Good Intentions

Chapter One: Inadequate

Not everyone is destined for greatness.

I found this out at the ripe age of thirteen. I was just developing my powers, and I was so excited. I always wanted to be like the other heroes; Saving the day and stopping the villains. But that day, the day I developed my powers, was the day my dreams crumbled.

I had one of the more unique powers; I could use my blood as a weapon. It fired out of me by cutting my skin, ripping from my body and attacking whoever I wanted to attack. At first, I thought it was amazing. It was such a cool power to my little thirteen year-old brain. But, after dad told me it wasn't a hero's power - that it was the kind of power a villain would use - I was crushed. Hearing those words come from a full-time hero, who saved people daily, killed me on the inside. What was worse was when he recommended I become a supervillain. My brain switched off for a while, just trying to understand what he was telling me. He wanted me to be evil? To fight against him?

That was when I left. I left my father on his own, and ran. I just ran and ran until I finally made it back to my mother's house. After the divorce, she still decided to stay nearby, in case her son wanted to see her, or needed her, or in case anything happened to her old husband and she got custody of him.

The doorbell still played the annoying chime it had always played. It had been so long since I'd seen my poor mother, I'd been so caught up over dad's heroism I all but forgot about her. She swung open the door to find none-other than her little child, standing in the rain, broken inside. Her eyes watered before breaking into tears herself. She always loved me, I just didn't see it before. She had missed out on moments like this, helping her son out when he needed it most. This was her first chance at bonding with her son in such a long time.

She sat me down on her worn-out couch, leaving me for a little, only to come back with a hot cup of cocoa. She knew it was my favorite, probably from the last time her and Dad had talked. She sat beside me, covering my cold, small hands with her warm and soft ones. Her hair was a light shade of brown, with a bright blonde coming from her roots. Her face was slightly wrinkled, but wore a soft smile. Her eyes were reddened from crying earlier, yet her pupils were a cool shade of blue, on the lighter side. She wore a nightgown too large for her body, probably from back when dad and her were married, and soft bunny slippers. It was hard to believe she was the one that divorced dad, not vice versa.

She spoke softly, her lips barely parting with each word. "What happened, honey? Why are you crying so much?" Her voice was soft, but you could hear the pain in her voice, the pain she was trying to hide. Her voice was wavering, cracking every few words, yet she kept that soft smile. It was obvious that she truly cared, unlike my father, who put on fake smiles whenever I needed him. I was still sobbing uncontrollably, and barely managed to tell her, "Dad said I can't be a hero."

The look in her face morphed from one of happiness to one of complete, unbridled anger, as she reached for the nearest phone, dialing a number furiously. After yelling at someone on the other line, presumably my dad, she hung up and sat back down with me, wrapping her arms around my cold, frail exterior. Her warmth radiated off of her and back to me, warming up both my body and my heart at once. I started calming down, my heart slowly regulating itself. I would've stopped crying if I could, but it wasn't stopping.

"Anyone can be a hero, as long as you do some good." She sounded even more strained than last time, her and dad's conversation seemingly getting to her. "Don't let that horrible man make you a villain. You're good at heart, Jakob, not evil." She let go of me for a second, before putting both of her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look into her eyes. "I love you. I love you so much." She gave in, letting the tears flow from her eyes faster and faster, before she hugged me once again, wiping her tears on my already wet shirt. At this point, her entire nightgown was soaked, all from my wet clothing. Her words stuck in my head, soothing me more and more as time went on. You're good at heart, Jakob, not evil. Her words soothed me, causing my tears to slowly stop. Her tears didn't stop until I had fallen asleep in her arms, resting my head against her side as I drifted off into sleep. 

My eyes shot open at the sound of sirens wailing nearby, louder than I deemed possible. I would have chose to ignore it, but after what my mom had said, I wanted to help as much as I could. You're good at heart, Jakob, not evil, the words rang through my head as I sat up, pulling on the shoes I had thrown off before I fell asleep. My clothes had somewhat dried overnight, leaving my clothes stuck to my body. Shaking off the fact my clothes were essentially molded to my body, I went back over to my mother to try to wake her up, to tell her that I was going out to do good, like she told me. No matter how much I shook her, she wouldn't wake up. I opted to trun on the lamp nearby, to try and see if that would help, but all it did was reveal a true horror to me.

There she was, my mother, laying on the couch, multiple stab wounds on her body.

My body shook uncontrollably, a cold feeling washing over me. I looked down at my hands, seeing them covered in her own blood, small cuts covering my arms sporadically. My brain froze up, my head pounding and pulsing uncontrollably. I did this, I thought to my self. I did this, I killed her. A banging at the door knocked me from my thoughts, as the words, "This is the police, open up!" bellowed through the house. The door came down, revealing a large group of policemen, followed by none-other-than my father. He gave me a scowling look as the officers took my mother away, alter coming back to handcuff me and bring me with them.

I later found out my mother wasn't dead, just in a coma she still hasn't awaken from, and she probably never will. The police determined that what happened was all an accident, caused by my powers growing more in my sleep. After that night, I've decided it would be best to do what my father said, and just be a villain. My mother may never be here to be proud or disappointed in my actions, so why not just be a villain? Hurting people you want to hurt doesn't feel as bad as hurting people you want to protect, so it's for the best anyway.

I was, and forever will be, an irredeemable, inadequate, and iniquitous person. I guess it's all just destined, isn't it?

And I'm destined for Treachery.