A Broken Brush, a Torn Canvas

The night air was colder than this morning's, and Ivan slightly shivered under it. He was never made to be strong against any weather. The most comfortable temperature lies only in his own flat, and that's why he's not quite an outside person. What else does he do anyway, except to paint in his studio?

He walked to the nearest bus station and waited. Reese's place was quite far, but Ivan didn't mind. They met one day at an exhibition, and since they kept contacting each other after that, they became pretty close friends. It was fun to do collaborations with him, too, and that's why Ivan never missed a meeting. They always came up with something amazing.

His bus finally arrived, and he climbed in. He searched for an empty seat, and he found one close to the back. He sat next to a teenager, his face hidden under his hoodie. He was busy with his phone as he listened to music. Ivan didn't judge. He's not old.

He rested his head and began to plan on what he's going to make. Something that looks simple, but the focus will be great. Or, simple, but dynamic. He was lost in his thoughts when suddenly a man in the front seat stood up and faced everyone. Ivan didn't know what the man was going to do until he held up a gun and yelled out in a rough voice.

"You're all my hostages! Anyone make a move or plots something..." He looked around sharply with his huge eyes. Everyone knew what he meant without being told. "Hey, bus driver! Tell your boss that I demand ten million, or I doubt these people will be alive later on."

Ivan tensed up. He was in danger, again. Actual danger. With lots of other people. He knew that they can't refuse to hand over the lot of money, but there's this natural adrenaline surge that clouded his body. He felt anxious, yet his mind kept telling him to sit down and stay still. What could he do, anyway? He failed in self defence. He lost against a knife once, and fighting against a gun is pure suicide. Anyway, it's not like he had any magical powers that could-

Oh, wait. He did.

He sneaked his hand inside his bag and searched for paper. Not paper, actually. Anything. He needs something to draw on. He found scrap paper - thank goodness - and took it out quietly. He then took out several colour pencils, then examined the man. He took a colour pencil and aimed it on the paper, but he stopped. Hang on, what am I going to do with this man? And how well am I going to do it?

He broke down in confusion. Killing isn't right, and Ivan valued peace. Drawing a weapon and watch it materialise on his hand was a good idea, but also a very bad one. Again, he didn't know anything about doing combat the right way. And the main problem was, he didn't have enough time to do realistic drawings, but he somehow believed that his drawings could work like an ugly voodoo doll. He didn't have much choice, anyway.

Suddenly, Ivan felt a nudge on his arm. He turned, and found the teenager looking right at him. It was still putting his earphones on, but he had a serious look on his eyes. He didn't make a sound. He pointed at the hijacker, did a gesture on his own eyes, and then his arms and legs. Then he whispered, "focus."

Ivan shoved away the question why this kid knows what he was going to do, and got to work as quickly as he could. He gripped his pencils hard as he prevented his hands from shaking, and made a quick full body of the criminal. He counted to ten, focusing all the energy he got from the adrenaline rush, and then continued his work. He erased the man's eyes and replaced them with a black cloth wrapped around tightly. He waited again. He was so focused, that he didn't notice that the man was right beside him.

"What's that, kid? A hate message for me?" The man smirked, pointing his gun at Ivan. "Whatever suspicious crap you're doing, you helpless offensive brat is going to di-"

Just when Ivan nearly agreed to the man, he heard him yell and curse. A black cloth was tightly wrapped around his head, just as planned. Before he started aiming his gun, Ivan took his red colour pencil and made sharp, violent lines on certain areas. The shoulders, the arms, the thighs. He heard a few cries of pain, and the man fell down, not being able to move his arms and legs. It miraculously worked.

The teenager sprang up from his seat and took the gun from the hijacker's hands. He turned to Ivan. "Stop the bus, evacuate everyone, and call the police," he told him.

Ivan had no choice but to follow what he told him. He had to do it, or no one else could. He ran to the front seat and told the bus driver to stop the bus, and then helped him get everyone out. Once the last woman jumped down from the bus, he headed out.

Ivan had his last look at the boy. He had his hood down this time, revealing messy blond hair that covered his ears and the side of his face. He was holding something with both of his hands - a notebook or something. He scribbled something quickly, and in no time the criminal passed out. Then he put his things back in his bag, and walked casually away with his hands in his pockets, his earphones still on. This boy had done this a million more times than Ivan.

Then it came to realisation that he wasn't the only one with these skills.

Ivan zoned out when the boy stood right in front of him. "Excuse me," he startled him. "We should get out of here."
"Yeah," Ivan muttered.

They jumped out of the bus. The boy walked quickly. He gestured his hand to follow him, and Ivan took long strides to keep up. They didn't run - they'd cause more suspicion that way. So they walked straight down the side of the road for a long while, and then turning to a narrow alley. Ivan leaned to the graffiti-painted brick wall, and took his breath. The boy only stayed silent, staring out into the streets.

Ivan stood straight again. He tried to relearn what just happened. Hijacking. Drawing. That boy.

That boy knows everything.

But first, Ivan needed to stop calling him 'that boy'. "Hey, what's your name?"
"Will," he said.
"Will... who?" Ivan was being kind of rude, but his panic and suspicion flustered him.
"William Allen," Will said casually.
Ivan was relieved. "You're Mary's older brother, aren't you?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I am."
"I'd really like to know what's going on with me." Ivan said.
"I'm sure you've figured it out." The boy scratched the back of his neck.
"I've only figured out how. I haven't known why everything happened."
"Well, it's been in you all along."
"But why did it show up only today?"
"Don't ask me," Will shrugged. "I don't know your life story."
"Then what about you? How did you..." Ivan trailed off, unsure of how to describe it.
"Oh, you know." He answered calmly. "Words."
"Words?"
"I write stuff, then it happens," he pointed it out as if it was obvious. "Although I really like to read comics instead of novels."
Ivan's face showed no emotions, although it relaxed a bit. "That's way easier."
"Harder."
"Want to switch talents?"
"Not really."

Ivan couldn't believe himself. He took these matters as if it was something normal that happens to everyone, everyday. He found no reason to be dramatic, anyway. But the more he thought about it, the more it seems like everything wasn't a coincidence. The Allen family moved in today, right when his powers got to work. And it was Amy's birthday. It was the most eventful day of his life, probably. He ended the list with the hijacking and running into Will.

"By the way," Will began speaking, "you've somewhere to go, right?"
Ivan realised that he had to go to Reese's, right now. "Yeah, I do. So, uh-"
"What's the address?"
"Why?"
Will held out his notebook and pen. "It's safe."
"Wait, what the heck? You can teleport me?"
"I wouldn't call that teleporting, but... maybe."

His uncertainty worried Ivan, but he told him Reese's address, anyway.

Will began to write something on his notebook as Ivan felt himself sweat with thrill, excitement, and doubt. He couldn't turn back at putting faith at things like these, anyway, since he'd witnessed some of his own. More on that, he was saved by it.

But something suddenly whispered him to get back to his doubts. Should he trust Will himself?

He heard the final flick of a pen, followed by the sound of it making a full stop on the sentence. It's too late to turn back after all.

A few seconds later, he blacked out.

--x--

Probably the idea of 'teleportation' by words feels like magic. But it's actually horrible torture. Ivan's head felt like it was about to get split in half from the confusion. His consciousness still lingered as his vision faded away, and all of a sudden he was at a different place. It all happened too quick. In less than a second, he fell in sleeping position on something soft - possibly a sofa. He automatically stared at a flat white ceiling - plain, yet so familiar. He rubbed his fingers on the ground beneath him since he couldn't bother to move his head, and it really was a sofa. Although landing on such a comfortable place, he did it with a thud, and his head hurts.

Ivan's mind was still on the teenager, though, as if his body arrived before his mind. If Will could bring things to reality just by words, it means that he's way more powerful than Ivan's. Or maybe just way easier to use. But who knows? Maybe when he's already mastered his skill, all he needed to do was to draw some chicken scratch and the whole world would collapse.

The thought slapped him a little. I shouldn't get myself hungry for power.

His frustration was partly interrupted by the sound of quick, heavy footsteps. He didn't bother to look on who was coming - his head felt like it has a nail stuck in it. Not long after that, someone's face was hovering over his. He had dark brown skin and a military-style haircut with wide eyes. Reese's expression was overly shocked - to Ivan, it looked priceless. "Have I ever told you to knock?"
"I don't think so," Ivan replied lazily.
"You just goddamn appeared on my sofa!"
"I went in through the door, Reese." Ivan couldn't help grinning a little.
"Well whatever. You know what could have happened to you?" Reese sighed. "I heard the news about the bus jacking. You always take a bus here, right?"
"No, nothing happened." Ivan said plainly. "End of story. You're not my mom, Reese."

Ivan's headache grew worse, and his eyes felt very heavy. He could not force himself to stay awake much longer, much less hold a conversation with Reese. Should he tell his friend about his newly discovered talent, anyway? Maybe. Or maybe not. What could go wrong? But then he thought of Will, and he decided to keep it to himself until it's time. Who knows if he gets to be a famous magician or something.

Anyway, he was too tired to debate with himself either.

"Hey Reese, I'm so damn tired, so I'll take a nap." Ivan said as he rested an arm on his forehead. "Wake me up in twenty minutes okay?"
Reese scratched the back of his head. "Sure. Go ahead and rest up."
"Thanks," Ivan sighed with relief. He really deserved his twenty-minute nap, especially after doing that... heroic action. No, he'd rather not call it that. Being a hero disgusts him for some reason.

In no time Ivan was slipping away from consciousness again - only this time, he did it peacefully.