‘Here we go again’ Asheron thought as he stepped into the pre-furnished apartment for the first time. He had to run away from yet another town, and now he was started to regret that he ever had powers. It was about five places ago that he learned to stop buying houses and to stop buying non furnished apartments. This time he made sure to get an apartment on the ground and picked a studio style just so he would have to pay less. Looking around the small room he saw cheap, ill cared for furnishings, and some rather ugly paintings that were supposedly to increase value. He snorted in disgust and closed the door. Ash hated living like this, but he couldn’t really stay in a town where he would be known as a freak. Sighing he walked down the street to the local gym, he could at least stay in shape until he had to start running again. Opening his door again he tossed in the small amount of belongings he had other than the weights at the end of each limb and then closed and locked the door. From there he took off into the distance at his highest speed, making a break for the gym to get a little bit of exercise before he rested for the next day to start the menial labor so he could earn his stay.
Running down the street, Ash finally made it to the gym after about ten minutes of a dead sprint and he arrived at the gym already sweating. He made his way into the gym and laid some cash on the counter, enough for a visitors pass, and then walked slowly to the back where the tired treadmills were. Silently stepping onto the machine he turned it on quickly and started the pace low to he could adjust to running but not moving. Then as soon as he adjusted he increased the pace slightly with every five seconds that passed up until he was at a steady run. Making sure to keep the pace so his heart rate stayed in a rather normal state he kept the run going, trying his best to keep his body acting normally so he wouldn’t grab any unwanted attention but then it happened.
As Ash’s foot went down it seemed like the entire world came up. His foot had gone through the bottom of the treadmill, hit the ground and kept going backwards as if he were caught by the machine. Before he even had time to react he fell face first onto the ever moving belt and was flung off into some weights which created a lot of noise. Getting up slowly and slightly dazed he was suddenly crowded by almost everyone in the gym to make sure he was okay, those that weren’t making sure he was fine were making little jokes about how he is supposed to run on the treadmill and not ride it. He laughed a fake laugh and walked out of the building, constantly shrugging off questions with simply stating that he was going to walk to the hospital, get checked out and then go home to rest.
He sighed again as he finally got out of the door with no one following him and walked towards the local clinic as he rubbed his head. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t have that thick of a skull, no matter how many fights he won with a head butt. Wincing as he ran a hand over a gash his eyes started to tear up slightly. Apparently the wound was worse than he had actually realized, he must have hit the big weights, or caught a corner or something. Walking down the street he finally found his way to the clinic and walked in. the nurses that were around were surprisingly nice, and did what they could to help him, which wasn’t much. They cleaned and stitched the wound and sent him off, telling him to come back in every day to check if things were going all right. He wouldn’t return.
With how often he was hurt by his own abilities he had quickly come to learn that his body regenerated at an advanced rate in comparison with most humans. While a broken arm with them would take weeks to fix, his body healed in days, but it still took weeks to work right. To put it simply he wasn’t the average human, and working back in full circle, it further proved that he was, in fact, a freak. A sad sigh again escaped his lungs as he walked out of the clinic, trying to cope with the fact that he would probably never fix. He walked through the town, barely conscious of those around him as he made the trip home and finally got time to relax and act as himself.
Stepping inside his new apartment he walked across the small kitchen, past a small chair and flopped down onto a black leather sofa and closed his eyes. At that point he made a sound of annoyance and said “why does life have to suck so much?” shortly after he drifted into a fitful sleep. In his dreams he wasn’t even safe because long ago he had stopped having the nice and kind dreams, instead they were replaced by nightmares of scientists vivisecting him and running all sorts of tests to find out exactly what he was when all he did was beg for peace in his life.
He awoke curled up in a ball hours later and paranoid that the room had been bugged while he rested because someone wanted to know his secret and so he began his search for any little recording device of any sort, only to not find anything. Letting out an exasperated sigh he fell back as if to lean against the wall and instead fell through, to the stone walkway just outside his building. Why does life hate me so much?
OOC: 1002 words
