Special Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Chinonto Chakanga

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978 1 0756 7312 2

  EBOOK ASIN: B07TG28DT1

  First Edition

  www.chinochakanga.com

  For anyone who has ever felt different.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 1

  I was never a fan of hospitals. Although I had been in and out of them so often that once upon a time they were practically like a second home, I could never quite get used to them. Maybe it was the smell. Maybe it was because they were restrictive. Or perhaps it was the intense feelings of weakness they evoked. Feelings brought on by vivid memories of being probed and prodded like a lab rat in medical facilities ever since I could remember.

  I was never a fan of needles either, yet my treatment required that I endure at least one injection per week for nearly three months. It had been five weeks since my treatment began that I shouldn’t have flinched as I did while Dr Graham sterilised my bare shoulder before injecting me with a cytotoxic drug that was supposed to make me normal. My fingernails dug into the cushion of the examination table I sat on. The injection was quick yet painful as usual.

  ‘Do you feel any different?’ Dr Graham asked.

  My mind was a million miles away.

  ‘Hope?’ he called, snapping me back to reality.

  ‘A bit,’ I responded.

  Apart from nausea and increased appetite, I felt my same old irregular self. The part of me that was desperate for results, the little optimistic part left within me believed saying I felt a little different might help. I had been through countless treatments before — all with the same aim. With each failed treatment, my hope had dwindled. I was convinced I would never be normal.

  ‘I’ve been feeling a little nauseated and more hungry than usual,’ I confessed.

  ‘I wouldn’t give it much thought,’ Dr Graham assured me. ‘It could be weeks before we notice any results. In the meantime, I’ll prescribe you an antiemetic for the nausea.’

  He walked over to his desk. I put on my jersey, hopped off the examination table and followed him. He scribbled something on a prescription note and handed it to me. ‘Take one or two capsules whenever you feel nauseated.’

  Increased appetite, nausea and vomiting were only three of a laundry list of side effects associated with the cytotoxic “miracle drug” Co-tritopotine. Other side effects included: rash, fatigue, hair loss, anaemia, constipation and mood swings.

  ‘Is there anything else you wish to discuss?’ Dr Graham asked.

  I shook my head, no. He opened the door for me.

  ‘Good,’ he said, ‘I expect to see you same time next week.’

  When I exited Dr Graham’s office, the waiting room was a circus. A boy — about eight — precariously levitated colour-coded toy blocks. His brows furrowed in concentration as he telekinetically assembled the blocks to form a plane model. Blood trickled down the boy’s nostrils. A woman sitting beside him retrieved some tissue from her purse and wiped his nose. The plane model crashed to the floor and split. A few blocks tumbled to my feet. I picked them up and handed them to the boy.

  ‘Thank you,’ the woman said. She helped the boy collect the remaining blocks.

  A young barefoot boy walked along the wall in the corner of the room. A nurse watched him and scribbled something on a digital tablet.

  A girl — about ten — with a bunch of weights tethered to her ankle via a skipping rope hovered in mid-air. The weights and skipping rope served as a home-made anchor that prevented her from floating away. She nonchalantly played with a smartphone.

  Mum sat next to a couple beside the floating girl. They were engrossed in some chit-chat.

  ‘These can be confusing times,’ I overheard Mum say.

  ‘Definitely,’ the woman responded. ‘We hate having to tie her down, but it’s the only way we can keep her safe-’

  A boy from my school — Asher — sat by himself on another end of the waiting room. His nose was buried in one of the waiting room books titled “Perfectly Normal: Understanding ADSD.” He waved as he noticed me. I walked over and sat down on the chair beside him. ‘Hey!’

  He cleared his throat. ’Hey! How’s the treatment going?’

  ‘Still no abilities. You?’

  ‘It might be weeks before we notice any results,’ he said, perfectly mimicking Dr Graham’s voice.

  He changed to his regular voice. ‘I can easily switch between voices now, but no luck on a new ability. You know who developed a secondary ability though?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Izzy.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I exclaimed. It couldn’t have happened to the worst person.

  ‘She’s apparently telekinetic now,’ Asher said.

  ‘The world is definitely not fair,’ I sighed.

  Although we had been at the same school since the first grade and were “locker neighbours” for years, Asher and I never quite bonded until we met at the hospital. Asher could mimic other peoples’ voices. His voice mimicking abilities were however defective. Sometimes he would get stuck with the last voice he mimicked for hours or days, hence his treatment.

  Everyone in my world had special abilities — some less special than others, but abilities nonetheless. Being very unlucky, I was born without any. As “punishment” for being born different, I was subjected to multiple treatments, of which none were a success.

  ***

  ‘She’s just a late bloomer,’ Dad told Mum before the treatments started. I rode in the back seat of the car. Dad drove while Mum sat in the front passenger seat.

  ‘I hope so,’ Mum sighed.

  I had just turned eight and a half — more than a year late from the seven-year average most kids began developing abilities.

  ‘My cousin Sam didn’t get his abilities until he was nine,’ Dad assured Mum. ‘I couldn’t fly until I was sixteen.’

  ***

  I could vividly recall the doctor’s visit that changed everything. After running some standard tests, the paediatrician concluded that I was perfectly healthy. My parents were referred to a geneticist, and that’s when the tests and treatments truly began. I had CT scans, angiograms, blood tests, complete blood counts, the whole works. Some procedures like the bone marrow biopsy were excruciatingly painful.

  Special abilities were hereditary and passed on through the maternal or paternal copy of the OME3A gene. Although over seventy-five per cent of the population only inherited abilities from one parent, there was a rare twenty per cent that inherited abilities from both parents. The sporadic five per cent inherited three or more abilities through their lineage. It was extremely rare, but abilities could mutate and form an inverse or unique ability that was entirely new to a bloodline.

  After nearly two years of extensive tests and probing, it was concluded that my lack of abilities was due to a unique form of Ability Dysfunction (AD) called Remo’s. AD was a neurological disorder characterised by dysfunctional or underdeveloped abilities. It was caused by a dormant paternal or maternal copy of the OME3A gene on chromosome fifteen and a mutation on either one or both active genes. In my case, it was due to a
dormant paternal OME3A gene copy and a mutation in my maternal copy. AD was included within Ability Dysfunction Spectrum Disorder (ADSD), which was initially documented as having two levels of disorders. Level one or High-Functioning AD and level two denoted as AD or Classic AD. My diagnosis added a third level on the lowest end of the ADSD continuum called Severe AD or Remo Syndrome (RS) often referred to as Remo’s. The disorder was named after Dr Jack Remo, a paediatrician specialising in AD who was first to diagnose me and document my unique condition. Five years later, four operations and seven-forms of treatments and I was still without abilities.

  Dr Graham’s treatment aimed to awaken my dormant paternal OME3A gene through the use of a drug that contained Topotecan — a chemotherapy agent primarily used to cure metastatic cancers. The drug was barely out of clinical trials but had been shown to have a thirty-five per cent success rate in the treatment of Classic AD and a sixty-two per cent success rate in the treatment of High-Functioning AD. It had the highest recorded success rate of any AD treatment and was hailed a miracle drug.

  ***

  There was no cure for AD. Before the emergence of treatments, psychotherapy was the standard and only form of therapy known to improve symptoms. As a result, I was advised to see a Special Abilities Psychologist.

  Like any form of activity, abilities had limits. These limits could be classified into two-forms: subconscious and optimal. Whereas subconscious limits could be pushed and overcome, optimal limits could not, at least not without the aid of an “Augmenter” — someone with the ability to amplify the abilities of others.

  Some signs of optimal limits were migraines, dizziness and a bleeding nose.

  Subconscious limits were generally due to a lack of using one’s abilities, stress and mental processes. That’s where ability psychologists came in. They helped individuals get past subconscious limitations through psychotherapy.

  I was not too thrilled with the idea of seeing a psychologist. However, after a few sessions, I thought Kendra was all right. She had so much insight into how abilities worked. How those that were able to use their abilities to the maximum potential thought, breathed, etcetera. All abilities were triggered by the mind.

  ‘The key to successfully achieving any goal is visualisation,’ said Kendra. ‘If you can see it, you can achieve it.’

  I would practice her teachings. I would imagine levitating a book or bending a spoon.

  ‘Put yourself in the moment. Picture yourself realising your ability for the first time,’ Kendra would say. ‘Imagine how it would make you feel.’

  Special Abilities psychologists worked at helping individuals who actually had abilities realise their full potential. My lack of abilities made our sessions tricky. Kendra once asked me to visualise flying under the assumption I was my father’s daughter.

  Flight was only one of Dad’s plethora of abilities. His other abilities included, super hearing — he could hear sounds from nearly two miles away;

  Super strength — he could lift up to four thousand pounds; and

  Fast healing — he healed at three times the average rate. He hardly fell ill. His cuts and bruises healed within hours or a day.

  Dad was part of the one per cent that were gifted with four abilities. Four abilities of which I inherited none.

  ‘To realise your full potential at any ability, you must clear your mind and focus on that ability,’ Kendra told me.

  I did as instructed. I laid on the couch in her office with my eyes closed and tried hard to picture myself flying. I imagined the breeze against my skin as I glided through the sky.

  ‘Clear your mind of all other thoughts,’ Kendra whispered. Her voice was smooth and hypnotic. ’Imagine how light you are. Picture yourself floating. Put yourself in the moment.’

  My face tightened as I concentrated. I imagined I was light as a feather. I tried hard to picture and feel how happy flying would make me feel.

  I found the concept of how abilities were tied to our minds and thoughts intriguing. For weeks I had practised what Kendra taught me in our sessions. For weeks I avidly researched and read every book on Abilities Psychology I could get my hands on. I practised our visualisation sessions at home. I practised at school during my free time to no avail.

  I snapped my eyes open and sighed. I was still grounded on Kendra’s couch.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Kendra assured me. ‘Take a break and we’ll—’

  I got up and stormed out of her office.

  Chapter 2

  On the drive home, Mum did most of the talking. ‘I have a good feeling about this,’ she raved. ‘I’m sure it’s going to work this time.’

  She said that about the previous treatment and the one before. I couldn’t see how she managed to remain so positive. She could be overbearing, but I often wished I had her optimism.

  ‘The Arringtons say their daughter has made significant progress,’ Mum rambled. ‘Her AD symptoms have reduced on Co-tritopotine.’

  Mum could mimic the abilities of anyone she came into contact with. She could have virtually any ability she desired. As amazing as her mimicking ability was, it came with a few drawbacks. She could only call up or use one ability at a time. For instance, if she was flying, she couldn’t use her telepathic ability. She could lose an ability if she didn’t use it often. She could only retain a maximum of six abilities at a time, and her mimicked abilities were usually five to twenty per cent weaker than the person she acquired them from.

  Mum had consistently retained three of Dads abilities including flight-which I would have maintained as well, super strength and fast healing.

  Other abilities she retained were telekinesis and teleportation, which I believe was a sentimental gift for Mum. It was the first ability she had learned to mimic. It had also been my late grandpa’s ability. She had inherited her mimicking abilities from grandma and learnt to mimic teleportation from grandpa before his passing.

  As much as I wanted abilities, Mum was always the driving force behind my treatments. Always on the lookout for new AD developments, Mum was relentless in her pursuit to fix me. Perhaps the shame of living with an abnormal child was too great to bear.

  ***

  When we got home, my rambunctious little brother, Cody was seated on the living room sofa playing games on his tablet while simultaneously watching cartoons on the television.

  ‘Where’s your Dad?’ Mum asked.

  Cody was so fixated on his tablet that he barely looked up.

  ‘He had to run some errands,’ he nonchalantly replied.

  Mum sighed and crossed her arms. Cody had never been left home alone before. He was barely seven.

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ Cody told Mum.

  ‘How about I get dinner started?’ Mum asked. ‘How about lasagne?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Cody enthused.

  He could be annoying as little brothers ought to be, but I loved Cody. He was the only one in my family who didn’t tiptoe about abilities around me. While Mum and Dad were both careful about using or talking about their abilities around me, Cody wasn’t. My parents were probably afraid of making me feel left out, but it often felt condescending.

  ***

  When Cody was a baby, he went through a phase where he would only allow me to feed him. I would do the usual plane pretend spoon coming in for a landing routine. Dad was better at it than me, but Cody still preferred when I did it.

  It’s funny, but as Cody grew older and none of my treatments panned out, I became fearful of him developing his abilities before me. A part of me was envious, but I think I mostly feared that he wouldn’t need me anymore.

  Cody took after Mum and had developed her mimicking abilities. Unlike Mum, however, the abilities he mimicked were only three to eight per cent weaker than the person he acquired them from. He could also use more than one ability at a time, but he seemed to retain only three. It was unclear whether this was because his mimicking ability was still developing or whether it was permanent.

 
Now and then he would come home eager to show off a new ability he had picked up from a kid at school. Since his mimicking ability and the abilities of the kids he acquired were still developing, they were often weaker or harmless compared to fully developed abilities of adults. There were, however, some that were potentially dangerous.

  ‘Aiden Brandt got his ability It’s cool, but I’m better at it than he is,’ Cody once boasted during dinner. ‘It took me just four tries to get it Mrs Bennet said not to tell the others, but she never had a student as gifted as me in all her years of teaching Ability Guidance.’

  ‘You wanna show us?’ Dad asked.

  Cody looked around. His eyes locked on the rolls of bread in a woven bowl at the centre of the dining table. He focussed on the bread for a long moment. Nothing happened.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he sighed. ‘It worked earlier.’

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Nothing. He scrunched his face in concentration. The rolls of bread shrivelled and toasted. The dining room lights flickered. A burst of flames erupted from the bread and spread to the woven bowl.

  ‘Cody!’ Mum yelped.

  Cody snapped his eyes open with a start. Dad grabbed a jar of water from the dining table and dowsed the flames.

  ‘That’s very dangerous,’ Mum reprimanded.

  Cody remained frozen and wide-eyed in his chair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whimpered.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Dad consoled him. ‘That was awesome, but you need to be more careful, okay?’

  Cody nodded.

  Preadolescence and special abilities could be a dangerous combination. Accidents were bound to happen. Thankfully, someone had the bright idea of Ability Inhibitors.

  Initially invented to weaken and restrain criminals, Ability Inhibitors emitted none-harmful waves that stripped away abilities of anyone within range, temporarily making them like me. There were two-forms of inhibitors: Long-wave Ability Inhibitors (LAIs) and Shortwave Ability Inhibitors (SAIs). Long-wave Inhibitors covered a wider radius. They were primarily found in banks and correctional facilities.