Deadline for Writers. 12 Short Stories in 12 Months – January – Prompt: Found.

The harsh lights flickered as The Good One re-entered the interview room, the heavy iron door clunking behind her with an echo that pierced like a migraine. The Boy sat behind the empty desk, staring as she walked towards him, her sensible middle-aged shoes rhythmically counting down towards her as-yet-unknown fate.

“Listen. We just need to know what this is and where you found it, that’s all.”

She flung the clear evidence bag down in front of him. It didn’t matter, bagged or not—he could still feel it. He wondered if The Good One could feel it too, but nothing about her essence suggested that was the case. Maybe it was just for him. Maybe, just maybe, he had been chosen. Maybe he actually had a purpose after all.

He had always tried to be good himself, and to be fair, he felt he had done quite well, all things considered. He had cared for his mother as best he could, but they didn’t have much, and once she passed away, what little they had disappeared completely. He found himself bouncing between homes and families that tried their best, but the system always seemed to be against him. He was still young, around fifteen, but he knew the streets far more intimately than a developed society should have found acceptable.

He had been rummaging for leftovers in the back-alley rubbish when he spotted it, nestled under a small weedy shrub. It shone with a beauty he had never believed possible, coaxing him with a beckoning melody that penetrated his consciousness. He picked it up, overcome with awe and tranquility, and could feel it infiltrating his innermost beliefs, even then. It was only the shout of the police officers that broke the spell. Reality kicked back in, and a reflex made him drop it and run, but more officers had been waiting around the corner. How could someone like him have such a thing of beauty? He could have explained it a thousand times, but his life was alien to them, and they would never listen. They would never understand.

The door clunked again, and they were joined by The Bad One. Jesus, The Boy thought to himself, this is such a fucking cliché. He knew what was coming. The bad-tempered, pitted face stomped over to them, snarling like a rabid bulldog trying to put the fear of God into him. He slammed his fists on the desk and screamed things like “There’s no way out!” or “You’re only making it worse!”—all the usual lines meant to intimidate and bully. The Boy just stared, grinning. He knew it was futile. He just needed to get his hand a little closer to that plastic bag…

The Good One was smiling now, faking a look of compassion, as if she could feel his anguish and make it all disappear. What does she know? He’d met a million versions of her in his short existence—parading themselves through life as good, the enforcer, the shining example of civilized development. But it was a lie. He was nothing to her, just like he was nothing to anyone.

Well, not anymore.

He had been subtly moving his left arm towards the evidence bag and was now within a hand’s width. It was all he needed. The contents began to glow, dimly and irregularly at first, but as he glanced out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light harden. The flashes began to pulsate and spark, forming a thin wisp of luminescence, dancing in a cloud of greens and yellows that drifted slowly towards his outstretched arm. Neither The Good nor The Bad flinched. The Bad One continued to pace and froth, The Good One sighed and pretended to care, but neither could see the fluorescent show. They were blind to it, just as they were blind to its power, just as they were blind to The Boy’s very existence unless a scapegoat or excuse was required.

The drifting cloud touched his arm and surged into his body. The Boy gasped. They did notice that. A flicker of apprehension passed between them, but nothing more. The Boy’s world was now a swarm of colour, a thick tide of warmth filling his limbs. The neurons of his mind ignited in an explosion of understanding; his senses heightened beyond the physical world. He felt he was flying between voids, floating on a sea of will in a swarm of complete understanding, a calmness of intelligence…

But most of all, he felt power.

For the first time in his life. The feeling of control, of complete and utter command, flooded his self. He was capable. He could change the world. Whatever this thing was, whatever magic flowed from it, it had the answers.

He looked across the table at The Good One. The momentary concern had passed, and she was back to pretending to care. Was she any better than her colleague? At least The Bad One had a level of honesty in his spitting bile. The power to fix the world was in The Boy’s hands, but right now, he felt rage. He could fight it. He could help people. He had always tried to be good. Always tried to do the right thing…

But then she smiled at him. That fake, paper-thin smirk masking the truth.

He wasn’t having it. No, not this time.

He smiled back and allowed The Good One to speak her final words.

She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening as her throat began to spasm. Her diaphragmatic convulsions became more panicked, and her face contorted and shook as if trying to expel the poison eating away inside, but she couldn’t look away.

“Goldstone? Goldstone?! What’s wrong? Jesus…”

The Bad One broke off from his rampage and grabbed his colleague by the shoulders, her sockets now bulging from her blue and bloated face. Thick veins groped her neck as she desperately struggled for air, but her eyes remained glued to The Boy across the desk.

“Shit! She’s having a seizure or something. Help! SOMEBODY! GO GET HELP, NOW!”

The Good One tried to speak but only managed a desperate grunt. With all the strength she had left, she slowly lifted her arm and pointed weakly across the table. The Bad One stopped and felt his head turn towards The Boy. His fiery eyes faded into disbelief and then fear. He felt paralyzed.

“You? No… you can’t… how? What is that thing? What… NO!”

The paralysis lifted and he lunged, but The Boy had anticipated it. He locked eyes, and with just the smallest of blinks sent The Bad One flying across the room. The officer hit the wall by the door with a sickening crack that instantly broke his neck. The Good One lay slumped on the desk, her unseeing, swollen eyes now strangely content.

The Boy stood up and walked towards the door, his treasure firmly in his grasp. He had always tried to be good, but now the power and rage mixing within him overpowered his better senses. He didn’t know what was going to happen now, but he knew they were going to pay.

All of them.