I survived the train ride. Barely. My fingers hurt, and I feel as though I could pass out on the spot, but I’m still in one piece. I find yet another disgusting restroom at my stop and wonder where this city’s budget is going as I use it to change back into my clothes. I then begin the final leg of my trek to work, but as I walk, a beautiful vehicle graces my eyes. It was sleek and elegant, a big black motorcycle! I walk as close as I dare, look around to make sure it’s owner wasn’t nearby, crouch down and look up at it in awe. I love motorcycles. One day, I want to own one. I’ve always loved machines, but the idea of having a motorcycle is especially appealing since I hate being inside cars. I feel trapped, like I could easily make a mistake and set the whole thing and anyone else inside ablaze. Motorcycles are freedom. A compact, yet powerful vehicle. I wouldn’t need to take the subway, I wouldn’t have to walk to the subway… I like to imagine the wind whipping against me as I speed down an empty road. I’ve never ridden one before, but I think it would be an amazing feeling. 

If I were to have a motorcycle, the tricky part would be keeping the monster away in its presence. At least I don’t need to worry about that for a while. It will be a very long time until I have enough money for that.

Time to get to work.

Beep,

Beep,

Beep,

Beep.

The sound fills my mind as I work, cut in by the sound of my own voice, saying good morning or good afternoon. Sometimes the people speak to me, but I don’t remember small talk. I continue scanning items, doing my best to be just as human as anyone else. Being a cashier is a mind numbing job.

I don’t like looking into people’s eyes. All I ever see is concern, pity, scrutiny. Some people see me and feel sorry, others try to figure me out. They want to know if I need help in some way. They can’t help me. Only I can do that. And should I fail to keep myself under control… Well, customers who pass through my checkout line have no idea that they’re passing by a bomb.

When I first got this job I was worried that I could run into stressful customers. But so far, everything has been fine. I’ve had many job interviews, but this is the first that actually hired me. As it turns out, being unable to complete high school is a bit of a turn off for many businesses. I’m not stupid, although I certainly couldn’t be called smart either. But I had to make many sacrifices to keep my monster inside. Some of which involved simply not caring about grades. A healthy dose of stress for most students would’ve been like a push down a steep slope for me. I gave up. I had to.

I don’t really know why I am this way. Well, that’s not exactly true. This power came from someone… But I use it better than he ever did by simply not using it. I could use it for hero work… fighting villains, keeping people safe… but that would be too much publicity. I don’t want that.

Whenever I’m not working, I spend most of my time sleeping. I’m always tired. It’s not like I have friends to hang out with, things to do, places to be, except work. If only I could find something I’m good at.  Something that pays more than minimum wage. But I’m not good at anything marketable. The only thing I’m really good at is turning my emotions off. Not very helpful when most jobs require people skills. I haven’t been able to take the time to develop many talents with my condition. There was a time when I enjoyed sewing, but that ended when I set one of my projects ablaze.

I’ve been working at Walmarket for about a month, and everything’s been going pretty well. Aside from that fact that I hate the job and feel like screaming every time some one comes into my checkout. 

But I need to make money. I don’t want to be a burden on Mamí anymore. She’s done too much for me already and I need to grow up. This is life, scanning thirty something cans of tomatoes in a Walmarket.

“$62.83.” I tell the customer.

The customer sighs as she scans her credit card. “It would be nice if prices went down for a change, you know?”

“Right...” I responds automatically. She’s not wrong. I would love to spend less on groceries and have more for other things. Money money money… The Hero Agency is practically begging for recruits… They’d sure pay better than this.

I sigh. No, stop thinking about that. Joining the Hero Agency means publicity, and publicity is dangerous. You never know how far word reaches… I mean, there’s also The Company. It seems like they’ve been growing recently, and anonymity would be much easier with them. I’m sure they would also welcome me with open arms and large paychecks… But obviously they’re not an option. The Company is an organization that hires villains to do its dirty work. I want no part of that. They’re the main reason the Advanced Combat Hero Agency was created and the reason the government keeps pouring funds into it. Although, billionaires donating for tax cuts helps too.

But what am I even thinking? Just because I have flashy powers that make me stronger doesn’t mean I’d be any good at fighting. It doesn’t matter. I can do this. Be a cashier. It’s simple. Anyone could do it… I wish I was someone else…

I cast my gaze around the store. I sees two young girls laughing together, a man and a woman having an argument, I hear a child crying.

I’m not like them, and I never will be.

After a few more grueling hours of work, I return to my busted apartment exhausted, as usual, despite not actually doing much. I look around my apartment. I’d better sort this out… Having a hole in the wall is less than ideal. That’s what I get for living on the bottom floor.

I’ve now been moved to the next apartment over. It looks exactly the same as the old one, apart from the hole in the wall. The first thing I do is take out the batteries for the smoke detector and walk outside to dispose of them. I notice a billboard with a hero on it saying, “The A.C.H.A. needs you!”

Well, I don’t need you. I’m doing fine on my own. I’ve made progress. I’m paying the bills, I’ve made sure to eat at least three times a day, and I haven’t blown my cover yet… Mamá always said I would eventually and only luck and willpower have kept me hidden this long. But I haven’t yet. So for now, everything is perfect.

I walk back inside and begin arranging my few items. My apartment was quite barren. I don’t own any furniture, only few appliances. A small fridge, a stove, and an air fryer. I didn’t want to get any furniture. Furniture is flammable. This is my safe space, where after the stress of the day, I can let my monster out.

I would give a lot for some more fireproof clothing, but the material is incredibly expensive. The amount my family could afford when it became clear that I needed it was only enough to make some shorts, so that’s all I’ve had since then. At least I can keep myself decent. As for my usual clothing, it’s all cheap and easy to replace if I make a mistake. The only item of quality I have is a leather jacket Mamá gave me a long time ago. Leather doesn’t burn easily either, but I knew it was very expensive. I still don’t wear it much, for fear of ruining it. Although, I may have to when it gets colder. I wouldn’t want to stand out, wearing a short sleeved T-shirt in the dead of winter. Temperatures, cold or hot, don’t seem to affect me. Only emotional temperatures are a problem.

After setting my backpack in a corner of my apartment, I strip down to my shorts and lay on the unfinished concrete floor, staring at the ceiling, letting the flames engulf me.

As the monster, I’m still in control, but my priorities are different. I want different things. To be frank, I want to be violent. But I keep those feelings leashed. Anyway, the only thing in my apartment worth breaking is the fridge, but I need that. I don’t allow myself to leave my apartment either. I just lay on the floor and scrape my claws on the cement floor.

At some point I’ll get tired of this and fall asleep, becoming human again. I always sleep on the floor like this. It’s safer. I don’t need blankets since I don’t get cold, and I’m used to the hard floor by now. 

It’s not a great life, I’ll tell you what. Countless times I’ve imagined having a different one, but it’ll never happen. Life sings the same old song if you never make any changes, and I don’t plan to do so.