Totally Not My Problem | Chase Davenport

Chapter One

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Not My Problem| Chapter One | "Baby Duckling"

Tasha Dooley was a woman with a bone to pick who had once tried to shield me from the cape-and-mask legacy that had claimed my parents' lives. Her disdain for superheroes was palpable, stemming from the tragedy of losing her twin sister to the very cause that had marked our family. Her attempts to shelter me from the same fate were futile, drowned out by my determination to carve my destiny, even if it meant shunning the bloodline that coursed through my veins. The decision to shed my hero status had been mine alone, a rebellion against the destiny that had haunted me. Little did I know that in my pursuit of normalcy, Aunt Tasha would emerge from the shadows, extending a hand of the unexpected alliance. As I stood at the airport, the bustling crowd around me seemed to mirror the chaos of my emotions, a whirlwind of uncertainty and reluctant acceptance.
   There she was, the woman I barely knew,  had arrived with her new husband and son at the ungodly hour that only travelers and insomniacs witnessed. A 'Welcome to Mission!' sign was clutched in Leo's hands, and Uncle Donald held a bouquet of vibrant flowers, their sharp fragrance momentarily overpowering my senses. Aunt Tasha, true to her reputation, was charming towards me with a zeal that belied her age,  her arms outstretched, and then I was enveloped in a  bear hug that threatened to topple us both
   I managed to smile despite the awkwardness as her hands cupped my cheeks in an oddly endearing gesture. "Thank God! You made it!" she exclaimed, her excitement infectious, albeit cringe-worthy. "I see you. No brace-face! And you're so gorgeous; I bet you have a boyfriend...or girlfriend, right?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, choosing instead to endure her well-meaning interrogation.
  Leo, the epitome of restraint compared to his exuberant mother, nodded in acknowledgment. The real challenge, however, came in the form of Uncle Donald, who, with all the finesse of a startled flamingo, attempted an awkward side hug, bouquet in hand. "Blaire! Remember me? Donald?" he said, his tone almost pleading for recognition. "You can call me Uncle Donald or Uncle Donny or Uncle Don or Uncle Don Don the...or Don man, whatever makes you comfortable." Aunt Tasha's sharp elbow swiftly silenced his attempts at joviality.  "Just give her the flowers, honey," she said through her smile. 
  The bouquet he thrust upon me was a riot of sharp floral notes, assaulting my senses with a force that almost made me sneeze. "Wow," I managed, my voice strangled, "They're so...um...pink."
"All girls like pink, I'm assuming," he remarked, attempting to defend his color choice. "And they weren't cheap either." His wife's death stare promised consequences far worse than a mere elbow jab. "And it must be the best for my new favorite niece." Uncle Donald added in haste, a feeble attempt at rephrasing his words carefully. 
   Taking the bouquet off his hands, I braved the olfactory assault, somehow stifling my imminent sneezing fit. Aunt Tasha, like my mother in her flair for extravagant gestures, was compensation for the years of estrangement with her over-the-top welcome. The sign, balloons, and flowers were her attempts at bonding, and Uncle Donald, well, he was caught in the crossfire.
   Uncle Donald, displaying an eagerness to be of use, swiftly declared, "I'll take your bags," his hands already in motion, busying himself with the task. I responded with a knowing smile, recognizing his attempt to find a place in the whirlwind that was my family. It was a peculiar dance, the one we did, and I was content to let it play out.
  As we left the airport, the golden California sun kissed my skin, and reality settled in. Mission Creek, a quiet town without extraordinary events, stretched before me. I marveled at the sheer ordinariness of it all. The blue sky above, the busy street teeming with people – it was a stark reminder that I was stepping into the normalcy I had yearned for.
  A normie life beckoned, and I intended to embrace it with open arms, even if the prospect was laced with a peculiar blend of relief and trepidation. Memories of my father's disapproving grimace haunted my thoughts, his skepticism echoing in my mind like a ghostly whisper. I couldn't shake the feeling of shame that clawed at the edges of my consciousness. The truth was, a rural haven like Mission Creek was an ill-suited habitat for supers like us. Crime rates were lower than a mole's basement – a mere six percent, to be precise. Yet, it wasn't the absence of crime that worried me; it was the stark reality of my newfound existence. The cape was hung, and the heroic days were over. No more daring escapades, no more fighting crime. Why bother? After all, being a teenager hardly came with a manual. There were no grand battles against evil, just the daily struggle of adolescence. There are no supervillains to defeat, just the perplexing puzzle of puberty. I might be stripped of my title and license and not saving the world, but hey, at least I was free, no longer bound by the rigid regulations of the Super Society.
  Freedom, in all its terrifying glory, stretched before me like an uncharted path. The prospect of independence, while intimidating, felt so good. I contemplated the vast unknown ahead, the possibilities as boundless as the starlit sky on a clear night. The allure of Uncle Donald's distant Playboy mansion paled compared to the freedom I now possessed.
  High-end living came as no surprise from the CEO of a world-renowned IT empire. My father's courage had earned us financial abundance, turning us into affluent elites with staff to cater to our every whim. Uncle Donald's mansion, perched atop a cliff, glowed with luxury, its windows reflecting his grandiosity. Newport was infamous for its lawlessness, a breeding ground for unsavory characters who thrived on chaos. As I entered this world, I knew prayer and a robust security system would be our saving grace. Uncle Donald's hubris, I feared, would ultimately cost him dearly. In this world of indulgence and excess, I found myself right at home, in this over-glorified dollar sign on a hill.
Leo, the unapologetic fanboy, fired inquiries about my past as a sidekick. "Did Uncle Frank wear spandex or leather? Most powerful villain? Forbidden romance with a villain? S.S.O.S. locations?" I wasn't surprised when my relative, who Aunt Tasha must have spilled the beans to, revealed that he knew my dad was Strike and that I was Artemis. Keeping secrets was never my style, so I appreciate the honesty. Aunt Tasha's cautionary tone, directed at my cousin, was unmistakable.
  "Hey now,  remember what we talked about boundaries."
"I don't mind." I interjected, coming to his defense, and turned to Leo, "Uncle Frank? Spandex, maybe. Most powerful villain? Several. Forbidden romance? Yep, guilty as charged," I replied with a casual shrug, my words flowing out like a river of apathy. No more secrets, no more hiding behind a facade. Being statusless, free from the shackles of expectations, had its perks.
  As we made our way towards the house, Auntie and I entered through the door, and immediately, the cool air of the lavishly decorated living area hit me. I tried to keep a neutral expression as my eyes scanned the room, but the luxury of it all still managed to take me aback. However, my awe was short-lived when a computerized figure made up of the letters E.D.D.Y. appeared on the screen on the wall.
  "Another one of you bozos, goodie," the figure said, sounding less than impressed. I gave the screen a once-over, unsure if I had heard this off-brand Siri correctly. "Excuse me?" I replied, my tone laced with annoyance.
  "Oh, you're excused, sister," the figure continued, "excused to leave off the premises. Uh, buh-bye now." The urge to unleash my powers, to watch the sparks fly and reduce that arrogant wallpad to a glitching, irreparable mess, surged within me like a storm. But the cruel reality of the power dampers coiled around my wrists kept my abilities at bay. I clenched my teeth, feeling the electric energy crackling beneath my skin, a wild force begging for release. The irony wasn't lost on me; my abilities are a twisted gift and a curse, branding me a potential cataclysm, a looming threat that shadowed every step I took.
  Growing up knowing you're a ticking time bomb, a catastrophe waiting to happen is a nightmare no young girl should endure. To be constantly reminded to suppress your emotions, to fight for the greater good of humanity, when that was all you could ever hope for, was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, my father had trained me, instilling in me the strength to face the world despite my now statusless existence, the universal disdain, and the haunting solitude. Fear had molded me into a warrior, relentless and unyielding. The past, with all its scars, was nothing more than a fading shadow, and I was resolute in my determination to fight, no matter the staggering cost.
  The screen flickered with disdain, its electronic voice dripping mockery, intensifying my frustration.
  "It's terrible enough that she's Tasha's niece, but to be as trollish and greasy-haired as she is... mmm," the on-screen figure taunted, igniting the embers of my annoyance into a blaze.
  "Hey! Is anyone here hungry? Cause I vote we wring her poorly styled head and use that grease to fry some chicken!" The audacity of the remark left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I refused to let it show.
  At that moment, Uncle D and Leo materialized, bearing my belongings. There was an apologetic glint in Uncle D's eyes as he spoke, attempting to rationalize the offensive display. "Blaire, I'm sorry about him. Eddy is my smart home system," he offered, as though it could somehow excuse the technological impertinence.
  You'd expect the founder of a colossal tech empire to craft a cutting-edge AI system, one with razor-sharp wit. Yet, being labeled trollish and greasy-haired was hardly the worst in my repertoire of insults endured. "It's fine," I shrugged, my practical demeanor prevailing. No subpar household system could pierce my resilience. I stood in the lap of luxury, a fortress of grandeur that reaffirmed my newfound status. The allure of Nirvana gripped me, and nothing, not even a disrespectful AI, could sow doubt in my mind.
  The room's once-cool air turned icy, seeping through my skin and rendering it numb. Desperation gripped my voice as I inquired, "May I see my room now?" The distress was palpable, my words hanging in the frigid air. The damper band encircling my wrist glowed a warning yellow, a silent reminder of the imminent danger. If my emotional turmoil continued, the band would flash three times, unleashing unbearable pain. My condition stretched the limitations of this device; the fine line between control and chaos, between life and lethal power, was a treacherous one.
   Aunt Tasha and Uncle Donald exchanged anxious glances, their concern etched on their faces. Swiftly, Uncle Donald turned to me, his smile oozing charisma, a facade that had wooed countless investors. "Sure. It's down the hall, beyond the room with the video games and action figures and the fifty-foot-screen TV," he chimed, his enthusiasm bordering on infectious. In the brief hours we'd shared since my arrival, I'd observed Uncle D's relentless energy, starkly contrasting with Auntie's unapologetic bluntness and high-strung nature. Indeed, opposites attracted a truth manifested in their union.
  My gaze, laden with sarcasm, fell on Leo. "He must mean your room," I retorted, my tone unyielding. However, the young man shook his head, silently indicating "his" room, a gesture directed at Uncle Donald. Of course, his room would match the grandiosity of his colossal ego; opulence seemed to weave itself into every fiber of this mansion's being.
  "Leo, why don't you show Blaire the way?"
   Auntie's tone sliced through the air, demanding compliance. I knew they'd indulge in gossip behind my back, a familiar dance of exclusion that had haunted my younger days. Back then, I was ignorant of the dark underbelly of my abilities, unaware of the impending peril lurking beneath my skin. They would always leave me to the mercy of the adults; my fate tossed around like a salad, and the course of my future dictated on this sad, forsaken earth. I could drown in my misery, penning a novel of despair, but in a world brimming with challenges, who had time for such indulgence? Following Leo felt like imitating a duckling's clumsy pursuit of its mother, a scene reminiscent of those pathetic cartoon gags where drivers swerved to avoid the unfortunate creatures. It required either a miracle or compassionate souls to ensure their safety.
   Alternatively, perhaps the minds behind those shows were simply lackluster, lacking the depth to fathom the true essence of vulnerability. One would assume that these creatures, so endearing and fragile, possessed a modicum of intelligence. Yet, the bitter truth was that they didn't. Herein lies the paradox of human and animal nature. We could discuss perils and create art depicting them. Still, when confronted, we stood as defenseless as baby ducks before an impending disaster, unprepared and vulnerable, navigating a world of uncertainty.
   In my former heroic life, danger was a constant companion. But even with my battle-hardened past, nothing could have prepared me for the grim reality that awaited when my curiosity led me to what could only be described as a genuine disaster zone. The chaos I stumbled upon defied my expectations, shattering any illusions of control I had left.

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Word Count: 2367

Okay, I am still reeling:

     Thank you again to Peters_suit_lady for your support. It took some courage to publish your book. I can't wait for you and the rest of the readers to follow my character, Blaire, on her journey. Love to you always, boo - bbdqqce1