I feel the warmth of a new day as the sun illuminates my face, slowly lighting the rest of the town.

I'm grateful for the chance to live another day. I know I don't deserve it, and it's small comfort when I think of what has happened to me recently. I could die at any point.

But I suppose that doesn't matter in the long run. What matters is that I make the best of the little time I have.

I clamber to my feet and turn from the rising sun, the ribbons of colour dancing across the sky. Beauty means nothing to me. It taunts me.

I rifle through my bag, checking if I may have been clever enough to save any food from last night.

Of course not.

Guess I have to go hunting.

I stretch my stiff limbs and yawn after a sleepless night of worrying. Worrying that someone would come at any point to slit my throat.

I haven't been like this for long. I used to be normal, or as normal as you can be. I had a family, a home, I had friends! How can something like that go so quickly? 

It just goes to show that powers aren't as cool as you'd think. They ruin life's, cause greed and a hunger for power. Or it can cause fears among those who are normal.

People kill in fear.

Memories flood my mind. I struggle against the flow of emotions, trying to fight it. But I can't.

I remember it all so well.

Two weeks ago 

Sam bounds along beside me. She's always very energetic. She's in the middle of talking, a rush of words that never seem to stop. ".....and then I pushed him and he got really angry and pushed me back and I fell into the pool and got so wet that I pulled him in and held his head under the water for a few seconds just so he knows who he is dealing with then I let him go and he finally backed off serves him right for bullying my little sister."

She didn't pause once. She's like that.

Me and Sam are weird friends. She is energetic and lively, the eccentric one who never stops talking, even in the middle of a test at school. I am quiet and shy, anxious not to draw attention to myself. 

Some of my other friends argue that if I don't want people looking at me, then why hang around with Sam? The thing is, she is my best friend, as nice as she is loud, and besides, she tends to draw people's gazes to her instead of me.

"Right." I say. "And how old was he? If he bullied your little sister he must be young."

"He was fourteen." Sam said huffily as I started sniggering. "And he was pretty strong for someone his age, alright?"

"Fourteen!" I can't help laughing. "You nearly drowned the fourteen-year-old who was bullying your sister. Did he actually leave her alone after that?" 

"No but he did run every time he saw me and I would say that was a small victory."

"Sure." 

We're walking home, completely glad it's Friday. We had a test today at school, and I can guess Sam didn't do too well (she was whispering to the unfortunate person next to her the whole time). 

Despite my light-heartedness, I can't help feeling just a little anxious. I have managed to quench the feeling but it's still there, lingering slightly in the pit of my stomach. Sam doesn't seem to feel anything is wrong, although my feeling of foreboding grows the further we walk. My senses seem to be hightened, I can hear things that normally I would ignore.

I can't ignore this anymore. "Sam. Sam, I don't think we should go this way." I warn her as we round the corner. This is a shortcut we usually take, an alleyway that is usually deserted. We have never come across any trouble here but suddenly I'm feeling paranoid. 

Sam doesnt stop. "Are you scared? We've been down here like a million times." 

Then she freezes. I can see why.

There is a gang infront of us, muscled men holding guns. Normally I would have laughed at how cliché this was. But now I don't feel like laughing.

They all have their guns pointed towards us.

We don't move as they contemplate us. We're not that old after all, we probably have nothing much to steal and they know that if they threatened us we would do anything they wanted. The problem was exposure.

"Hand over anything of value." A man at the front says gruffly. He has his gun pointed at my head. 

I can feel my heart racing as I reach into my pocket for my purse. 50 quid in there. My mum will kill me, even if these guys don't first.

I see Sam doing the same. She looks more irritated than scared. "Typical." She mutters, handing it over. "I just passed my driving test."

I don't ask why she kept her license in her purse because I am watching the men warily. They don't seem to know what they are doing. Is there some way we could give them the slip?

As my mind is frantically working, I try to delay. I purposely drop the purse, something which arouses their suspicions instantly. The guy at the front narrows his eyes.

"Pick it up." He orders, clasping the gun so tight the whites of his knuckles show. "Slowly. Try any tricks and we'll kill you." 

As I bend down to pick it up, I realise that this may be the only opening we get. They will kill us anyway. They just want to have all of our valuable items first.

Instinct takes over. I'm still low to the ground and I ram into him, winding him. I can see the shock in his face. He wasn't expecting a small 19-year-old girl to be that strong. 

I know I have made a mistake. They start firing and I can't believe I'm not already dead. I grab Sam's hand and we start running, turning the corner swiftly. I can hear their yells behind me. This was getting too out of hand.

I feel bullets rush past as we run. Something about this is wrong. Terribly wrong. We should have been hit by now. Not even ammatures at shooting could miss. At some point a bullet would happen to hit us, and by that point we would be dead.

They're catching up too. Sam may be best at cross country in our class but she is a loyal friend, even in a situation like this, and remains by my side. 

I am terrible at running.

I'm surprised how quiet the street is. No one has come out, despite the deafening sound of gunshots. I feel dizzy, my legs ache and beads of sweat are forming on my face. My breath is coming out in rasps. We have no way of escaping.

I can't run anymore, not even to save my life. I turn to face the men pursuing us, tears streaming down my face. If I'm going to die, I want to see the bullet coming. The bullet that kills me.

And I do see it. And I hear Sam calling out. It's like everything is in slow motion, I can see it whizzing towards me, every turn in the air clearly visible.

And I catch it.

I never meant to. Pure instinct, something I never knew I had. But I caught the bullet aimed at my heart and it seems impossible but I did.

All it did was scratch my hand.

I start wondering if I'm in some sort of messed up nightmare. But I know I'm not. I know when I'm dreaming.

I drop the bullet and the gang have stopped shooting. They look scared now, fear etched in every face. They know something is wrong.

And something takes over inside me. A wild beast waiting to be let out after years of passive silence.

Sam looks like she is about to faint. She isn't the only one. I can't help myself, it is as if I am possessed. I would believe it. I am doing things that go past the boundaries of human power.

All of the guns are on the floor, crumpled and abandoned. Pure metal bent into grutesque shapes. The men are running now, all ideas of their superiority abandoned. But they all crumle under my glare. I see them fall to the floor, cry out in pain, twitching horribly.

And I stalk over to them, and I'm standing above them now. They see my shadow and whimper, knowing that I am not normal. They can't even move.

And I lean over them and touch them gently, one by one. They cry out in pain as electrical surges burst through them. I can smell burning flesh. I am blinded by my tears. I am as powerless as they are as I watch myself slowly killing them all.

Then I hear a voice, yelling through the darkness. "What they hell do you think you're doing?"

I freeze, suddenly in control of my own body.

The voice is gruff and male. I turn round and see a police officer. I'm trembling in shock and fear. I can see Sam, her phone in hand, the one who called him. She looks as scared as I feel.

The officer sees me shaking and knows something is wrong. Even more wrong than killing about half a dozen men. He must think I was mad, I had lost control. He would send me to an asylum, where I couldn't hurt anyone.

But I couldn't do that.

And I whimper as I feel the beast take over again, and even though I warn him to back off, it's too late.

And now I am fleeing from the law, responsible for murder.