Chapter 2: The Insufferable Mary Sue, part 1

I do not blame anyone else for my shortcomings. Not my parents, not school, not my bullies, or the system I live in.

For one simple reason.

In my previous life, I had it all. Youth, wealth, opportunities. And I had flushed it all down the drain. Everything that had gone wrong in my life was by my own two hands.

A winner can be born in a gutter and raised to the very top. A loser, the opposite.

The more you have, the more you’ve got to lose. So in a way, I was glad that my new life gave me nothing.

No parents, no home, nothing to lose.

A perfect blank slate.

A clean beginning.

And a head full of hair.

Oh, shit! That’s one thing I could lose! Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Oh, no no no! Not again!

Calm down! I said calm down, fuck face!!!

Don’t stress. The more you stress, the more hair you’ll lose!

So calm down.

Calm down and breathe.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

Let the air fill your lungs before exhaling in two steps.

That’s right. That’s it. You’re doing well enough.

Now clear your mind, and focus on the ax in your grip. Sense it. Feel it. Measure its weight. Find its center of gravity. Understand how every crack and dent would affect its strength and trajectory.

Look at the wood. That is your target. Read it. Study its pattern. Understand how its shape would try to resist your ax.

Read it. Observe it. Understand it.

Now with all this information, adjust your posture in a way that would make the perfect cut.

Aim for perfection, always.

For you will fail.

Aim for the Moon. When you fall, you’d still be among the stars.

Now strike!

“Hey cripple! Why ain’t you done yet!? All I asked for was a pile of firewood! What’s taking so long!?”

“Sorry, Mr. Ross! I’m nearly finished!”

“Nearly isn’t good enough, vermin! All-day! All fucking day for firewoods! I’ll pay half and no more!”

“Yes sir! Half is very good, sir! May I shine your shoe as an apology? I can also clean your toilet and unclog your sink, anything for you sir. Anything at all.”

“Fuck no! Put my firewood in the shed, and get the Hell out of my sight!”

The plump middle-aged man huffed at me before waddling his way back to the farmhouse. His shiny head sparkles beneath the setting Sun.

Poor guy. I understand perfectly where all his rage comes from. We live in the space age, yet no one came out with a solution for male pattern baldness.

Poor, poor Mr. Ross.

And he’s such a generous man, too. Always gives me jobs that pay half of what he pays others. One-fourth today.

Honestly, even that’s a bit too much, for someone of my limited capabilities.

I looked at the mountain of firewood at my side and felt a great shame. Even five year olds only needed twenty minutes to do what I had spent all day doing.

I’m not kidding.

Children here can roll boulders uphill and kick down a giant oak tree. The adults are even more insane. Once, I saw a grandma leap over a skyscraper to recover her grandchildren’s balloons.

It's like I was reincarnated on Krypton!

Only here, people also have magic!

Fucking magic!

That’s cool as fuck!

Even a ‘cripple’ like me can move a pebble with my mind! Do you know how awesome it feels to play chess with no hands!? Do you!? Do you!!!?

It’s like sex, only lasted longer than three minutes.

Me. This guy. Magic.

I have to pinch myself every now and then, to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

Hell, maybe it was.

Maybe I’m comatose, and having a really long, really sweet lucid dream.

Doesn’t matter.

All I know is that I was given a second chance. A clean slate. A new beginning.

And I plan to make the most out of it.

***

I returned to the orphanage with a pocket full of changes. The sun had gone down, so I quickly opened the door and fell on my knees.

I lowered my head and presented my spoils to the orphan keeper, Ms. Jones.

“Your gift madam.”

“Took you long enough!”

The bony women swiped all of my meager earnings away. She didn’t need it, she just enjoyed the sense of superiority it gave her.

The poor woman. She would have become a crazy cat lady if her brother hadn’t left her this orphanage.

The sad old maid with no one to love or care for.

The orphans?

Why would she give a damn about us? Why should she?

The fact that she hadn’t burned this place down for insurance money was generous enough. Perhaps, she prefers having a stable income for keeping the business open.

“Why is it still the same amount as always!? Didn’t I tell your retarded ass to ask for a raise!?”

“My deepest apologies, madam. This was all Mr. Ross could afford, miss. His crops hadn’t made much profit.”

“I don’t care about no profit! I want more money! Bring more back tomorrow or don’t bother returning at all, you useless cripple!”

Ms. Jones slapped the side of my head before stomping out the door. She had a date with alcohol and she was late.

My ear rang. My eyes had double vision. But the woman showed enough restraint to not crack my skull.

She would do more than cracking my skull open, If she knew I was hiding money from her.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

When the cat left, the mices came out from hiding.

“Big bro, are you okay!?”

“That old hag! How could she do this to you!?”

“I’ll kill her! I swear I’ll kill that witch one day!”

“George, Lucy, Dave, calm down. I’m alright.”

I tried to reassure the children, but when I tried to get up, I stumbled and fell. The three orphans said more curse words before helping me to a chair. To them, I must be as light as paper and just as fragile.

“Big bro, here, I saved you some soup! Eat it and get stronger okay! B-Big bro… don’t die!”

“Don’t cry, Vicky. I’ll be just fine. Here, look at my muscles! Do you think a dying man would have guns like these?”

I comforted the crying girl who called me ‘Big Bro’ even though I'm pretty sure she’s two years older than me.

All the kids here referred to me by that name, as I was the one who practically raised all of them.

All except one. The name part, I mean.

“Hey bone head! Stop acting like a moron and quiet down! I’m trying to read!”

“Don’t be such a stuck up bitch, Abigail! Big bro’s the one who got you your precious books in the first place!”

“Dave, language! Don’t ever use that word again, or I’ll wash your tongue with soap!”

“But, bro!”

“No buts! Words can be more damaging than you realized, so apologize to Abbi.”

I reprimanded the little boy who keeps learning more colorful language with every passing day.

Words can hurt. Words can kill.

In this case, Abigail could burn him to a crisp if she wanted to.

I looked at the quiet girl in the corner. She glanced up at me before quickly averting her chilly blue eyes.

Abigail was focused on her text books. She burned through them so fast I had a hard time procuring more for her.

But it should all be worth it.

Abigail was a born winner. Her Mana capabilities were through the roof and she was a child genius to boot.

She would go very far in life, and will one day be able to support her fellow orphans.

I know she would never abandon them.

Under the cold exterior, she thinks of them as siblings and loves each and everyone equally, even Dave.

Everyone, except me.

I raised her, but I failed to gain her respect. Not even her trust.

She’s embarrassed of me.

She’s embarrassed she was cared for by a ‘cripple.’ Someone who's as weak as a sheet of paper, and can’t even cast the lowest level of spells. Someone who was born with a broken Mana capacity.

I can’t circulate Mana for shit. Moving light objects with my mind was all I could do.

I think it’s already pretty cool, but to the people in this galaxy, I was no more than a useless cripple. I can’t even work minimum wage jobs. As those require the ability to circulate Mana to perform superhuman feats.

Yes, even being a janitor or working in factories. All I can do are menial jobs that pay like shit.

But I don’t mind it too much.

Being a ‘cripple’ here is still as strong as Captain America! For a loser, that’s still fucking awesome, dude!

So what if everyone else are supermen? Why would I bother comparing myself to them when I have the physique of an Olympian!?

I can run like a horse, jump like a cougar, and can wrestle a bear!

The second I learned I could do parkour, I stopped using roads entirely! Jumping from rooftops to rooftops. Feeling the cold breeze blowing through my head full of hair. It’s the best feeling ever!

Oh, what fun.

Oh, what joy.

To be alive on this planet was a dream come true. Even being on the absolute bottom of society here was still more fun than I ever had back on Earth.

I’m so grateful to be born anew.

***

After I tucked the children into bed, I stepped out to the backyard of the orphanage. It was a large field of dirt and patchy grass with some old slides and swings.

I walked over to the old dead tree and took out my hidden stash. This isn’t where I hid my cash, by the way. It's too obvious for that.

No, my hidden ‘treasure’ was a long wooden stick, shaped like a sword. This is what I use for training self-defense.

It's a dumb idea.

Using sticks to fight superhuman space wizards.

But when I was younger, I didn’t quite understand just how insanely powerful the people here were. All I knew was that I was weak, and I needed a way to protect my second chance at life.

As I grew up and learned more about the world and the larger Galaxy above, I simply began to train as a hobby.

It’s fun to do all the fancy moves you see in movies and cartoon shows. It's a good way to unwind after a long day and enjoy the night breeze.

Every night, I would stand here under the pale moonlight and play pretend.

Some days I’m a mystical ninja from a faraway land, who could hide in the shadows and jump down for the kill. Some days I’m a valiant knight who stands his ground and takes down the mighty dragon. Some days I’m just a little boy playing with sticks.

It’s all just a game anyway, nothing will ever become of this.

I swung the wooden sword again and again. Trying to make my posture better every single time.

Feel the weapon in your hand. Find its center of gravity. Understand how every imperfection on its body can affect the trajectory.

Expand your observation to the wind, the ground, and the very particles in the air.

Turn inward and study yourself as well.

Do everything in your power to make the cut perfect. Always aim for perfection, for you will fail.

I swung the sword again, and again, and again. Until I felt a presence moving closer.

“Hey there Abbi, can’t sleep?”

“How could I, when there’s an idiot making noises!?”

“Ha! Sorry about that, I didn’t realize how loud I was being.”

Abigail stepped out into the field. Her feet were slightly hovering above the ground to not get her shiny shoes dirty. She was unaffected by the cold wind. The girl could be standing naked on the south pole and still be nice and warm. That’s how powerful Abigail truly is.

The child prodigy.

A born winner.

God’s chosen.

It’s funny how I used to change her diapers and help her blup.

Looking at the young woman before me, sure brings back some memories.

Did you know she and I were dumped in the same garbage bin? It was five years apart, sure, but what are the odds?

I thought we shared the same deadbeat mother for a hot minute, before we got a check up that confirmed we were on the opposite end of the spectrum.

She has one of the highest potential in recorded history.

And I, the lowest.

Several powerful people wanted to adopt her, but she rejected all of them with her unyielding flames. Even Ms. Jones wouldn’t dare lay a single finger on Abbi.

The girl has plans.

Plans far greater than I could ever imagine.

Her path would be laid with rose petals and heaven itself would bend to her will.

The girl used her cold eyes to glance mockingly at my sorry state. My body was sweaty from my little exercise and my weak palms were full of scars and calluses.

Abigail looked at the wooden stick in my hand and snorted. Like an adult seeing a child and his silly games.

“Hey bone head, how many years have you been doing this? Doesn’t it get boring?”

“Everyone’s got an outlet, Abbi. To me, this is entertainment.”

The girl looked up at me. Wide eyed as if saying, ‘Are you serious!?’

I chuckled at the girl’s reaction, to which she turned away in a huff.

“You wanna try? It’s good that you’re so diligent in studying. But getting cooped up indoors all day can’t be healthy, right? Why not loosen up a bit.”

I offered her the wooden sword I spent half a day carving, after throwing away so many failures. There was a slight curiosity in Abigail’s eyes, but she just turned to the dead tree, snapped her little fingers and transformed one of its branches into a new sword.

The brand new toy floated into the girl's hands. Blue flames licked its length, and when Abbi wiped the fires away, the wooden sword now had a beautiful obsidian color and not a single splinter along its body.

The weapon was far shaper and prettier than mine. And it only took her less than ten seconds to make.

The disparity between us was obvious.

But I don’t mind too much.

After all, it's only natural.

For she is a winner and I am a failure.

That is how God designed the two of us, and who am I to question his will?

I surrendered the training field to Abigail. And watched her gawkingly, as she swung her sword in a beautiful arc.

There was no strength behind her strikes. She simply held the weapon like a prop, as she danced in the night sky. Literally, dancing in the sky.

I was impressed by her performance. Yet every time she swings her sword in an un-optimal manner, my OCD can’t help but make my left eye twitch.

Abigail doesn’t need to seek perfection, for her lowest efforts can still shoot her way past the moon.

And why should she put any effort at all into playing with sticks?

The fact that she hadn’t set my hair on fire for even suggesting the stupid game was generous enough.

Eventually, the girl flew back down to earth, to the sound of my clapping.

“Way to go Abbi! That was amazing!”

“That was nothing.”

The girl huffed, before walking right up to me.

“Teach me how to swing a sword!”

Abigail demanded, to my surprise.

“I saw you mocking me with those hateful eyes of yours! So do it! Teach me how to use this thing!”

There were flames burning behind Abigail’s icy blue eyes.

I take it all back.

The child prodigy always pours her utmost efforts into everything she does.

Even playing games.

——————————