Same old usual story plot includes the fact that something went wrong or something interesting happened. Can't blame the scribe, a story must start from something. There are some adventurous lot who just jot down some interesting character and let the readers take a slice of that person's life. I can't do any of those really well. My thinking capacity can't handle big pictures, you know, the ones that serves the backbone of a certain story in which the author tries to throw a smoke screen on. The problem with being a reader while being a writer is that the writing becomes grasping in the air while falling from the stratosphere. When you land, it doesn't hurt; you're dead.

I like to read stories. I also like to write stories in the past. It's a bit rusty now. No, I know what you're thinking. Are the stories about my visions just the product of my imagination? Of course not. The images are very vivid in my mind right now. The past paragraph aims to convince you that I can't make stories well, and that what I'm about to tell you happened just a while ago.

I mentioned that I wanted a twin. I do, in fact made one. It must be because of my abilities. While I was writing my last entry, that guy suddenly hugged me. His arms wrapped around my shoulders and the warmth--am I this warm? Whoa...am I sweating just now?

I'm afraid to look at his face but the computer screen betrayed me.

"Hello. Jarvis. Missed me?"
"Who are you?"
"..."

He wrapped his arms really tight. I can't breathe. "HEY."

"Sorry about my sister. She's really clingy. So am I."
"Who are you?"

He just smiled. He just f*cking smiled. Then something clicked in my mind.

"Clarence O'Keeffe. But for you, it's Clare."

When Clare came, it seemed the world became a better place. Coming back home from school, we would snack on some crackers while he tells me stories from where he came from.

Like that one where a group of lizardmen bikers caused a commotion in a bar during his sister's birthday bash. They were in this bar and Clare, Monica and their friends were sitting on the corner booth.

The lizardmen rushed into the bar and hogged the bar stools. Since bikers who frequent the city were also bounty hunters, war freaks even, people were careful not to get tangled with them. Monica stayed as quiet as possible.

One of the lizardmen stood up. Balls of sweat formed in Monica's forehead. The lizardman stood before the corner booth. Soon, the rest of the gang followed. They were staring at Monica as if they were loan sharks collecting debt.

While keeping up their menacing looks, the lizardmen took out flowers, boxes, and guitars. They began singing.

"Happy Birthday, Elder Sister!"

Monica let out a tsukkomi.

"You."

Monica stared at his younger brother. It was Clare's plan all along!

--------------------------------------------

"They were my new recruits. It's my sister's birthday. Why not surprise her?"

Clare took a sip of soda straight from the bottle.

"Hey. Don't do that. Drink from a cup."

"What? It's not like I wanted to give you an indirect kiss."

Geez. This guy...

"I-I-Indirect kiss?"

"Heh? You want it directly? Come here--"

"Cut it out."

"Pfft...your reaction...too cute."

"Shut up."

"Hehehehe..."

It's been over a month. When will this guy go home?

"Go home."

"You've been saying that. It's not like I don't want to go home. I told you, I don't know how."

It can't go on like this.

"Just stop doing what you've been doing. It's annoying."

Slam.

This guy...

"W-w-what are you doing?"

Why am I being pushed against the floor?

Then he started singing.

Have you ever seen a blowfly?

Metallic color with thoraxes of blue or green film, often with crimson eyes, I always find blowflies in dirty places. The one thing you would always notice is the sound they make. In unison, they can bring more hell to a place where there is an outbreak of flesh-eating bacteria.

While pinned down on the ground, wondering if I'm being molested by an otherworlder, Clare was singing like a blowfly. It was hell. His body was shaking, as if convulsing, on top of mine.

He stopped moving when he stopped the singing.

He was on top of me, lying on his stomach. He was just not moving.

I let another minute pass. He was still immobile.

I raised his head and I looked at his eyes. Dilated.

His was a subtle smile.

I sought for his pulse. Why can't I find it?

I took out my phone and called for help.

"..."

No, I can't call. If I did, they would know Clare's modification. The press would have a field day.

But still, I need to know what to do with Clare. I need to know what happened.

I moved Clare aside and I tried to stand up. It was then that I saw a woman in yellow coat looking at my room through the window. She was standing near a tree across the street. She was carrying 'something' that was still glowing.

When I saw her, she pointed that 'something' towards me. Light began to gather at her hand. Just as when it's about to burst, something fast bumped into the woman and the light hit the air. She disappeared in an instant.

Clare had a mark on his back that resembled a Lichtenberg figure. The lines were glowing and growing in branches. The branches soon covered Clare's body. While it happened, parts of Clare's body and his clothes began to disintegrate and disappear into the air. I watched it happen until the end. If there's anything I can do right now, it would be to stay until everything ends.

When the last of the particles ceased to glow...

"Clare's gone."

The holidays in PsyHigh is an exciting one. In fact, 'exciting' is an understatement.

Temporarily allowing more aggressive forms of magic and research, the students would hold tournaments during the first few days of the season.

The logistics department would wrap the gymnasium with spatial-type illusion magic, enlarging it even more than the size of the physically-biggest stadium in all of Via Lactea--the Hochzizhik T'nalak Stadium in Lys, with one million seats for beings with physical bodies and twenty five thousand safe chambers for the spirits.

In our version, the logistics can sit a wide variety of sentient beings inside the stadium by constantly expanding the venue. Although the stadium in Lys can expand using illusion magic, a group of 750 000 magic practitioners is needed. Here in PsyHigh, we need only 10 because the physical venue is much smaller.

This year, a person from an obscure planet 340 light-years from the Sun won. I wonder how she got here, considering their civilization is Type 0, same as ours.

But who asks these silly questions here anyway?

Every night during Saturnalia, the school would hold a banquet for those who have won the contests and let the students sing modified Christmas Carols, taking care not to cast dark magic.

People from USE-LESS Division (United Society of the Elvenkind-Literacy Enforcement and Support Services Department; yes, magic is enforced) would always be watching, with the student discipline committee ready to cast cancelling magic in case a version of Frosty the Snowman conjures it.

The Dining Hall would serve holiday meals, each according to one's beliefs. For example, if Clare had been alive right now, he would eat nothing and instead sit with the plantfolk and bathe at the Photobar.

If only Clare was alive...

That day Clare died, I had met with the Headmaster and told him what happened. The Headmaster offered extra security but I declined. If I must protect myself, I would do it alone and--

--kill my enemies. I am the Creator of the world and its Destroyer. I came not to save the world but to bathe it with fire and brimstone. I gave life and life I will take away. I am--

"Jarvis."

I was standing in the hallway outside the Headmaster's office. @Rogue called me from afar. He asked me why I was staring at the wall and I asked--

"--did I say something just now?"

"Nope." Rogue said.

I said goodbye and retired to my room.

The last night of Saturnalia came and I sat at the Dining Hall.

@Pearline was busy tinkering with a box.

@Nova+Toaster was talking with @Randy+Bernstein about the Intramural Flying Club.

@Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. He's partying with a snake.

@Kayla+May was catching up with everyone.

@aurora+Danielle was with her mum near the entrance. I think they were talking about a fire?

@Young+Jim+Horner was also here; isn't he getting a bit...uhm...tinier?

@Silverfawn was watching over the pine tree with everyone.

Everybody, including those I forgot to mention, were having fun; at least, that's what I saw. There was a lot of running and fussing over something.

Despite all the commotion about the pine tree, I went back to the dorms. I brought with me some cookies for tea.

I tried to calm myself down with the night's cold air. There were tears but I tried my best not to cry.

While the tea was brewing, I placed the cookies on a plate and sat on the chair by the window. Clare was sitting here before he died.

I lied down on the floor. Cold. I am alone.

Clare shouldn't have died. I was the one with powers.

Useless. Why are my abilities useless? When Clare was still here, we discovered that my powers dealt mostly with swapping one object with one another at the same point in time. What if I can swap with him just right before he got shot and I died instead of him?

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

The process of swapping objects has not been fully understood. To transport an object from one place to another, the caster needs to define the boundaries of the [space] to consider. The dimensions of the [origin space] and the [destination space] must be equal. The difference in the number of atoms inside each boundary must be sufficient such that there are no distortions in the object. The process would always equalize the amount of atoms on both spaces.

For example, say there are two 1 cu. meter [space] boundaries. One of the [spaces] contains a mouse and air from earth and another contains nothing but vacuum. After "casting the spatial magic" or "implementing [Swap] using Svyatoy's Theory of Permanent Systems (Psionics)", the amount left of the mouse on one [space] will be the same on the other. Both [spaces] would achieve the same characteristics and tend to stay that way until the flow of [psi] has been cut off.

How can I define the boundaries? How do I know if the amount of atoms are equal? What about before, when I swapped with Clare without much effort; is it just luck?

As I think about the things that happen before and the things I wanted to do, I opened my eyes. It's impossible. We can't switch.

But what if my powers were different to begin with? What if it's not [swap]?

Everything started with a [wish]. I wanted a brother. The world gave me one and he died. I want him back. Whether the world denies or grants my [wish], I will never know.

[Wish] is a form of incantation. A way to implement a [system]. That's it.

I focused my mind into forming a person. That person was sitting on the chair by the window, just like the day he died. He was sipping tea and eating the cookies I got from the Dining Hall, although he doesn't need it.

Tonight, he was alive. He looks at my future and I look at his past. Who was the woman in yellow? Why was it trying to kill me? He was wondering what I would do next.

Tonight, we will part. We ourselves will never meet, yet the things we leave behind would give us comfort that he was alive and I still don't forget him.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the stars in the night sky.

I sat on the chair by the window.

After sipping tea, I searched for the cookies.

"Cruel. This is just cruel."

At least, leave some for me.

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Side Note:
*According to Irina Svyatoy's (b. 10 CE, d. 1030 CE) Theory of Permanent Systems (Psionics), an "act of disruption of the physical reality, either through [sensory system] or [conceptual system], will be permanent if and only sufficient amount of [psionic energy] or [psi] has been consumed". (From the History of Psionic Warfare, published secretly by the Academy of Sciences of the U**R.)
*If the amount of [psi] is insufficient for any given [system], the effect has a weaker potency and has an expiration proportional to the [psi] consumed over the [psi] required.
*Is Irina Svyatoy 1020 years old? No, she is a time traveler.
*I once greeted Irina Svyatoy a 'Happy New Year' while lining up for cronuts. She asked, 'which one?'
*All info came from the Underground Great Library of Yosemite Park. (The floor is lava.)