Still in a daze of grief, I mindlessly opened the door to my house. The curtains are drawn, blocking the sun’s cursed rays from piercing our home. It leaves the space in a cooling darkness. In the darkness, a silhouette is on the family couch. They’re big. As the door creaked open, his head shot up as if an intruder broke in, only to see me. He sprinted over, wrapping me in a deathly bear hug.

“Hey, Gor.” I squeeze out, suffocating in his arms. I don’t manage to reciprocate the gesture, the darkness of the room giving space for the corpses of people I never managed to save to manifest into existence. I hold back a tear.

“Thank God you’re okay, Mei. You’re safe. Shit, did you get caught in the blasts? See the Salamander Man blow anything up? Was it him?”

“Salamander Man? No? I- He saved people! He didn’t hurt anyone!” I say a little too defensively, actively kicking myself for even letting the ‘I’ slip out of my mouth. If Gor caught that, he didn’t let it show. The hysteria ran through my body, pulling my strings as if I were a puppet. I found myself stepping away from my brother and creating a distance that normally wasn’t there.

“He could have! He was there! And there were no other suspects, but he’s a definite contender! Come on, even you have to see that.” He half shouts, ferocity in his accusation.

As someone who tries to follow the law to the letter, I always knew Gor was against the Salamander’s existence in our lives. *I could have predicted this reaction from him, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. My heart was shattered, tanking the weight of his blame on someone he may not even realise is me.

Or maybe he does know it’s me. I struggled to keep the vomit in my mouth.

“If you say so,” I manage to muster out, not wanting to fight Gor on this. I can’t stop hearing phantom screams from dark corners of the room. My heart won’t stop rattling.

I just wanted to lie down and die.

“Whatever it is, I’m- I’m just glad you’re okay.” Up this close I can faintly see his cheeks, and they’re wet.

“I, uh, bought some ice-cream, your favourite… I-you should get some later.” His eyes widened and an innocent smile appeared on his face. Christopher is one of the nicest guys I know, so nice he gets taken advantage of all the time yet either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, as long as he’s helping someone.

The thought of him causing that incident seems so absurd as a result.

“Thanks, Gor.” I attempt to smile, “I’m gonna go to bed. Been a looong day.” He chuckles and pats me on the back, sending me back to my room.

Turning on my fan and plopping myself down on my stuffed toy filled bed, I sighed into my pillow. I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling as if an antidote to my guilt was located there. My eyes caught a glimpse of the foolscap paper on my desk, a reminder that I had an essay to submit in the upcoming week.

Instead of starting on that, I rubbed my temples as if I could relieve the wriggling of my brain by doing so. Trying my best to suppress the inadequacy that was making its home in my head, I tried to play detective and deduce who would realise I am the Salamander, and who would want to take them down for being Rose.

Gor would be a likely suspect, as Sol keeps reminding me. I don’t even argue back when they suggest it, there’s a heavy sadness that overtakes me when I don’t. When I think about the fact that someone so sickeningly cruel could live in my house, or that the cruelty was born out of hatred for me, I feel like a cobra has bit its venomous fangs into me..

‘How would Gor, or anyone, get bombs like that?’ I pondered, at least trying to hope it’s someone else.

‘Perhaps they made it themselves.’

‘Yeah, but there would be some order records online, right? You can’t just order ‘bomb parts’ online and get away with it. You have to get put on some list.’ I wasn’t entirely sure about that, but based on my odd patchwork of knowledge and educated guesses fuelled by how invasive our government can be at times, I was certain about it.

‘So someone has access to all the resources necessary to make explosives and can’t be tracked through a purchase history.’

‘And if it was Gor, we’d know, right?’ Suspicious packages would be coming into our house if it was Gor, or we’d at least find evidence somewhere in his room if I went to go search now.’

‘You barely see him. He’s usually at his university dorm, no?’

I don’t want to continue this conversation.

I don’t want to face the thought that my brother, so law abiding he never jaywalks, doesn’t even dare bring chewing gum into the country and is literally studying to be a lawyer would end up being a terrorist dead set on attacking a vigilante.

If all his terrorism gear was in his university dorm and not back home, that he’d have no concrete evidence I could find to confirm if it is him or not.

But it’s Christopher. He wouldn’t. No matter his disdain for the Salamander, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

‘Emotions are powerful, Rose. Hate does terrible things to people. Despite all the positive reception surrounding our heroism, there are also debates in full force about vigilantism in the country. And in spite of everything we’ve done, the fear is still omnipresent.’ I nod, reluctantly accepting Sol's words. Before I knew it, I was opening social media to see all sorts of comments surrounding my place in society after today’s events.

“IF he’s not the one causing this destruction, he’s doing the right thing.”

“convenient that the salamander guy is there when the bombs explode, definitely not the culprit lol”

“Why hasn’t this thing been arrested yet?”

Reading these feels like self-harm.

‘We have done literally nothing wrong!’ I almost thunder out loud, the words threatening to spill out. My arm flails as if struggling to stay afloat in water, hitting a stuffie onto the floor, which I immediately feel bad about. Ugh, sorry Nya-Nya, got carried away. I sheepishly picked up the adorable cat plushie gifted by Zhen Rong and put it back on my bed.

‘The court of public opinion thinks otherwise.’ I sigh, tossing and turning in bed. My mind wanders off into doomsday scenarios, like protests against me or government agencies hunting me down. The teen dystopian novels where the special protagonist gets hunted down feels like the natural progression for my character arc at this point. My stomach churns and I begin to feel queasy, not sure how to separate rational fears from the irrational.

Never mind the fact I can’t even close my eyes without imagining charred corpses from the beach.

‘You need to talk?’ Sol asks, the tone equivalent of a warm hand on my shoulder. I heaved a heavy breath and turned into my pillow as if I could muffle my thoughts like they were words.

‘Why is it that even though there was nothing I could have done for those people, I still feel like it’s all my fault they’re dead, Sol? Four people are not going home today. Four people are never going to live the full lives they wanted to. Four families are without their kids. Their fathers. Their sisters. How do I even live like that?’ I ask, uneasiness building inside me. I felt uncomfortable in my own body, like my knee wasn’t on right or my neck was too long.

‘We can’t save everyone, Rose. We have to accept that sooner than later. We need to focus more on who we can save.’ The words come out bearing burdens of their own, burdens I’m not aware of. I’m about to respond when I’m suddenly interrupted by the rat-a-tat-tat on my door.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Rose?” I barely hear the voice and the knocks on my door when talking to Sol. “I have bubble tea for you.”

Pa’s soft and sage-like voice comes through the door, snapping me back to reality. Composing myself, I open the door and see Pa holding my favourite order from his store. A wave of relief passes over him when he sees I’m unscathed. Physically speaking.

“Thanks, Pa.” I take the drink and want to close the door, but can’t bring myself to do it. Pa turned the corridor lights on, its warm amber glow bathing my room.

“Are you okay, Rose?” He asks as I sip the drink. It’s not overly sweet, since I only ever ask for 25% sugar, but it’s exactly what I need right now. Noticeably, my hand has finally stopped jittering.

“I’m fine, Pa. I didn’t get hurt or anything. But… it’s kind of crazy.” I think that’s what a non-super powered Rose would say in this scenario.

“Yeah,” Pa sighs, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the drink in my hand intently. “Jialat lah, got superhero then got supervillain… aiyah, we always thought New Singapura was very safe… but then liddat.” There’s some guilt in my dad’s eyes, even though he has done nothing wrong in this scenario.

“Pa, it’s okay. We’re still safe. I-I was saved by the Salamander too! So, at least… he’s on our side.” That’s not entirely a lie, but I just need Pa on my side. Anyone. He smiles at me like a parent seeing their child’s first straight A report card.

“You must careful when you go out. Ok? Pa doesn’t want you to get hurt.” He gently pats my head, ruffling my hair a little, his touch lingering. I mutter affirmation and nod, his smile bringing me some relief. “Parents’ number one priority is their child’s safety. I don’t want you or Christopher to get hurt. I love you.”

He hugs me. I hug him. I want to cry so badly but I don’t.

As he walks out of my room, I can’t take my eyes off the drink. For my Pa, bubble tea was an act of love. He was educated and he could have probably found a job that paid better, but he had always hated soul sucking desk work. He says because he can see others happy when they get their drinks he knows his job is worth doing. He knows he’s making a difference in someone’s day, even if it’s only for the 5 minutes they spend drinking it. That’s worth a lot to him.

My dearest wish is to be able to bring smiles like that to everyone too. I want to follow those footsteps, but his shoes have always felt a little too big for me to fill. Even as a superpowered individual, I still feel so much weaker in the face of his determination to improve everyone’s day.

I sit back down, placing the drink on my desk and solemnly staring at the pictures I have framed on my table. Of me and my friends, me as a baby, my parents, everyone I love. Next to it all is a purple diary that has seen some age. The colour has slightly faded. I flip through it, looking at the poems I’ve been jotting down since I learnt how to do free verse.

Who I am has changed. So drastically. From these pictures, from these poems. I’m not the woman I used to be. But someone out there knows that when you tear that slimy layer of skin off me, you’ll find the same girl who used to get winded climbing stairs. The girl who wrote her first poem about a crush. The girl who prints photos and frames them, for no other reason than sentiment.

I want so badly to be that girl again. But I can’t be. Now, I am more.

Someone knew that girl, and they know what I truly am now.

A dull ache is omnipresent in my heart though, a bittersweet taste lingering in my mouth when I look at my loved ones who have never really seen the real me, a worse taste when I know the one person who does know me despises me. The gnawing voice in my head that’s been slowly nibbling away at my sanity is telling me that someone already knows. And they resent me for it to the point they’ll hurt everyone else I love. The damage caused today? It's all my fault for being me.

My room tightens itself around me, feeling more and more claustrophobic by the second. Loneliness paces around my heart.

Luckily, the Salamander wasn’t a one man show.

‘I know you come from a different planet entirely, Sol,’ I began to think to them, ‘but did you have this kind of… fear…? Where you came from? From what other people thought of you and… yeah. I don’t know.’ Where am I even going with this? I don’t know, I just want comfort from the only one who could understand me.

‘Yes.’ They responded, taken a little aback by the question, though their answer seemed rehearsed. ‘The Salamandra as a society was not perfect, we had our flaws much like humanity. One of the biggest problems in our society was how we treated the Salamandra who were born with lesser fire bending potential. The hate was not blatant, but it was latent. You may as well have been considered a lesser being in the eyes of those with normal flame manipulation.’ He said normal with such contempt that it scared me.

‘Did you know anyone like that?’ I asked curiously, not sure how to continue the conversation I started.

‘I am someone like that.’

‘If it were any other salamandra who was attached to you like I am, no doubt your fire power would be far more potent.’ They said with inadequacy oozing from each word, like they hated themselves for being the one to be my symbiote, my partner, even though our ability to control fire has always been the least of my concerns.

I laid on my bed in silence, not sure what to say. Sol has always been reserved about themself, far more interested in helping me with my feelings and brushing off their own concerns. But as their emotions leak into mine and vice versa, I am reminded of how intricate and valid their life experience before meeting me was. This profound sadness was a product of their feelings. I held back their tears, trying to think of something I could say that would make them feel even a little better.

‘I’ve told you I was a scientist on my world, yes?’ They quietly brought it up.

I nodded. They had an analytical mind, the kind to hypothesise and put logic into the forefront of their thoughts. Their logical analysis complemented my more spontaneous, emotional thought processes. It’s why we made a wonderful team.

‘I had to go through hell to get that position. My physical abilities were lesser, but my mind was not. Despite that, every time I unveiled my failure of fire control, I was mocked by peers. Worse, they pitied me. You could feel it in their judgemental gazes. The venomous look of sorry that would weigh on you no matter where you went. I never felt as if it mattered in my profession or my personal life, yet everyone would feel sorry for me. I hated that feeling.’

A part of me empathised with enduring the judgements meant from someone’s perceived notion of you. Yet I could not understand what having everyone seeing you as a lesser person felt like, even though you know you aren’t. The emotions were a blend of sorry, of anger on their behalf, but I was never sure what I should feel. Whatever it was, it was not pity for them, that’s not what they wanted.

Sensing my apprehension, they continued. ‘I had to keep going. I had to take the noise and scream back louder. They can say what they want and I’ll never be able to stop them, so I can only work on myself. Rose, as someone who has endured ridicule and shame from my society, my advice to you is not to let yourself be brought down by it. The people think we are lesser, we can prove them wrong.’

We laid down without a word for a while, the whir of my air conditioning the only sound in the room.

‘As for our… guilt for… not being good enough… we’ll work on it together, partner. Admitting our faults is the first step.’ I tried to give them a reassuring smile that I would try, but I no longer had the emotional capacity for that.

I looked over at the tea on my desk and found it half empty, and that I had accidentally left it on my essay paper. No harm done, considering I hadn’t started.

I stared at the beige beverage as if I could telepathically communicate with the inanimate object, but heard nothing in response. That was a cup of my father’s love and care for me. It was, less symbolically, my favourite drink in the whole world. That drink is for Rose, the teenage girl who had a bad day encountering destruction on a scale unseen by someone her age. It’s not for Salamander, the failure hero, who couldn’t save everyone and left the families of those four victims distraught.

I’m supposed to be a superhero right? So why don’t I feel like either of those words? Rage boiled in my heart as I couldn’t convince myself of my own merit.

With a clumsy, angry swipe of my arm, my drink fell over and spilled onto the papers.

All I could do was clean it up robotically and go back to staring at my ceiling fan, drink unfinished, essay undone, Salamander unworthy.