is that my soul does not reside in my body. I have no clue what the hell a soul is, but assuming that it is normal for the soul to reside in the body, I sure as hell sound like an anomaly. Me being an accident isn't exactly wrong either. Out of all the sperm that managed to reach the egg, my stupid ass just had to reach the finish line first.

Was my soul really a power? Was I a necromancer that could manipulate souls? Was I a prophet too, like Tiresia but with eyes? I mean—it would suck if I had to gauge my eyes out and go blind to unlock clairvoyance.

Was this 'soul' a curse? While I can dismiss all this as the old man being a ripoff fortune teller, it would detract from the interesting insights. Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen fortune tellers dressed in suits before. They are almost always dressed like idiots.

His name, I believe, was Mordred—either that or Morris. Both the names sound old so I’m not too sure. Anyway, he claims that my soul exists in a higher dimension, therefore, I experience things differently for some reason. He also said something about immortality but I can’t recall the exact words.

If superpowers only arrived a couple months or a year ago, then how does it explain this? The way I think and the way I perceive things has been the same ever since I was a child. If this ability of mine were a superpower, would that not mean that superpowers had existed long before? The government claims that superpowers were only discovered this year. What if it is all a hoax?

That’s one theory. Another would be the theory that the old man was wrong. My perception and my superior ‘alpha male’ status as well as my superior intellect has nothing to do with superpowers. At least that is what I hope. Because if my superpower was being intelligent—it is a fucking shitty power. Why the fuck can’t I conjure fireballs!? The hope is that I have an actual superpower that can manifest itself in the physical world. Having a superpower that enhances the mind is just complete garbage.

So yeah, I’m kind of hoping that the old man was just speaking out of his ass. Because super-intelligence is a garbage superpower.

I look forward to the day you die, future-me. I wonder what more you will know at the end of your life?

Signed,

Coeus, Your piece of shit teenager-self

~~~~~~~~~~

Splendid.

I guess I should meditate now.

It’s hard to fall asleep without bringing peace to my mind.

***

*Crlrlclkcl

What’s that sound? Footsteps? No, it sounds like the—no, wait. Yeah, it is footsteps. Sounds like someone getting off of the bed… It’s probably Trevor. Isn’t his room all the way on the other side of the villa? He must walk very loud…

Opening the door of my room, the crisp cracking only got louder… Now that I hear it, I may have been mistaken. The sound resembled that of water splashing on the bathtub. Someone—Trevor was probably in the bathroom running the water. There wasn’t a clock in my room, so I headed downstairs to the living room where the grandfather clock was. It was a relic of the past and these things are quite expensive since no one makes them anymore. The pendulum underneath still swung, meaning the clock was functional. Oddly enough, I had never heard it chime before.

6:38.

I probably got four or five hours of sleep. That’s not too bad.

Teenagers are primed to sleep later so it was pretty normal.

Oddly enough, I was used to drinking water right after waking up. But for some reason, my mouth wasn’t dry at all.

Going back upstairs, I went into the bathroom and started tidying up. While I used the bathroom I used yesterday to take a shower, Trevor was probably using another bathroom somewhere on the other side of the villa or something. The first floor was much larger than the second and I haven’t even memorized the layout of the entire second floor yet.

As I opened the bathroom door, a mass of flesh greeted me.

“Morning,” I said.

Trevor replied back with a “Morning,” before heading down the stairs. The bathroom I was using just so happened to be closest to the staircase. The stairs leading up to this floor opened up into a hallway parallel to it with this bathroom being one end. My room happened to be the room right beside the bathroom and Trevor’s room wasn’t even anywhere near. There was another hallway stemming out from the middle of this hallway and Trevor’s room was somewhere at the end of that.

Getting myself dressed, I went to check on my backpack once more to make sure everything was there: a notebook and all. Thinking back to it, what I did last night was really impulsive and out of character. It’s like I was preparing to write my will for when I die. It must be puberty huh? How stupid. I should probably erase it while I can.

Opening the notebook, I skipped past the first couple of pages that were records of the various known superpowers I found online. The various tidy white pages greeted me as I went on, page-by-page. Nearing the end of the notebook, I realized something was missing. If I can recall correctly, I’m pretty sure I wrote it in the direct middle of the book: the fiftieth page. I had no clue what page I was on right now, but I definitely passed the halfway mark. I kept flipping the pages until I reached the end with no writing insight.

I probably missed it—no, I wrote two fucking pages last night. It doesn’t make sense for me to not find the needle in the haystack. Have I gone blind? I’m pretty sure my vision is good. Maybe it is the morning drowsiness… However unlikely, I should still look through it once more in case I really was blind.

On the second time, I came out with nothing again. I flipped every single page thoroughly, leaving no page unturned. But no marks or the slightest crumpling could be found.

Strange.

I still had vivid memories of me writing that embarrassing Your mom joke. Why did I write it exactly? I have no clue. They say it is easier to memorize unique things with a weird twist rather than common things—at least that’s how mental techniques like the memory palace and story chains work.

It felt so right that I knew I did write the journal. But the evidence was here to prove otherwise.

Maybe this was a counterfeit notebook?

Flipping to the first couple pages, with the chart recording the superpowers, I examined the handwriting. Sure enough, the scribbly and continuous lines were mine. It wasn’t neat nor was it in full-blown cursive like those old Renaissance books. Eligible: that was my handwriting. But if so, where did the journal I wrote last night go? It was my first journal entry too. Am I delusional? I guess I shouldn’t have raised that flag and jinx myself.

Perhaps I am delusional. But if so, then the crazier thing would be that I know I am right. I know I wrote something yesterday.

But for now, I guess I’ll dismiss it as me being delusional…

There's also the possibility that I have a stalker or some ghost haunting me. Psychic powers are real after all so I can’t dismiss the possibility that some esper or paranormal being is fucking with me. But then again, I have no friends and little acquaintances. Few people have ill intentions towards me because I make it my best effort to avoid annoying people like that. I could probably come up with two names for who would want to fuck with me but I doubt they would have the balls to do it. There’s also that ‘Psychic’ but she causes stomach pain and diarrhea—not psychosis.

I don’t believe for a second that I have schizophrenia or any alike illnesses.

I don’t buy it. It can't have been a dream.

Something tells me I should write another journal at night.