Jack sat cross-legged in the endless white void, staring at the floating words in front of him.
He didn't know how long or how much time has passed.
What would you like to create?
The air was stale and silent, with no scent or sound to distract him.
It was such a simple question, yet his mind was completely blank.
For years, he had never let himself daydream.
Well, there might be some instances that he almost did but he always caught himself...
He didn't have the luxury, always being slapped back to reality by his unfortunate circumstances, and of course, his own doing-his natural negative nature...
Honed from his years in the battlefield called poverty.
He never wasted time ever again, imagining things that would never happen in real life.
Like for example, being adopted by a very wealthy family.
Being loved by them...
Being suddenly entrusted with a massive fortune...
Or being awakened to be the most powerful superpowered in history.
Yep, fat chance.
Maybe what will really happen in real life is that you'll be adopted by what seems like a wealthy family..
Only to return home with them in a poor abode..
Then finding out that they are only after the adoption's monthly allowance that the government will give..
And that they will used it to gamble.
Surprise! surprise! you weren't the only one that was adopted.. you have adopted sisters and brothers like you.
All with the same look of despair..
Ignored and left to your own devices..
Can't really ask for help cause the adoption center was more like a war zone..
If you were given two choices, like choosing the devil and the deep blue sea..
He'll choose the devil... and maybe he can reason with it and find someway to overtake the devil himself?
That wouldn't be so bad...
Now where we were again? Right...
Then, your adopted parents got killed and you are suddenly entrusted with massive debt..
Your adopted brother and sisters got adopted again and you are left alone... not taken..
....................
He tried so hard to erase those memories.. put them in a box, locked and keyed, shut tight, never to open them again..
Yet here he are... Maybe he's a masochist?
He scoffed.
.....................
Can I sue fate? Jack asked himself dryly.
Reality is so cruel it will take away all your wish, hope and dreams...
So daydreaming? Imagining?
I'm way past that.
But why now? And how?
He asked himself.
The questions swirled in his mind like a nagging itch.
What changed?
He thought back the events of yesterday and the other day but try as he might he had no idea what triggered this sudden shift.
Should I really be wasting my time thinking why?
He wondered, frustration creeping in.
He pulled his hair with his two hands.
And change the way he sat.
But I..
His gaze drifted back to the words floating in front of him.
What would you like to create?
The simplicity of the question mocked him.
I've never thought of creating things.
Never allowed himself to indulge in fantasies.
And now, when it actually mattered, when he could bring his thoughts to life—he had nothing.
The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"Okay, focus," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
The gentle pressure of his fingers on his skin helped calm his racing thoughts.
"Start small."
He cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the void.
"Uh… a sandwich?"
A plain-looking sandwich popped into existence in front of him.
White bread, a single slice of ham, and a sad smear of mayo.
The aroma of fresh bread wafted up, making his stomach growl with hunger.
Jack picked it up, half expecting it to vanish like the chair.
When it didn't, he took a hesitant bite.
His face twisted.
"Ugh. This is the most basic sandwich I've ever tasted."
It will not explode inside my stomach, will it?
He gulped, his throat dry and constricted.
The sandwich felt like a lump in his mouth, making it hard for him to swallow.
He hesitated, his esophagus spasming slightly as he tried to force the sandwich down.
The dryness in his throat made his tongue feel sticky, and he could feel his heart beating slightly faster with anxiety.
The flavors were dull and uninspired, like something a kid would throw together when their parents weren't home.
Jack sighed and threw the rest of the sandwich away—only for it to explode into nothingness the moment it left his hand.
He flinched, the sudden movement sending a jolt through his body.
"Okay, I need to stop doing that."
The words in the air flickered again.
Your imagination is… limited.
Try again.
Jack groaned, the sound echoing off the void.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I'm not creative. Thanks for the reminder."
But that was the real problem, wasn't it?
His entire life, he had only ever focused on surviving.
Work, eat, sleep, repeat.
He never had hobbies, never watched movies, never read books—because those things didn't pay the bills.
Now he had a power that could literally reshape reality… and he had no clue how to use it.
Jack ruffled his already messy hair, the motion releasing a faint scent of shampoo.
"Okay, let's think. What's something useful? Something that won't explode?"
Jack's eyes narrowed as he concentrated.
"Oh how about water?"
A clear glass of water materialized in front of him.
Jack's eyes widened as he picked it up, feeling the cool condensation on the glass.
He brought it to his lips, taking a cautious sip.
The water was refreshing, with a hint of sweetness.
Jack's throat, still dry from the earlier sandwich, welcomed the relief.
He took another sip, feeling a sense of accomplishment.
"Yes! Something that won't explode!"
Another idea hit him.
He snapped his fingers, the sound crisp in the silence.
His eyes twinkling.
"A hundred dollars!"
A crumpled hundred-dollar bill appeared in his hand.
His eyes widened, the thrill of excitement coursing through his veins.
This… this could change everything.
If he could just make more money— but the bill vanished instantly right before his eyes.
Objects created must have a clear mental blueprint.
Your concept of 'money' is unstable.
Try again.
Jack's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding in frustration.
"What the hell does that even mean? It's money! It's just paper with numbers on it!"
But as soon as he said that, he understood.
He didn't actually know what made money money.
The government, the economy, serial numbers, security features.
He had never thought about any of that.
In his mind, money was just something that existed, something he never had enough of.
His power couldn't just pull things from thin air.
It needed details.
Structure.
It needed him to actually think.
Then what about the water?
Jack flopped onto his back, staring at the endless white sky.
The silence was almost deafening, punctuated only by the sound of his own breathing.
"So what you're saying is… I suck at imagining things."
The words in the air didn't respond.
Jack let out a long sigh, the sound carrying away into the void.
He looked at the glass still in his hand.
He had created it without thinking about the intricacies of molecular structure or the chemical composition of water.
Yet, it was still real.
Still refreshing.
A realization dawned on him.
Maybe his power wasn't just about creating things from scratch.
Maybe it was also about replicating things he already knew, already understood.
The water was something familiar, something he had experienced countless times before.
His power had drawn upon that familiarity, creating something authentic.
Jack's eyes sparkled with excitement.
This changed everything.
He didn't need to be an expert on everything.
He just needed to understand the things he wanted to create.
But his excitement got cut off.
"But these are all just theories for now, I have to explore and experiment more to understand.."
Then as if he made up his mind, he cracked his knuckles.
"Alright. If money is too complicated… then let's try something simpler."
He sat up and took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs.
"A baseball."
A baseball appeared in front of him.
Jack picked it up, feeling the familiar weight and texture of the leather.
The stitching was rough beneath his fingertips, and the smell of fresh leather wafted up, transporting him to memories of summer afternoons.
He squeezed the ball, waiting for it to disappear.
It didn't.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"Okay. Progress."
He tossed the ball in the air and caught it.
Still real.
No explosions.
No weird messages.
Then a thought hit him.
If this power really worked… what if he tried something bigger?
Jack stood up, determination sparking in his chest.
The void seemed to stretch out before him, full of endless possibilities.
He wasn't going to waste this.
If he could create anything, he was going to make sure he never struggled again.
His power had one condition: his imagination.
So all he had to do was get better at imagining.
"Fine, alright.... I'll try.."
"Whew..."
Jack said, rolling his shoulders.
The motion released a faint crackle in his joints.
"Time to get creative!"
