PG: Sinai Park

The girl's name was Madison. She had me in an elective a year ago. The biggest guy was a bloke named Ernie, who technically grew up in the same area as me since elementary school, and the smaller guy was Iroquois, who mostly kept to himself. He was alright, but he still laughed at their punchlines; still followed their cues. Never talked much. I thought he was alright.

It was as I walked away that I started to feel guilt tug at my conscience.

Somehow. Somehow it always found a way.

I couldn't say why. While looking down at my palm, which had effectively no amount of ache from the series of slaps I'd given little Madison's butt those minutes ago now, thanks to my reality altering abilities, I considered those same gifts with a sinking brow.

Why me, anyway? Was it an accident?

Should somebody else have been made, er, an Owner of the World?

Should ANYBODY? Isn't that, like, a totally rule-breaking idea? That of an all-powerful entity dictating what's true and real -- and what isn't??

"Why cant I...." My murmur trailed off as I contemplated the somewhat frustrating 'subconscious' element of my ownership privileges. You'd think being the owner of the world would just make everything fall into your lap without a single bead of sweat on the brow. But right now, there was a pressing question. And that was why I seemed to be incapable of actually convincing people of my otherworldly, or rather, in-worldly powers, even when the sky was red, or a holiday was invented out of thin air that involved the happy fondling of three specific asses, all here in this lovely hole of a town.

I grimaced. It almost felt like...

...nah. Couldn't be.

Whatever it was, one thing was clear, and it was that, well...

I just... didn't really know myself, I guess. Maybe, I never did. I was never that super self-reflective, never really did much self-evaluation and stuff. Not 'til I got this whole thing thrust into my face, anyway. This was SO cliche, but, maybe, just maybe, the answer to this could only be found by, like... going on a journey of self-discovery or something.

What? It worked for that Buddha guy!

I dug a tooth into the inner wall of a cheek and sighed.

How exactly was I supposed to go about this?

Okay. I thought with a determined nod. Here's what we're going to do.

Grabbing a sheet of paper from out of thin air, I set it flat in the air in the middle of the street, the cars and trucks phasing through my body and the paper as I conjured a handsomely inked ballpoint pen. Then began to write.

HOW TO OWN THE WORLD, 101

1. Don't use your powers to instantaneously turn your life into a completely different person's.

2. Limit your powers to a certain number of uses a day.

3. Don't use your powers to instantaneously become famous, or rich, or powerful, except in short-term occasions.

4. Don't use your powers for perverted--

I stopped.

Looking around, feeling somewhat self-conscious despite myself, I hesitated before wiping the words from the last point away with a finger, leaving the line as clean as a baby's bottom.

4. You may use your powers as you see fit. However, every Saturday, you must refrain from using your power at all.

Gulping, I took a breath, then breathed out, a sparkly mist embracing the sheet in a curious glow. In a matter of seconds, it seemed to expand. The paper grew transparent as it suddenly began growing at an exponentially speedy rate, and ascending upwards until finally, the words themselves locked into place with a deep, bellowing thunder, scrawled across the sky as if it was a flat, even surface, no sign of the actual paper itself in sight.

Nobody else could see it, of course. At least, I didn't think so. But for me, they were as clear as crystal. Huge, floating word crystals high up in the sky. Kinda cool, actually. Probably could be kind of romantic. Er, if, you know. They were saying something different. And maybe not as demanding.

It was as I was in the middle of my reverie, suddenly, a big rig crashed into me, and flipped over my head with a loud, windy whoosh, before landing upside down on the other side of me. A miniature quake rocked the vicinity, notably throwing some visitors of the nearby park off their feet (and boards). A whirlwind of dust and debris rose from underneath the capsized truck, large, heavy tires spinning in place as the accident came to a quieting détente, and the sound of a clinking hubcap gave way to silence. I turned my head around to look at the newly made mess.

Whoops.

Looks like I'd relinquished my phaseability. Scanning the scene, I noted that there was also apparently a family in a sedan that it had just crushed, killing all of them instantly, their bodies now mangled, human pancakes. With a grimace, I brought them back to life, rewound the physical trajectory of the semi until it was back on its wheels, and removed any body damage to either vehicle. For the heck of it, I decided to also give their car a new paintjob. Oh, and I made the mother go pantsless, because why not.

"Okay," I shook my head to myself as I walked away, restarting time for both vehicles. The both of them vroomed by safely as I rubbed my chin in contemplation.

"So now, whenever I need to, I could just wave a hand and the rules should show up as clear as day up in the clouds. Perfect."

With a wave, the tenets faded out of view, just as planned.

"Now, to make it so it's actually followable..."

I concentrated, focusing on the tenets themselves. With a push, I imbued it with an essence of my consciousness to create a safeguard from myself, effectively rendering the list unchangeable by my hand before a day since the last revision. Similarly, I also had them impose themselves on reality in the same manner I would -- through a proxy simulation of my 'will'. Only, in this case, their effects were mostly restricted to myself, a way of essentially invalidating any attempt of mine, accidental or not, to bypass the parameters set by these rules.

It was while I was setting up the finishing touches that the Donnie Darko theme song came on.

"Shoot." Eyes popping open, I scrambled for my phone. "He--"

"We texted you like a gazillion times man!!" Like a strike of lightning, Jason's voice crackles through the receiver.

Wincing, I returned the phone to my ear, warily. "Sorry Jase, what's up?"

A slurp from the other end. "Come over. The whole gang's here."

Looking at the time, I began walking back. "Okay... but why?"

"Just come around. You'll see." Another slurp. The sound of a girl's voice exchanging words with another boy echoed unintelligibly. "Where you at?"

I glanced at the park I was re-passing. The crowd that had assembled to see Madison's spanking of Ernie had dissolved, apparently. "Sinai. You know, the park."

"All the way out there, bro? Damn. Ain't your bike still broken?"

"Yeah, well, I just did some rapid teleportation techniques to get around faste--I mean, er," I cleared my throat. If I was going to do this, I needed another approach. I had to try and play along as best I could. After all, they would all just be confused if I had to explain to them the 'truth' every time. Case in point: yesterday. "...I took an Uber?"

"Hold on, bro, Michelle volunteered to go out and get you. Right, Michelle?"

I couldn't quite tell, but that sounded like a pretty distinctive 'uh-uh' in the background.

"Thanks M. Hear that, John? Just hold tight, alright? She'll pick you up in a jiff."

Before I could even get a word in, I was staring down at our conversation history. Shrugging, I dropped the phone back into my pocket.

Michelle was our token black girl of the group. I'd apologize for putting it that way, but it wasn't me who coined it; she did. Yeah. Mick was something else, alright. Spunky, with enough 'tude to put even those skater punks to shame. But honestly? Really sweet on the inside, too. Last year, she baked a huge cake for Helia's older brother, who was leaving for his lab work. It was one hundred percent voluntary, and yet it was a damn good cake. When it counted, she as selfless as a sharp tongued teenager could be.

It was just, 80% of the rest of the time, if you weren't pulling your weight and wasting her time, then, well -- she wasn't going to be a fan of wasting her time on you. One way to word it, anyway.

And she was going to be picking me up in 15-ish minutes.

Moments like these I wished I had my driver's license.

My eyes drifted over to see a blond wearing a blue cap and in tight fitting gym clothes pass by, walking her dog, then lit up.

"Uh, 'scuse me! Miss?"

As I called out to her, she stopped and turned, looking a bit wary at my poorly voiced greeting. Oh well. I was no silver tongue. At least she stopped.

Meanwhile, I was ruefully tearing my eyes way from her thighs. Alright, John. Keep it nice, keep it simple. Not too crass. Something like,

"So do you want to make out?"

After a quick look to the side, she returned her gaze to me and lifted a smooth skinned shoulder. "Got nothing better to do. Why not? Just give me one second."

I watched as she fixed the leash handle to the leg of a nearby bench. With a little silent nudge from me, her circular ass cheeks were directed right at me as she worked it around the fixture, and pushing hotly against her tight black leggings at the angle she was gratuitously bending at.

"On second thought," I piped, causing her to flip her head over her shoulder inquisitively, "can I make out with your ass instead?"

The blonde laughed, wiggling her butt a little in response. "Be my guest, kid. It's all yours today."

With an exciting tremble, I took the plunge.