---

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Cal was the first to admit, he hated Thompson Place. It was his childhood home, yes. It was the house where he learned to ride a bike, where he beat his first video game, where he had his first shot, and all the other firsts that growing up generally entails. Never the less, he hated it. The sprawling manor never felt like home to him, most likely due to his grandfather's cruel gaze, which he never seemed able to escape.

Despite Cal's hatred of Thompson Place, he was broke as a joke. Kind of difficult to make any money when you work for a paper on a basically volunteer basis. Cal loved working at the Herald, even if his employment there was just some sort of power struggle between the Thompsons and the Marlowes. However, he did sometimes wish it brought in some cash, just enough for him to move out and get his own place in town. Unfortunately, such a reality was far off, and this being the case, Cal awoke on Sunday morning wrapped up in three different blankets, curled into a ball on his bed in Thompson Place.

He rolled over to look at the clock on his end table and had to blink a few times so his vision could adjust. When the blurryness that generally came with just waking up faded, Cal was able to make out the time. 10:26. Decent time. The night before had been a long one, spent reading a number of different stories, his own attempt to make Andy's workload a little more manageable. Being Deputy Editor of the Herald was exhausting work, but he liked it well enough. He and Andy had found a decent middle ground since his hiring, one where they decided that the rivalry between their families had no business in the world of journalism, and thus they refused to take part. It was pleasant, although sometimes a tad awkward.

Yawning, Cal rolled out of bed, stretching and swaying a bit as his body adjusted to the sudden change of altitude. He made his way over to his dresser, and pulled on his outfit for the day, a band tee, some pants, and a blue jacket, along with his black converse. Looking in the mirror, he did his best to style his hair, but in the end he figured he would just have to settle for a slightly messy look, which wasn't the worst case scenario for the day, at least not in Cal's mind. Just as he was about to head downstairs, he stopped and smirked. Turning around, he looked at a comb he'd left on his dresser, a useless tool that he'd attempted to use to tame his hair, and furrowed his brow. And slowly but surely, the object began to float in the air, rotating slowly. Finally, Cal dropped it, panting a little bit from the exertion, but thrilled never the less.

Cal's discovery of his powers had been a shock, though that much could be presumed. No one wakes up from a really shitty case of the flu expecting superpowers. Oddly enough, that's what had happened to Cal, and he'd been practicing ever since. The trick with the comb had been much harder three days ago, but he was getting better, noticeably. Part of him found it exciting. The other part found it terrifying.

Padding downstairs, Cal walked into the kitchen, and was met by the voices of his mother and grandmother. "Mom, you're acting like Cal moving out is the end of the world," his mother said, not yet aware of his presence. "Lillian you know just as well as I, a Thompson's place is here. The house is big enough for all of us anyways," his grandmother replied. His mom shook her head and mumbled her response, "With Dad here, I'm not so sure." With that, Cal cleared his throat, announcing his presence, earning shocked looks from both women.

"What's this about me moving out?" Cal asked, raising an eyebrow as he grabbed an apple from a bowl of fruit resting on the kitchen counter. "Oh, your mom was just explaining me the merits of you getting a place of your own, with a little help from us. But, like I was telling her, there's no reason. This house has seen generations of Thompsons grow old in it, and I see no reason why you should be any different." Cal didn't push the issue. His grandmother was a kind woman, but when she was done talking about something, she was done. This was not a topic to be discussed further, at least not now.

The silence that filled the room was soon broken by his mom, getting up and swinging an arm around Cal, and leading him towards the front door. "Come on, we've got to go help your grandpa. I guess there was a mishap on Main Street," she said, not giving him much of a choice in the matter. He made silent protest with his facial expressions, but it was ignored. The two waved goodbye to Cal's grandmother and hopped into one of the family's many cars, Lillian's black BMW. Sitting in the passenger seat, Cal watched as Riveredge bled into Verona, and soon became Main Street.

Cal got out of the car, parked in front of Thompson's, the family's general store. Dressed in his work clothes, Eli Thompson was in front of the shop, sweeping up piles of glass. He looked up at his grandson and grunted a greeting, one that Cal returned with a small wave. While his mom spoke to Eli, Cal looked around, noting that most of the town was here, sweeping up the mess that was Main Street. What in the hell had happened here?

It was approaching 10:30 and Seb had already been up a few hour where normally he might just have been rising. This along with how he used most of free time had changed a few days past when he discovered his power. After a nasty bout of flu, he had awoken non the wiser to the change only to accidentally stab himself with nail later the next day while trying to repair one of the fences of the school that had been done in by some hooligan. In hindsight holding a nail with the point towards your hand was never a wise decision but he had not expected a combination of concentration and absent flick of his pinky to drive it into his palm. Having gone to hospital to get it stitched and get a tetanus shot, Seb decided that he might as well use the excuse of that and his prior sickness to get the Friday of as well.

Investigating his strange ability in the comfort of his home was preferable to doing it while goofing off and possibly being caught. In the following two days he discovered his slowly growing ability to move and shape metal and had put his new muscle to work mainly on a large collection of pennies you inevitably end up with if you use cash to pay for things.

The first day involved making sure he did not use his power by accident, his every movement could potentially move metal objects if accompanied with a level of concentration so learning to not focus on metal when he didn't want it to move was a strange skill to learn. Every action had an equal and opposite reaction and trying to lift something heavier actually made it hard or impossible to move the miming limb, though the power was gaining slightly more power with each attempt. On the molding side of his power, the various gubbins featured on his kitchen table now included a quarter of a century, 20 miniature crude roman legionaries of copper had been made over the 2 days he had his power, each more detailed than the last, sat arrayed in formation before him.

His powers was the reason for his early rise, having it to practice had given him a reason to get up even on a Sunday rather than simply lazing about and possibly doing some exercise in the afternoon before tomorrows dreary life of a janitor begun again. Stretching after adding the 20th soldier to the group Seb decided to exercise his other muscles, putting on his boots and jacket and heading out for a stroll. He needed to do some shopping anyway, being incapacitated by flu and then busy practicing had left him without much in the way of groceries and so headed to the main street. Rounding the corner he encountered the devastation where the glass had been blow out onto the street. How odd. Perhaps there were others like him, someone who's power’s manifestation had been much more dramatic than his own? Of course there might be a rational explanation, but Seb’s world had quickly rearranged itself around the existence of the supernatural, perhaps a bit to much but he felt he couldn't be blamed for his excitement. At any rate he decided that it might be wise to help out and at the same time see if he could get any information out of the others.

Jogging quickly to the school he returned with a broom and pan wearing his jumpsuit and proceeded to assist with the cleanup, noticing that most of the town had apparently showed up to inspect the mess. He set to work generally cleaning up the mess and hoping he might be able to find something out from the various onlookers or store owners he was helping while he worked.

Noel awoke feeling somewhat groggy. As her heavy eyelids finally relented and opened up she was met with sunlight searing her poor eyes. Groaning and reaching blindly for a nearby blanket she rolled over, doing her best imitation of a burrito.

Her phone chirped on her bedside table, wanting attention.

“No.” She said quietly from beneath the covers, wishing she could just turn her ears off.

Once more it sprang to life, threatening to fall off the desk.

“Ugh.” Noel reached out towards the desk and managed to grasp her phone, letting her arm go limp as the phone happily buzzed in her hand once more. “What do you want?” She said quietly bringing her hand back under the covers where it was warm. The phone illuminated the space and revealed a few missed calls and about ten texts.

Holy… Have you seen Main Street?

Hey, just saw Main Street, you good?

Don’t come to work today, Main Street cleanup is insane.

You live near MS, right? Do I need to worry?

What happened last night? I have like a hundred texts.

Noel groggily pushed her phone underneath her pillow and pushed her face directly into it. Screaming a little before kick her legs.

It was time to get up Noel. Put a smile on.

She threw her covers off, rolling out of bed and barely landing on her feet. Sauntering slowly over to the bathroom mirror she grabbed a toothbrush and got to work brushing her teeth. She knew she was tired because at one point she had avoided eye contact with herself.

She glanced down at the sink as she turned the faucet off and realized she knew it was sunny. Sure enough, opening the small window showed that she was in fact right. That was what? The third or fourth day in a row now?

Weird.

Weirder yet was that she knew there was a storm coming. She opened the mirror revealing some medication among other things. She closed the small cabinet and caught herself shaking. She took a second to wonder why that was and found that she felt… Nervous?

That was strange. It was a day off, nothing had really happened that she could change about the storm. Was it the storm she thought was coming? Why would a storm make her nervous? She was usually pretty excited about that kind of thing as long as the town was prepared enough for it.

She shrugged it off, however. Making her way down to her living room she snagged a button up flannel shirt.

“You’ve only been worn once.” She cooed happily buttoning it up. She found some leggings that looked similarly relatively clean and squeezed into them before making her way down the steps of her apartment. She lived in a small single bedroom apartment above Ringo’s. It was nice enough, even if it was a little sketchy getting in her door on some of the busier nights.

As soon as Noel made her way out the door she found it was busier than any day before. This wasn’t like when the playoffs were going on and some guys were outside smoking and calling her out. This was like a parade for the president. Except the energy of the crowd was kind of… Off.

There seemed to be a lot of uncertainty. A lot of bad feelings going around. She noticed that her boss was outside of the Permanent Record, across the road from where she lived. But she decided that since he had given her the day off, she’d be taking it. She gave him a small wave and he returned it, but he seemed busy with the cops, it seemed like the cops were going to be really busy today. All the windows she passed seemed to be broken. But she got the feeling that it couldn’t have been the weather. What with how acutely she had been aware of it recently, she hadn’t been awoken or anything. A strong breeze – even with all of her windows closed, seemed to have woken her up over the past few days.

So this was just… Off?

As Noel walked down Main Street the trend seemed only to continue, she turned down one of the side streets, the kind a tourist wouldn’t know hosted the best coffee in Verona. Giddily her fingers twitched in anticipation as she got in line for the coffee from Simone’s. It was the best in town, and unfortunately with the amount of people who knew that and the amount of people who were out around Main Street right now, she expected a heavy line.

She wasn’t (or, was really) disappointed in that regard as the line had some serious heft to it. After waiting a solid twenty minutes or so Noel finally got some good joe, she always ordered it double-double which every barista who had served her knew that meant two milk, two sugar. Others always looked at her like she was crazy on that one, but she was pretty set in her ways.

She went out to the curb to enjoy the coffee waiting to see what would transpire from all of this. She knew the mayor was going to have to make some kind of comment based on this. She just wasn’t really sure what he was going to say.

‘It seems all the windows on Main Street have pretty perfect holes in them. Must’ve been that crazy storm, huh?’

Wouldn’t really cut it for most folks, she assumed.

For now though, she just watched the cleanup effort. Quietly sipping on her coffee, letting the caffeine take root to stop that incessant shaking in her hands. But even as she down sip after sip, nearly reaching the halfway point, her hands didn’t stop shaking. What was going on in Verona?

Brooks stood scowling on one of the Main Street corners with his patrol car parked behind him, sporting a blue rain jacket with the word “SHERIFF” imprinted in bold yellow writing on it's back. He rubbed hands together for warmth and let out an exasperated groan as he looked up and down the street, the pavement littered with broken shards of glass. People had long since started gathering to help their friends, family, and neighbours by sweeping the mess into disposable piles. Brooks would offer the occasional nod and wave as people scurried about with the cleanup process.

Brooks wasn’t in the best of moods, receiving a distress call that forced him out of the house earlier than he had gotten used to. “Of utmost importance.” as Darleen, the police station secretary, had put it. Brooks arrived onto the Main Street while it was still dark outside, he’d have been shocked or even intrigued at the state of the street, had it not been for the fact he had gotten used to brushing every occurrence off as an accident or mishap.
After the usual round-about of calming the caller down, Brooks radioed back to the station to say that they’d need to arrange a volunteer clean up crew, grumpily forcing several officers to mandatorily participate out of sheer spite. The next few hours consisted of lounging around and inside the confines of his crispy, cozy, patrol car as officers and townsfolk slowly trickled onto the streets and began with the sweeping actions. Obviously he didn’t have an exact explanation to anyone asking regarding the situation, the obvious blame went to the storm and curious weather brewing for the past few days. The broken window frames void of any signs of forced entry and no items from any of the affected store owners missing. Open and shut case.

Brooks eventually felt the emptiness of a hungry stomach hit him. He reached into his car and for his radio, voicing into it: “Benji, be a dear and give me some company on Main Street. Also, get me somethin’ to eat while you’re at it, I’m fuckin’ starvin’ here.” before slapping the radio piece back into it’s place. Groggily resting his backside against the hood of his car with arms folded, patiently waiting and watching.

---

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The house was empty when Abigail got up. She didn’t mind; her hair was a mess and she looked like a wreck...the illness had knocked a bit out of her and she found herself sleeping in more as her body recovered. She rolled onto her stomach as one hand groped by the bedside table to grab a metallic pink flip phone charging by her pillow. Abigail squinted at the square of bright light as she checked the time, snapped the phone shut and lurched upwards onto her feet.

She slammed two feet into a grubby pair of slippers and shuffled along the cold floorboards of the hallway, pausing briefly at the open doorway to another bedroom to squint inside. “You in there?” she croaked out, hardly expecting an answer. “Listen, I-...” she started, before turning away from the gloomy confines of the bedroom. “Forget it.” Abigail made her way to the landing and stomped downstairs, clicking open the front door just a little. She immediately regretted her decision as an icy draft billowed through her baggy t-shirt, and the sunlight hurt her eyes. Nevertheless, she dully noticed the lack of police car out on the driveway. With a derisive snort, Abigail shut the front door again and turned the lock with a satisfying clunk.

The house felt too big. It always felt too big to Abigail, she wondered if that feeling would subside during her stay but she couldn’t quite shake it off. It was the vast, empty quiet and the pale wallpaper, her footfalls echoing off the oak floorboards and the large open windows where she could catch glimpses of frost and pine trees. The endless wilderness of Verona was a bit off-putting first thing in the morning, and those moments she had, drowsy and isolated from society, were enough to casually remind her that she wasn’t home and wouldn’t be home for a while.Abigail sighed through her nostrils and pushed a couple of buttons on the digital radio in the kitchen.

By far the best device Abigail had seen ever, the modern radio used some sort of music streaming account on the internet to play a bunch of playlists. Within moments, Al Green’s smooth voice was echoing across the hallways. It made the house seem smaller. Abigail smiled to herself and grabbed the new of cocoa puffs, her smile widening when she noticed a cheap plastic toy sitting in her bowl. Whilst she microwaved a mug of milk, Abigail jogged back to her room to grab a jacket and her phone.

Technology was still a bit of a confusing concept to get her head around. Abigail shamelessly owned a crappy nokia flip-phone instead of something a bit more modern, and it wasn’t even a personal preference; these things were much harder to trace back. She got it as a gift, as she had with almost all her belongings. And Abigail was a little proud that she was probably the only eighteen year old who couldn’t care less for texting. In the very beginning  everything she wrote was in full sentences, which eventually settled down to the shortest possible messages - most of which were simply times and places to meet up, nothing else. Abigail clicked through her contacts as she poured hot milk into her cocoa puffs and wandered to the living room.

Ah...here we go. She selected a contact called “V”.

WHERE U AT

Short, simple, poetic. Abigail went back to her contacts and pressed on “Ash”.

BORED LETS MEET

Abigail put her phone down. She helped herself to cocoa puffs and watched the weather forecast rattling on about the big, scary superstorm everyone wouldn’t shut up about on the TV.

---

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Charlie awoke in a forest. Now, this would not have been too strange if Charlie had been camping the night before, and had fallen asleep in the forest. However, Charlie had not been camping last night, and had in fact fallen asleep in her bed. Sitting up, her eyes wide with confusion as her breath turned to mist in the cold, morning air, Charlie looked around, searching for...well she wasn't quite sure. But when you wake up in a forest, your first thought tends to be to make sure there's nothing coming to kill you. Satisfied with her safety, Charlie stood up. She recognized the area, which immediately struck something in her brain. She could teleport. That must be how I got here. I must have teleported in my sleep. Well, that's going to make life difficult, not gonna lie.

Looking around once more, making perfectly sure she wasn't being watched, Charlie closed her eyes, focusing on the woods that lined her backyard. A rush of wind and a slight pop, and she opened her eyes. Sure enough, she was there, standing behind her house in nothing but her pyjamas. God, the world really had gone crazy. Shaking her head, she made her way to the front door, and quietly crept in. Her mom was away visiting a friend in Seattle, so it fell to Charlie to make dinner. Walking into the kitchen, she found her eldest brother, Jake, sitting at the table, a frown on his face. Looking at the clock that hung on the wall, she saw that it was only 8:30. A bit early for him to be up.

"Where in the hell were you Charlie?" Jake demanded, keeping his voice low so that the rest of the house stayed in their slumber. Jake was newly seventeen, bright eyed and adventurous, and many times Charlie's greatest advocate. When she'd wanted to leave Verona, run far away, he offered to take over, help take care of the family. She refused, insisting that he was the one with a future, and if he got out, then that would be good enough for her. Sometimes, she regretted her refusal to take him up on that offer.

Shaking her head, she replied. "I was just taking in some fresh air Jake, calm down." she said, opening up the fridge and getting out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. She offered her brother a reassuring smile, one that was met with a questioning glare. "You went outside for some fresh air, sometime before seven in the morning, barefoot and in your pyjamas? Really?" he asked. He knew something was up, he wasn't stupid. But Charlie couldn't exactly tell him the truth. "Drop it Jake. Please," she pleaded. Sure enough, he dropped the subject, but not without one last questioning look.

After that, the two made small talk as Charlie cooked breakfast. She asked him about school and his friends, and he asked about her love life, insistent that he'd let any boy know that he'd beat them into the ground before he let them hurt her. It was a nice conversation, free of any mentions of the mishap this morning. By the time she'd finished preparing everyone's plate, it was 9:00, and she called for her siblings to come to breakfast. She didn't bother with her dad. He'd come when he came, and as far as she was concerned, he knew how to cook. First out was Danielle, Jake's twin sister, and the artist of the family. Beautiful and creative, she was very much not a morning person, but she thanked Charlie for the food nonetheless. After her came Logan, the youngest boy. At fourteen, he was probably the smartest of the kids, always holed up in his room, nose tucked away in some book. And following just after Logan, little Harriet padded her way into her seat. At six years old, Harriet was the baby of the family, the one everyone adored.

By 9:30, the kids had all finished breakfast, and dispersed throughout the small house. Danielle took over dishes, Jake went outside with Harriet, and Logan locked himself in the room he shared with Jake, intent on getting some quiet so he could read. Charlie thanked Danielle and went to her room, getting dressed and taking a moment to collect her thoughts. The world seemed to have turned upside down in these past few days.

First, she'd gotten sick. This was an anomaly in and of itself, because Charlie prided herself on her immune system. A cold wasn't all that uncommon, but a flu that took her out for three days? That was weird. Once she was back up on her feet, the weirdness really came. She'd been on her way to see Mel at Pagan Dreams, when she was just there. First she thought she must have blacked out, or something. But then it happened again, on her way home. She hadn't been practicing much since that time, mainly out of fear. What was she going to do? She was awful at keeping secrets, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep this one much longer, especially with Jake snooping about.

She sat down on her bed with a sigh, pulling out a book she had to read for her English class. She was still undecided, major wise, but she was confident she wanted to be a teacher, though she occasionally played around with the idea of being an archaeologist. She adored history and everything about it, but she had to be realistic. Teaching would be a much more stable, and easier job, and stability was everything.

An hour later, Charlie decided to go visit Melanie at her house to return a book she'd borrowed on the supernatural. It hadn't helped her situation much, but it had been an interesting read. Grabbing the book and slipping on a coat, Charlie made her way outside, making sure Jake and Danielle were good to watch the kids for a little. Content with their answers, she began the walk towards Main Street, sending a text to Melanie along the way.



The stroll to Main Street didn't take too long, and when she got there, she was greeted by what seemed to be the entire town. The windows on all the shops were shattered, and most of the people there were helping with the cleanup. Her eyes wide as she took in the scene, she shot off another text to Melanie.

---

---

Eight a.m. on a cold Sunday morning. James Yoon woke up feeling like the wrong side of the bed, bogged down and lethargic. Worse still, he knew it would last for the whole day. Curse this ethereal form bullshit, making him too comfortable outside his body. His room was dark, curtains closed. He was never fond of sunlight, even though Verona was knee-deep in winter by now. Groaning like an old man, James rose from the bed and cleaned himself up in the bathroom. It didn't take long. Soon enough, he was in a plaid shirt and black trousers, heading downstairs for breakfast.

In the dining room, he only saw the serious visage of his father Andrew, chewing on a grilled cheese sandwich in front of his personal tablet. A Samsung tablet, because 'patriotism'. The fifty-something year old man looked just as tired as he was, but more so irritated. Must be a bad morning already. In a probably futile attempt to lighten the mood, James greeted him. "Good morning. Where's eomma?"

"Early bird shift at the clinic," he muttered, intensely focused with whatever was on the screen. "Mom made you some fried rice before leaving." Nodding, he went over to the stove and placed the rest of the rice in a plate, proceeding to sit across from his father. Not much of a reaction from this, either. What's with this man? Not everyday he was this cold. Usually he'd strike up a conversation or at the very least complain out loud. Something must have made him like this and James was bent on knowing why, for some reason.

"Something...troubling you, appa?" he asked in a hesitant tone. In response, Mr. Yoon handed him the tablet. On the screen was a chat with Chad, his father's assistant and co-owner of the Forever Young Grocers on Main Street, him being the owner. Chad had sent him five images, depicting the store's windows shattered into pieces. Not only their store, but other businesses as well. Every single window in Main Street had shattered, seemingly at once. So much broken glass on the street, that was at least 4.9 millennia of bad luck. No wonder his dad was so pissed.

"What in the world...? W-When did this happen? What caused this?" James asked again.

"Everyone's been asking the same questions, apparently and no one has an answer yet." His father took back his tablet and rose from the dining table. "Right now, though, we don't need answers. We need to clean that shit up. Hurry up and finish your breakfast, we're going to do just that."

"Yes, sir."

---

So much things to sweep up. James was now in front of his father's grocery store Main Street, broom in hand. He had just finished tidying up the broken glass that was his family's business and now wanted to help others as well, but man, was his body not making things easy. James was a man at peak physical condition and yet something as trivial as sweeping made his muscles ache. He needed extra energy. And he knew exactly where to get some.

Still with a broom, James struggled to walk towards Simone's and get himself some damn coffee. Unfortunately for him, so did dozens of other people. There was a massive queue of patrons and he inwardly cursed. So far, very few was going his way (or anyone's way if the faces on the people in line told anything) this morning. A quarter of an hour was spent line before James had both a broom and a plastic cup of iced Thai coffee at his disposal, his favorite. Why not a warm cup of Joe in this chilly morning? Because he did not want to burn his tongue, that's why. James has little tolerance for that kind of pain.

Heading back towards the store while sipping on the coffee, he passed by plenty of people, a lot of his fellow high school students among them. Most of them looked more cheerful than he was, which wasn't saying much when the bar was so low. James was confident that Main Street had never seen this many grumpy people here at once. He walked past a short-ish girl with pretty tattoos aplenty before his bad situation took a turn for the even worse. He suddenly sneezed.

Come on, you might say. That wasn't so bad.

Well, that sneeze also ejected his soul from his body. James's incorporeal form could only watch helplessly as his body (and the half-empty coffee in his hands!) fell back onto the pavement, limp without a spirit holding it up. In this ethereal plane, James was stuck to floating and seeing the world is subtle slow motion, every sound from the real world muted and echoing like in water. The experience was usually exhilarating; there was a feeling of freedom it. But alas, such feels were drowned out by rampant frustration evolving into seething anger. Not even his mild-mannered psyche could stop him from shouting one word at the top of his ghosty lungs.

"FUCK!"

Thankfully, no one in the physical world could hear anything he said...or could they? What he just screamed out seemed plenty loud.

---

---

Melanie was having a strange morning, to say the very least. A few days ago, she had discovered her ability to tell odd and whimsical prophecies, and just last night, that ability had reared its odd and whimsical head to spout a new fact for the upcoming future. Normally, when faced with odd and whimsical things, Mel would be drowning in excitement and unadulterated curiosity, but, as things go, she had no recollection of the future she had uttered eight hours before. Waking to a brain full of empty and mundane thoughts was disconcerting. The knowledge she had of knowing she said something but being unable to recall it was frightening, and such a small seed of anxiety grew exponentially through the early hours. Melanie couldn't believer herself for forgetting something that could be so important-- how irresponsible could she be! She laid completely still in bed, rushing through her memories of days past like an amnesiac would, searching fervently for words she could not remember.

It wasn't fair; forgetting her own special words-- none of it was fair.

The light shifted across her bedroom walls, early dawn paleness fading into a November morning that was as bleak and gray as the last. She watched the shadows play along her artifacts, skulls and geodes and totems standing vigilant against her pale pink walls, unaffected by the sun, and still no answers came. Anxiety turned to frustration, and when the old grandfather clock downstairs chimed ten times she sat up, pulling a shaky hand through her sleek hair. Melanie kicked the blankets from her legs and slung them over her bedside, sighing out in defeat as her toes pressed against old wood panels. She couldn't mope all day, that just wouldn't do. There were places to explore, jobs to do, people to greet-- Melanie didn't have time to mope over forgotten futures.

Melanie drifted quietly through the creaking halls of the Bain Funeral Home, head tilted as she sought out the voices of her parents or patrons seeking a traditional mourning. Despite the usual morning noises of the old home, it was otherwise silent. Her parents had left early to visit town, probably. That was fine-- she felt more her age when home alone anyway. The bathroom door squeaked open, as usual, revealing the old tiled washroom that Melanie couldn't help but relate back to old fashioned horror movies. A claw tub sat in the center of the large space, chipped and stained from various shampoos and soaps or other organic materials Melanie felt the need to hold under boiling water to test. Surrounding it were the other essentials of living; a toilet topped off with an old, furry toilet seat cover, a porcelain sink containing a rusty drain and rusty faucet, and an antique cupboard containing towels, bathmats, soaps, and the occasional spider web.

She adored every inch of this old, old room. Just standing in the doorway brought a new sense of life into her. She basked in the gray light descending from the only window for a moment or two before moving to turn the taps once, twice, three times. Water shot from the tubs faucet like a bullet, slamming down into the large basin loudly as the entire room screeched to life. Pipes clanked against the peeling walls, moaning and groaning as they filled with water and heat. Melanie watched the tub fill merrily, smiling with a new found sense of peace as steam began to coat the frosted glass of the window beside her and the mirror that sat above the sink.

Eventually, after throwing in a few dried rose petals and two spoon fulls of Epson salts, she sank into the steamy water, and immediately she felt a new wave of drowsiness hit her. The steam seemed thicker, covering her like a veil of smoke, and her body felt light and airless. Maybe she didn't get enough sleep last night... No, that wasn't right. This feeling was familiar-- this was a prophecy! Her mouth began to mumble, words drifting out into the air and to Melanie herself, words that seemed simple but at the same time sounded like a some sort of fairy tale. Her finger rose automatically, reaching for the first surface she could find-- the window. She traced the words onto the steamed glass, over and over and over again, until she ceased uttering the prophecy, the grandfather clock chimed eleven times, and Melanie fell back in to her own mind.

"Ah- Jesus..." Her head hung slightly, pulsating hotly as the effects of her abilities began to pass. She splashed her face with lukewarm water, blinking rapidly through dots of darkness and stars until all that she felt was slight nausea. How much time had passed? Her mind felt wiped, why? What was she meant to remeb-

Words were traced into the glass in the window, messy and odd, but there. Her prophecy.



"Diamonds?" She muttered, finding such a thing both improbable and utterly magical. A smile spread across her lips and, in an effort to see this magic happen, she bathed and took care of her morning rituals quickly before rushing to her room to change. As she slipped into an oversize sweater, though, her phone began to chirp incessantly, a signal that she had missed a text from before. Her eyebrows rose with new found curiosity, and she snatched up the old thing quickly, squinting to read through the message she had received from Charlie.



Another message buzzed in her hand a moment or so later.



Curisosity made her heart pound heavily, and her face split into an uncontrollable grin as she sent back a very excited response.



Finding herself in a race against, well, herself, Melanie slipped into a simple and warm outfit, snatched up her wallet and phone, and hurried down the stairs. A bike ride later, she found herself looking at something she didn't quite expect. Main Street looked no different than usual, save for the streets and sidewalks that sparkled like a kaleidoscope in the afternoon light. Diamonds, thousands of shining, glittering diamonds, covered the streets. Her prophecy came true.... Right? Something underfoot creaked against Melanie's boots, and her eyes drifted downwards as she realized that perhaps she was a bit off. The sparkling bits that she saw weren't diamonds at all, oh no. It was glass. Hundreds of shards of glass. Looking closer at the shop fronts and apartments that filled Main Street her mind pieced together the scenario: someone (or... something) had destroyed every single window in the area, and the people of Verona were left to clean up the oddly dream-like mess.

Melanie chewed on her nails thoughtfully, and turned back towards the library. She would have to investigate further after Charlie arrived.

---

---

November: a fall month by definition, but to Jackson, it felt like the dead of winter already. It was amazing what a difference only a few degrees of latitude had on the weather. Back home in Alabama, according to his weather app, it was 77°F and not a cloud in sight. In Verona, it was the polar opposite. Cloudy, cold, with ice already coating the streets and sidewalk. It seemed the local residents of Verona, while accustomed to the weather, did not seem to like it. But to Jackson, it was all novel, which made it slightly more bearable. On top of everything, there was talk of a storm... The "Storm of the Century" they were calling it; it was the only thing they seemed to talk about when Jackson put on the news. He wondered what the storm would bring with it... a blizzard? Maybe. Despite being maybe a little nervous about it, Jackson had seen plenty of hurricanes in his days from back home, so this shouldn't be anything he couldn't handle.

It was Sunday, and Jackson was surprised to see Verona was a lot like the South in many respects despite the opposite weather. Stores closed, people crammed into the local Baptist church... Of course, Jackson attended church, as he always did. But he never did pay attention during the service. He merely went in, said some half-hearted prayers in his head during the service, and left to go home. This Sunday was no different.

Being careful to watch his step on the dangerous black ice that formed on the sidewalks and listening to the salt crunch underneath the heel of his boot, Jackson took a look around him at the scenery he was still getting to. All the deciduous trees were bare, their scraggly branches reaching up to the sky. The pines, however, looked as green as ever. As a child, Jackson always thought evergreens were "smarter" than their deciduous cousins. In the winter, there was still sunlight, albeit much less, and shedding your leaves from a little cold seemed like a weakness to him.

Jackson arrived at his tiny house at the edge of town. He could have taken his old, black pickup truck, but he wanted to feel the brisk air on his face and get some exercise along the way. Unlocking the door, he let the heated air warm his body as he dropped his coat on the couch.

Jackson enjoyed having his own place. He couldn't bear living with his parents. The freedom was something he wasn't used to, and he still found it annoying to cook, clean, and do the laundry, but it was a small price that he was willing to pay. As he turned on the stove to cook some eggs for breakfast, Jackson turned on the news and listened to it as he cooked.

Before he had a chance to tune into whatever was being reported, Jackson's phone vibrated loudly on the counter. It was a call, from his mother. With a small sigh, he plucked the phone up from the counter.

"Hello?" the Southern accent was very noticeable in his voice.

"Jackson, honey," came his mothers voice.

"Hey, Mom. Good morning. Why you calling?"

"Did you go to church today?" she dodged his question.

Jackson held the phone to his ear with one hand, scrambling the eggs with the spatula in his other hand.

"Yes, of course I did..."

"Good. How's the weather up there? I checked the news. They said some storm's gonna be hittin' the West Coast soon. Are you prepared?"

"Yeah, probably just gonna be some snow or rain or whatever."

"Remember to buy some water before it hits."

"Yes, Mom, I know."

There was a bit of silence.

"Are you gonna come back for Thanksgiving?" came his mother's question that Jackson was dreading.

Jackson turned off the burner and tilted the pan so the eggs fell neatly onto a breakfast plate.

"Maybe, Mom. Right now, they're not advising any kind of travel. I'll talk to you about it once this all passes and the holiday gets a little closer."

"I want you to come."

Jackson rolled his eyes but made sure not to sigh on the phone.

"I know, Mom. I'll see what I can do. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Alright, Jackson. I ran into your old football coach at church today. He was asking if that... junior college up there in Washington's got a team." The phrase 'junior college' came out of her lips with a certain sense of disgust.

"I don't know, I've really got to focus on making good grades and money, right now anyway."

His mother sighed.

"Okay. Enjoy your Sunday, Jackson."

"You too, Mom."

He ended the call quickly and rubbed his forehead. Even when he managed to escape his hell, his parents still want him doing shit that he just didn't want to. Typical...

The drone of the television came back to Jackson's attention as he sat at the table to eat his eggs. He sniffled a little, still feeling some lingering effects of that preculiar cold he had caught, but thankfully it had gone away.

The report was on Main Street... It sounded like there had been some kind of break-in? No, a... break-out? But nothing was stolen? How could gas explode outward? It wasn't some kind of natural gas explosion? No...

Jackson stopped eating to focus on the television for a minute and listen to the enigmatic story and interviews.

There was so much going on lately in what Jackson had perceived to be a quiet, little town. First the storm, then this, not to mention... This weird electrical thing going on with his body. He had no idea what it was, and it scared him to death. But he didn't want to think about that. He needed to distract himself... Getting up, he dropped his dishes into the sink—he'd see to them later—and grabbed his coat.

It was time to rack up some good karma and head over to Main Street to help out. It seemed to be what the rest of the town was doing anyway. Maybe he'd run into some familiar faces along the way.

In his few months of living in Verona, Jackson had been acquainted with many of the townsfolk. His closest friend that he had made as of currently was a guy named Cal Thompson, around his age. Definitely a nice kid all around. Jackson had also come across a girl who everyone called "V," along with an assortment of other people each with names that Jackson tried very hard to remember. He was relived to meet people, though; he was afraid making friends in a small town would be much harder.

Climbing into his truck, he drove down to Main Street. After parking and walking over, Jackson saw there seemed to be a lot of confusion about. People, reporters... Definitely a strange event. Jackson walked about and looked at the glass, saw the strange way in which it had all been broken. He would have blamed it on the weather if the glass hadn't been pushed from the inside out... Definitely odd.

Jackson went about quietly, helping random storekeepers clean up class, board up windows and store goods.

---

---

Cassandra slowly opened her eyes feeling a bit better after feeling really sick for the last three days, as she looked at her phone she rarely ever felt this sick before but now it seemed that the worse of it had passed now. She rolled out of bed went and started to get her clothes on for the day, Cassandra remembered that her aunt and uncle had left town for the weekend which left her in her younger brother's care. Which wasn't all that bad he came in and checked up on her every hour or so or if she called for him, but before she got sick was what weirded her out the most. When she worked at Simone's that night she spilled some hot coffee on herself, she remembered the pain very well and even getting the blisters and her skin was red. But when she entered the bathroom she watched as it all started to heal up and quickly as well but that of course made her feel very light headed which was when she asked to go home early.

Cassandra made her way down the stairs where she saw her brother Anthony was sitting at the dinner table eating away at his breakfast, when he saw her he got up and moved over towards her. "Hey Cass, how are you feeling?" He asked Cassandra turned and looked at her brother and smiled softly at him. "I'm feeling a lot better thank you." Cassandra said softly as she walked over and grabbed a paper plate, then she grabbed a bag of mini powdered doughnuts and pulled out six which was her usual breakfast in the morning.

"Ya know every time you eat those they make you look like you stuffed your face into a bag of powdered coke." Anthony said with a laugh as Cassandra moved over and sat down across from him and rolled her eyes slightly. "But they are pretty good." Cassandra said with a light laugh as she grabbed one of the mini doughnuts and started eating. She finished eating her breakfast and crumpled up the paper plate and dropped it into the trashcan she turned to look at her brother. "I'm going to head out and get some fresh air and a walk, feeling better and i'll text you if I need anything." Cassandra said as she hugged him, they were really close to each other since their parents died they always looked out for one another their aunt and uncle were always busy to when growing up.

Cassandra opened up a closet door and grabbed her winter coat overhearing the news from the night before when she was feeling better having the news on, the weather had been pretty weird the last few days to say the least. She pulled out her iPhone putting her set of earbuds in she picked a random song and started singing along with it. As she walked down the sidewalk she eventually made it to main street seeing about half of the people of Verona cleaning up shattered glass. It was weird since she didn't even hear or feel any strong winds the night before, Cassandra continued to sing to herself until she made it to Simone's seeing the windows were shattered as well. Even though she wasn't working today she went over and asked if they needed help, which they said yes and she went to grab a broom and a dust bin. She went back out and started sweeping up along the store front.

---

---

The soft, melodious alarm echoed through Ava's room, bringing her to a slow, gentle awakening. Her half-conscious self groaned and rolled over, struggling to turn off the alarm. She rolled back over and stared at the ceiling, unwilling to accept the fact that morning had arrived on schedule and her day needed to start.

The Latina girl rolled out of bed, stumbling out of her room and down the hallway to the bathroom. After a short two minute period of splashing her face and brushing her teeth, she turned on the shower and grabbed a towel from the cabinet, quickly undressing and stepping into the warm, glorious water.

She finally managed to wash her hair and shave her legs with only a couple nicks. Frankly, she was impressed her legs didn't look like a grizzly bear had mauled them; shaving had never been her cup of tea, especially at 6:30 in the morning. By the time she had dried off and gotten dressed into a pair of black skinny jeans, loose hanging white shirt, and a purple flannel, the clock read 6:53.

Crap, Ava, you're going to be late for work.

She grabbed her phone, keys, and wallet in a rush, ignoring the multiple texts and phone calls she had received during her time in the shower. Sprinting out the front door, Ava ignored the cold of the morning as it froze her still-wet hair to her scalp and made her way down the street to a banged up 2003 Chevy, jumping inside and throwing her purse into the passenger seat while she turned on the car.

Ava took a moment to warm her hands, cupping them around her mouth and blowing on them with warm air. The instant she exhaled, she regretted it. A powerful gust of warm air knocked her hands away from her body and slammed them into the steering wheel, causing a yelp of pain and a couple expletives to escape from her mouth as she cradled her cold, aching fingers.

Things like that had been happening a lot over the past few days. Random gusts of wind, being able to detect people just by their breathing patterns, sensing how hard a storm was blowing while indoors, et cetera. While it intrigued Ava, it also made her nervous. Randomly developing the ability to blow doors open from across the room was cool, most certainly, however it left her with the sinking feeling that her body was changing, and she wasn't certain it was for the better.

She had avoided mentioning the new developments to anyone in the town but her parents. When she showed them what she could do, at first they were skeptical, however over the course of the past few days they had almost chalked it up to having strong lungs.

If only you were as gullible as them, Ava. You life would be so much simpler. Focus on finals, get to work on time, go out with friends, but nooo, you have to be intelligent.

Ava jerked her focus back to reality, changing the gears of her car and pulling out of the driveway, making her way over to Main Street. As she parked next to Simone's at 7:05, she stopped for a moment as she saw a couple of flashing lights driving down the road. Ava grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, gasping as the site unfolded before her.

Every window on Main Street had been shattered, blasted outwards onto the street. Bits of glass shrapnel dust clung to wooden benches and parked cars, coating every single inch of the sidewalks. A few people were already working on cleanup duty, however aside from them, the only people on the street were the Sheriff and a couple of other law enforcers.

Ava quickly walked inside, wrapping her apron around her waist and tying it behind her back. "Carlos, what's going on with Main Street?"

Her coworker looked up from the clipboard he was writing on and smiled at her. "Good morning to you too, Ava."

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a playful slap on the shoulder and clocked in, moving over to a stack of cups as she began to make herself a drink. "Good morning, love. Now, seriously, what's going on? Every window out there is shattered."

Carlos dropped his playful smile and shook his head. "No one knows. Sheriff says it happened late last night or early this morning, sometime before six. All the windows just exploded outwards, like there had been explosions in all of the shops. But oddly enough, its just the glass. Heard a couple of people saying the storm did it." He moved over to the door that led to the back of the shop, pushing it open with his back as he shrugged. "Who knows? And don't think I didn't notice you were late, love." He said laughed as the door swung shut behind him, leaving Ava to wonder about the possible answers to everyone's questions.

The morning shift was usually pretty slow, however today what seemed like every single person in the whole town was showing up at Simone's for coffee. The hours ticked by quickly, filled with a flurry of coffee creamers and whipped cream, however the question of the windows was the hot topic on everyone's tongue. Ava discussed it and gossiped with her regulars over the course of the morning, all of them bringing her the latest news, however no one could give a concrete answer as to why.

People are saying the storm did it... What if the storm has something to do with the air as of late?

^{Location - Benji's Home ⤔ Main Street
Interaction - Brooks @DinoNuts}

---

---

You stand at the balcony everyday to watch the sunset; it becomes less spectacular with each day. Duller and duller over the horizon line.

His hand closed around the edge of the windowsill - a grimace twisted his lips. Sometimes he thought to himself with a furrow edging his brow, that the world should shroud itself in a cloud. Then, once in a while, when the sun peaks through the heavy veil that seizes the morning, the experience would end more preciously. Through the dark, a source of light. Perhaps.

A frown tugged his lips and Benji turned away from the curtains with a cup of coffee in his hands. No sun today, looming against the high pines that surrounded Verona. The cold swung around him, icy and bitter. A benefit to his newfound power: no more money spent on heating. Yet, the warmth still felt supreme in its absence. His hands curled around the mug of his cup and he breathed in the scent of his drink, letting the heat seep into his nose, his throat, deep into his chest.

“Benji..." his radio crackled, brought home for the night. Always on shift in small town Verona. They could afford it, for how little things happen.

Today, Sunday, meant no work, usually. The policy: no one disturbed Benji's days off unless something urgent arose. Or, someone needed a shift covered, which meant Brooks would personally call him. He still groaned. Still grumbled and threw his undershirt on. His coffee mug he left abandoned on the counter top, while his hands curled over the radio to reply.

He pressed the button mid grumble, thrusting a hand through the end of his uniform sleeve. "I gottya, Brooks. I'm assuming it's pretty drastic, having to call me on my one day, huh," Benji inquired, leaving off the 'for Verona,' at the end because practically everything bad that happened, mild or otherwise, was drastic here. "I'll grab you something from the diner. No freebies, though, Brooks, not even for the boss. I'd charge you for my time spent in your company," he waited for a moment, smiling to himself, before tacking on, "If I didn't get such a thrill from watching you suffer. But, I do like money more. I might have to convince the county to up my pay, eh?"

All in good fun, probably. Usually. Benji never bothered clarifying, maybe that's why Brooks liked him.



Main Street sacked. The headlines stirred in Benji's mind - New Town Hooligans Vandalize Main Street. He didn't have a right to roll his eyes at the thought, since it had been the first to pop into his own. The assumptions alone seemed awful, yet, among the possibilities, it would remain on the board of potential suspects. No one could deny that, and Benji, oddly enough, couldn't deny the likeliness of it. Still.

For a moment, Benji stood still at the corner, staring at his hands to think of the possibilities. He connected the dots, let his mind wander for just a second. The powers. The windows. Three days was still too early to think of set-in-stone possibilities. He wouldn't dwell on it. Plus, the breakfast in his hands would grow cold with too much speculation. Benji began a brisk pace from his own state issued car toward Brook's, easily spotted in the crowd of vehicles. People crowded various shops, either cleaning, taking pictures, or just ogling. Generic things.

"Sheriff," Benji announced, setting one of the bags he carried on top of Brooks car, "I expect some form of payment. 'M no errand boy. I'll delay that for a sitrep, though." He dug into his own bag, before leaning against the car to eat and observe. Eventually, Benji would leave Brooks' presence to assist in boarding up windows. The amount of preparation it would take, plus the plywood - this had to happen only days before the meteorologist's prediction. He'd curse God if he believed in him, the universe being the next likely culprit. And then the undeniable feeling that everything surrounding them felt sinister, despite the most probable story tying itself to a few dumb kids. He just couldn't put a finger on it.

Benji's eyes fell onto the back of Brooks' head, eyebrows furrowing in his deep thought. They drifted off, downward, wondering at the chill running down his spine even though cold no longer had sway over him. His hairs stood on end, and he let his eyes shut for a brief second. Benji let out a deep breath before continuing his breakfast, reducing any suspicion in his behavior. The scope of things beyond his comprehension aggravated him; this wasn't something he could solve, not any time soon. Not with as little information as he'd been given.

Oddly enough, Benji felt like he'd be cursing the universe a lot more in the coming future. A lot more. He sighed.

The room was quite and utterly still. A thin ray of sunlight penetrated the half drawn blinds, illuminating the figure of a young man slumped over his laptop's keyboard, his head cushioned by a thick stack of newspapers. The traces of his previous day, night and early morning were clear across the room, from the half finished pizza to the essay covered in high-lighter marks and notations, all pointing clearly to him having not left this room for some time and having been awake for most of it. The only concession that seemed to have been made to the passing of time was the well used coffee machine in the corner and the stack of used cups beside it.

Not six inches from the sleeping boy's ear sat a mobile phone. Screen scratched and ports abused, it sat waiting to perform its duty at the appointed time. Soon, the moment would come to wake its snoozing master and the day would begin. Well, the day began several hours ago but at least the boy would wake up. The seconds dragged by and the silence of the room seemed destined to be broken by the wailing of an alarm and the grunts of a newly roused 'adult'.

Here it comes...

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Nothing.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Nada.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Zip.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Zilch.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

And... showtime. Andrew Marlowe jerked upright with a start and mumbled exclamation. One hand slammed down on the mobile, sending it skittering off the table and bouncing over the floor, some reward for loyal service. The other slapped the keyboard out of habit, waking the laptop and displaying the article he'd been reviewing. It was one of Cal's and therefore barely needed editing, being pretty much on point in all regards. Much like its author, its main flaw was that it was too self critical, too lacking in self confidence. Still, when you're an editor you have to at least try to present an appearance of neutrality and go through everyone's work with the same fine tooth comb. It was good practise too.

Yawning hugely and stretching, Andy stood up from the chair for the first time in... what? He glanced at the time on the laptop screen; noon. So, nearly sixteen hours, including nearly about twelve hours of sleep. It was odd, he reflected as he began to make the day's first cup of coffee, that he'd crashed after a mere four hours of work. Generally he was able to squeeze out twice as much or more before his rebellious eyes gave out and forced him to stop. And twelve hours was a long time sleep, especially given the amount of caffeine ingested beforehand.

Though that in itself is a bit sad came the next thought. You know something's gone wrong when it's odd to sleep for a good amount of time. Still, the coffee was a welcome shot in the arm or, alternatively, kick in the head. It reminded him why he'd set an alarm for a mid-Sunday; he was expected in town, he and Aston has some Herald related errands to run. He snagged a slice of cold pizza and began the arduous process of selecting which books, papers and essays would travel with him out into the wide world. When he'd finishing the pizza and the packing, he slung now stuffed back over his shoulder and left the messy room to its silence.

Outside the Verona Herald's offices, Andy scowled at the sun and fumbled with his car-keys. He liked the winter, dark nights and shorter days made it somehow more acceptable to work all night and never sleep. And, if I say so myself he thought with a silly grin I make scarves and jumpers look good. His internal self congratulations were interrupted when he arrived at the Main Street and saw a half formed mob of people milling about the place. Most of the glass had been gathered up and packed away but some was still visible and not many shop owners had covered up the wreckage of their windows yet.

After parking frantically and asking a few people for the rough details, Andy wiped out his phone and sent off a quick note.

To Ashton
Get to the highstreet, something weird has happened, i need you to ask people for their storeis.. and scrape up my remains, i'm going to talk tot he sheriff

Message sent, he approached the two men who no doubt least wanted to be approached; Sheriff Lockwood and Deputy Harlow. Neither man seemed to have noticed him yet, which was good and bad. The Sheriff had no patience for questions, generally, and would probably try to get Harlow to head him off. Not this time, Sheriff, this time you're all mine. Oh goody.

Stepping forward, he cleared his throat loudly and stood ready with an innocent smile, a blank paper pad and ready pen. "Good day Sheriff, care to comment on the unusual events on the High Street last night? Freak weather conditions? Vandals? People are eager to know!"

Thursday, 10th November
A man's scream echoed in an apartment room twenty-one as the neighbors heard the scream. Some of them thought of calling the police and wanted to check on the Hawkins twins, but they decided not to as they thought they were watching some sort of horror film. The twins, Ashton and Isaac, had been living in this apartment for a couple months after they moved out of that horrible mobile park. This apartment were not any better than the mobile homes, but at least one of the rooms was not a meth lab. Life resumed outside of the apartment room twenty-one. Inside the room, it was another story. A stunned Isaac dropped a bowl of noodles and it shattered into pieces as he saw one of the characters of a television show was sitting on his brother's bed.

The character looked at him as he dropped the bowl and it broke. "Why the hell did you drop the bowl?" he demanded an answer as he got up from his bed and tried to pick up the pieces. "You know how much the bowl cost?"

Isaac still could hear his brother's demanding tone, the tone that Ashton made when he is mad. Was he dreaming? Did he overslept work again and Ashton just forgot to wake him as he went out? He went to pinch himself to make sure that all of this was not a dream at all. He was not dreaming as he pinched his arm three times before his brother's tone caught him off guard. "Hello?! Are you still here?" he asked while putting the broken pieces of the bowl into the trash can.

"Have you seen yourself lately?" Isaac said.

"Of course I have! My eyes are fucked up! We were suppose to go to the hospital." Ashton answered his brother's question. "Are you telling me that something else is happening to me?"

Isaac was about to say what was wrong until he saw his brother transforming into... someone else? His eyes were wide open as his entire body was quickly changing. It took around fifteen seconds to complete the transformation, but Issac knew who his brother was... He was looking at himself, like looking at a big mirror. He stepped away for Ashton as his body was shaking and he started to breathe quickly. Confused, Ashton walked towards his brother and asked, "What is wron-."

Even his voice sounded like Isaac's.

Ashton quickly covered his mouth as he heard his brother's voice and he saw that his brother was trying to say something. He immediately ran towards the bathroom to look at the mirror. And he saw his brother instead of Ashton in front of the mirror. It was too much to take in all at once. He did look like his brother from his hair to his current outfit of the day. None in his situation would have a plan already set, even Ashton was shocked by this transformation. Then he started to have a headache as his breathing became faster. He tried to leave the bathroom, but everything was moving around so quickly. Instead of running, he placed one knee on the ground and held tight on the shower curtain. All of a sudden, he passed out.

Sunday 13th November
It had been three days since Ashton transformed into his brother and the character of the poster. Things have been awkward for the twins as they stopped talking to each other since the events that happened on Friday night. Issac refuses to look and talk to his twin brother, taking extra shifts at work and not going home on his breaks. But, he was trapped at home for the day because it was Sunday and most of the workers (including his boss) go to church on that day. Issac started to watch the television while he heard something in Ashton's room, but he could care less as he kept eyes on the screen.

Once Ashton came out of his room, he was dressed up with his usual outfit and a pair of sunglasses. He grabbed the keys to the apartment and put it in his pocket. Ashton looked at his brother and said to him, "I am going outside now. I will be back later."

"Good." Issac only said as he sounded happy that he had the house to himself. With that response, Ashton immediately left his apartment, not wanting to start another argument with his own brother. Their relationship was doing so well until he got sick and got his 'powers.' He was not sure if things would ever go back to normal, but he was willing to fix things between them. Regardless, Ashton needed to go outside and breath some fresh air. Verona has not changed at all since he got sick and missed the small quiet town. It was time to visit the good old Salem Diner on main street. It was only a few minute walk to the main street, given that he lived in the 'bad part of town.' Then he heard his phone go off like crazy.

He grabbed it and saw that his best friend sent a text moments ago:

BORED LETS MEET

It was Abigail as she always that sends text like this one. He kept on walking to main street as he tried to reply to her text. After all, he still has to deal with his 'powers' without freaking everyone else out. It took him a few second before he thought of something to say while trying to sound odd at all. He started to type as he did not notice that the whole town had arrived before he saw the majority of Verona there. Most, if not all, of the windows were broken and the cleanup was getting started. Ashton wanted to help out his community as much as he can. He deleted the original text and typed the new message until he got another text from his other friend, Andrew.

Get to the highstreet, something weird has happened, i need you to ask people for their storeis.. and scrape up my remains, i'm going to talk tot he sheriff

Ashton looked at the text and just replied with a 'yep.' Then, he got back into finishing the text from Abigail and sent it once he was done.

I can't hang out right now. Main Street is a mess and I was asked to interview the store owners by my 'boss.' Maybe later?

He finally got to work, approaching one of the store owners while he was clearing up. "Sir, could you tell me what was going on?" he asked while getting his phone ready to type the owner's answer. He was not out of the apartment for a few minutes and he got back to work.

---

---

^{Thursday, November 10th}

Veronica was wrapped up in the warm blanket like a human burrito, her body sinking down into the couch cushion and her head laying in her lover's lap. They'd been watching old episodes of Martin since three o'clock that afternoon, the warmhearted young man wanting to make sure that Veronica had completely gotten over her brief illness. Episodes and hours passed, and neither of them moved from their comfortable spots on the living room couch; Tyler had only moved once to use the bathroom. Soon, the clock stuck ten, and it was time for Veronica to head home. When she went to unravel herself, however, the young man held her in place.

"Don't go," he said, not taking his eyes off the television, "stay a little while longer." Veronica sighed and settled back in place for a few moments, before quickly rolling off the couch and onto the floor. The blanket had come unraveled, and her boyfriend, unsurprisingly, did not appear amused. "You're always leaving early," he said, rolling his eyes before reaching for the power button on the remote. Veronica just shrugged her shoulders, unfazed.

"You know I gotta get home before midnight, my auntie doesn't play that shit." As she spoke, Veronica neatly folded the blanket and set it down in the spot she'd been laying.

"You're a grown ass woman, V," the young man said with a sneer, "you don't have to listen to your auntie." Veronica laughed and waved her hand, sliding her socks back on her feet. The couple had been together for almost seven months, the longest that Veronica had ever been in a relationship. However, while Tyler thought things were starting to get serious, Veronica was just having a little bit of fun. She'd made her intentions clear from the start of the partnership, but that didn't stop the poor boy from catching feelings. After V pulled her boots and jacket on, she grabbed her car keys from the coffee table and leaned over to give her man a kiss, but he turned his head at the last minute. "I still don't see why you can't just move in with me," he said for the third and final time that month.

"I've already told you that I'm not going to move in with—"

"Why the hell not?" Tyler stood up from his seat on the couch, towering over Veronica by a good ten inches. Veronica raised her eyebrows in surprise, her lip curling. Not once since they'd gotten together had Tyler been the one to raise his voice. He pushed her against the wall and stood just a few inches away, his fingers curling and then uncurling again, and his ears turning a deep shade of red. "Why is it that every time I make a suggestion that will benefit our relationship in the long run—"

"I'm not having this conversation with you again," Veronica said. She tried to push the boy away, but he would not budge. He'd even put both of his hands against the wall, trapping her in.

That was when she officially started to lose her shit.

Her hands curled into fists as she looked the stupid boy right in his eye, tilting her head back because of the height difference. "You're fucking with the wrong one, Tyler." V could feel her eyes and cheeks burn as she thought about what she'd yell at him next, but was surprised and confused when the boy started to back away. His eyes were wide with fear, and his mouth wide open. It was in that moment that she noticed the flickering lights.

"You a-are a m-monster..." the boy said, his eyes glued on her hands that were still curled at her sides. Following his gaze and lifting her hands to her face, V could see that the tips of her fingers were glowing. She stared at her hands for a few moments, her anger slowly subsiding. The lights had stopped flickering, and she could feel a cool breeze on her cheeks. Looking up, Veronica saw that the front door was fully open, and the keys had been taken off the hook. Tyler was nowhere to be found.

---

^{Sunday, November 13th}

For as long as she could remember, Veronica never had been a morning person. She never understood people who could bound out of bed, put on a pot of coffee and be instantly ready to face the day. For her, the lure of a cozy bed far outweighed that of a hot shower. Veronica was the kind of girl who set her alarm for six-thirty in the morning, planning to get up, go for a run, and still have time to shower and make a cup of coffee before arriving at class early to impress the professor.

But, like all the best laid plans, this one never came to fruition. Inevitably the snooze button was just a groggy swipe of the hand away, giving her relief from facing the reality of the day in 5 minute bursts. After the tenth "burst," however, Veronica decided that it was finally time to get out of bed. Her finger found the off button instinctively, as if it needed no help from her brain. When her eyes finally peeled open, her vision was blurry. It took her a few minutes of swiping her hands around her bed before she finally found her prescription glasses. Like most days, her very first thought was, “I wish I could sleep longer,” The comfort and safety of her bed seemed to scream loudest in the mornings.

V dragged herself out of bed and stumbled towards the closet, wiping the sleep from her eyes and, in an almost robotic fashion, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt—whichever was conveniently residing at the top of her "clean clothes" pile. Knowing that she wouldn't have the energy to shower in the morning, she'd taken her shower before she went to bed. When her teeth were brushed and her hair fluffed, Veronica took the time to look at the messages on her cell phone.

She picked up the device carefully, letting out a breath when she'd finally unlocked it and made it to her message screen without any problems. She skimmed through the messages quickly, furrowing her brow when she read something about windows being bashed in on Main Street. The only message she chose to actually open, however, was Abigail's.

WHERE U AT

V smiled at the simple text, and quickly typed out a response.

To: Ab

---

---

Location: The Office --> Main Street

Interacting With: The Trash That is Her Very Life

_{Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide.}

---

---

Thank God for editors. That was a joke, of course. No one in the industry, in any industry, was ever thankful for editors. Least of all editors that did not know or respect the simple courtesy of not ringing the phone every half hour. Some people might've been glad to have someone so concerned with their well-being but it only took one phone call for Vern Bryant to realize that the phone calls weren't to offer sweet words of recovery. The first call happened when Vern had just opened up the flood gates and let loose a deluge of blood that she hadn't seen since the first time she saw Carrie. At first Vern had assumed she would need to invest in some extra strength pads before she realized it came from her nose. In her defense, there was so much of it that it could've come from anywhere. It utterly ruined her favorite shirt. Probably for the best, all told, it could do with a wash.

The voice on the other end, as Vern was having the mother of all nosebleeds, her editor was screaming about the dailies. Dailies, the black and white comic strips that people ignore in favor of the sudoku or word jumble and crossword on the same page. She was behind. Normally she submits her strips weeks in advance but Vern was nothing if not lazy and the dailies in the advance bin had run fresh out. With her nose gushing like a tsunami of blood she was in no position to draw or hilariously comment on the singles dating scene. She let her editor, the man could yell with the best of them, tire himself out before she promptly hung up to clean herself up.

That was Vern's life for three days, interspersed with headaches and a desire to die - though that could've been unrelated to the bloody aching nightmare that was her three day existence. And every time she was blessed with the ability to sleep the damn phone would ring - and not her mobile which was turned off lest she risk the urge to check her various dating profiles (seriously, how did so many people swipe left, was she that undesirable?) - this was the landline and the last time she unplugged the land line her landlord had a piss fit.

There was little to do other than listen to the angry messages of her editor as he swore up and down about how unprofessional Vern was being. She didn't ask for blood to pour and Aspirin to be as effective as natural cures. At least now she was recovered and could focus on her art work again. The first thing she did upon feeling better was turn on the television; it helped her relax and focus. Or so she told people that asked. In truth it just meant she spent more time watching soaps and daytime talk than actually drawing, inking, writing, and coloring. Of course, this time the television was focused on strange events around town. Vern scoffed as she read the news ticker. Meteorologists whining about some rain like this wasn't the pacific northwest. Glass shattering on main street probably just meant vandals. Maybe if someone had gotten cut by the glass it would be a story. Vern flipped channels...it was Sunday..Sunday programming was largely sports related...which meant it was a cartoon sort of day.

When Vern told her prospective dates that she enjoyed a fair amount of cartoons she was met with the inevitable question about her age. Well fuck them if they couldn't appreciate animation. No amount of her praising it or stating how animation was her desire could salvage it and she was starting to think that she could be into theoretical physics and still her dates would want to bail before the entree was even served. Cartoons just provided the biggest, most obvious out. It bothered Vern that she was thinking so much about her love life, or lack thereof, but it helped put her in the proper mindset. Her bad experiences were 70 percent of her hit comic strip; the other thirty being anecdotes pulled from the internet and changed around to better fit a four to eight panel format.

With a character singing about flexibility, love, and trust and Vern scoffing at it being a rerun, she turned to her work station. After brushing the empty fast food soda cups and wrappers for various snacks and foods were brushed to the floor, (where they would subsequently be forgotten to be taken out with the trash), adding to the pile that surrounded her work station like a heap of garbage and reminders of dinners from months ago, she looked at the splotch of blood that had stained her paper when she last tried to draw. No. A cursory glance showed that this was different blood. When did she bleed on her paper? It didn't matter really, she'd just get a new sheaf.

It was at this moment, with Vern reaching for paper at her storage drawer to the right of her drawing table, that her vision was obscured by an onslaught of color. It was so bright. It was so sudden. It was so terrifying. Vern shouted and fell off her chair, falling onto her floor with an audible and very vocal thud. The impact was lessened considering she had a pile of wrappers from various eateries and potato chip bags to cushion her fall. Nothing seemed broken. Physically, anyway. What the hell was that? It was like someone just poked a colored marker in her eyes. Or some sort of weird flashlight.

Laying on the floor, surrounded by the literal trash that was her life, Vern looked at her palms, initially wanting to make sure that her hands weren't harmed. They were here life blood after all. Another bright flash caused Vern to jerk her head to the left and focus on the yellow wrapper and wonder when the fuck she ate a McChicken. She hated McChickens. She always, ALWAYS, got two big macs and a fry if they were hot from the fryer (no one wanted those heat lamp pieces of shit) and a Sprite. Sometimes a McFlurry if she was in the mood. How old was that wrapper. She even saw another wrapper behind it, this one had flecks of lettuce on it. TWO McChickens? Vern was glad she wasn't feeling ill anymore because she might've thrown up then and there, and if blood was a bitch to get out, so too was puke in the hair and clothing.

Not wanting to look at the foul garbage pile that she was currently laying in, though wondering if she could make a trash angel all the same, she turned her gaze back upwards, blinking as her eyes were met not with the water stains from the upstairs apartment and their shitty plumping and shower constantly breaking, but colors. Bright, vibrant, physical colors. Blinking didn't make them vanish nor did closing her eyes and opening them up again. But as she coughed, hands tightening and clenching involuntarily as she did, the colors vanished just as the phlegm sprayed onto the floor. That wasn't good - there was still some blood there, she could see it on her shirt. Might've been old. A quick poke of the droplet confirmed that, no, it was fresh, and now there was a bit of a smear near the neckline. Well, if anyone asked she'd say it was ketchup.

But what the hell was that? Those colors. Why were they so bright? So...

She needed some air. Being cooped up for...well about a week or so was clearly doing a number on her mental state. The main street was probably a fine place to clear her head. Nothing cheered her up like the common man doing menial labor. "My body smells like trans fats." she lamented as she smelled her arm, detecting a somewhat noticeable hint of Big Whopper McChicken and sadness. That was fine. It was all fine. Lifting herself out of her trash pile (and making sure to look back and see the little imprint she had made with the wrappers), Vern left the comfort of her trash heap and ventured outside.

Her destination? Main street. Wherever the glass was. And then maybe McDonalds or something. She could really go for all beef patties with the special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, all on a sesame seed bun. Oh what the hell. It was Sunday.

She could have two.

---

Location: The Apartment --> Main Street

Interacting With: Verona's Finest Folk

_{Let this be our little secret
No one needs to know we're feeling
(Higher and higher and higher)}

---

---

It wasn't a hangover. It COULDN'T be a hangover for the very important reason that Karen didn't drink. Not since her twenty first birthday and even then that was less 'drinking' and more 'doing a couple of body shots off her room mate because she was awkward and succumbed to peer pressure'. Well, at least she no longer succumbed to peer pressure. She needed peers for that. Ffiona was a peer. But Fifi wasn't about to pressure Karen Scaletti into anything.

But then what was the explanation for the throbbing headaches she had suffered through? The sleep was nice, but not when waking up meant a miserable time that college kids and immature adults equated with a really, really good night. It was telling that her first thought upon waking wasn't the hangover thought, but that she missed work. Work was fun! She got to talk to the whole community...or at least those that still bothered listening to talk radio in the morning. Her presence had to have been missed.

Karen rose from her bed, her home, of sorts, for the past three days. It was a wonder she hadn't twisted and turned the sheets off the mattress, but Karen had always been a still sleeper. One of her mothers compared Karen's style of sleep to that of a corpse; Karen had taken it as a compliment but she wasn't sure now if it actually was. No use worrying about it now. Before doing anything else, Karen made her bed, taking time to make sure the bedsheets were tucked under the mattress and that the pillows were fluffed nicely. It was like a hotel service except there was no mint on her pillow. For the best, really; Karen never really cared for mints.

When she left the comfort of her room she heard the mewling of her cats. Had she remembered to feed them? It had been a hazy few days that she honestly didn't remember. The mewlings she heard weren't those of anger. One of them was circling her feet while the other one glanced up from her position on the back of her couch. Why did she buy that stupid couch? It was pleather. She was one person, she didn't need a couch. She didn't entertain guests all that often. Still, she had to feed her babies. "You two aren't the only ones hungry today." Karen spoke to her cats as she poured their meal and water into their proper bowls.

It was early yet. And as Karen opened her fridge to find some suitable breakfast she learned the hard reality of her situation. She had more cat food in her apartment than people food. Milk and condiments stared back at her as well as a now-spoiled bit of leftover takeout after she was stood up on Monday's date. She couldn't eat that now. It smelled funny. "Guess it's danish and coffee again."

Danish and coffee was her typical order at the cafe she stopped at on her way to work in the morning. They knew her by order if not by name, which helped speed things along. The plucky Karen had fallen into something of a routine and she didn't even know it yet. A quick look in the mirror told her that she could go outside. Her eyes were a bit puffy but she looked entirely better than she had over the past few days.

She put on a sweater; going out in her pajamas was a no-no, and neither was a short sleeved shirt. Too many questions with those. After sliding on a pair of jeans, they were cleaned an neatly folded in her drawer, and petting her cats good-bye, Karen was off. The outside, morning air was refreshing after the warmth and bedridden days of her past. The cool breeze whipped at her skin, making what bangs she did have on her short haired head whap against her forehead. She didn't mind. At least they weren't getting into her eyes.

The walk was brisk thanks to her pace but as she turned onto the high street, where often she would enter stores and ask them to display another of her signs for various events, she gasped. There was so much...glass. What happened? Was this new? Had these places been robbed? This was a walking hazard! People could slice their feet. Karen rushed over to one of the business owners, she knew him well enough, but even he couldn't provide much in the way of answers.

Well, that danish and coffee would just have to wait.

She didn't know when others began to arrive, but once the police arrived Karen had already been up and down the street, assessing the damage and wondering just what could cause such a thing. Never one to waste an opportunity, however, Karen was one of the first to assist in aid, sweeping up glass into a pan and dumping it into the proper bin. As more and more folks arrived to help, Karen fell into a more advisory role, making her way up and down the street, pointing people towards stores that still needed help.

It was a bit unorganized, but it had the makings of a community event all the same. Even though the situation was hardly celebratory, still Karen was there as she always was.

There were few things that were constant in Verona but if there was one thing that everyone agreed on, whenever the community came together, Karen was somewhere in the middle of it all.

This was no exception.