[h2]Adam Wilkerson[/h2]
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[h3][b]The Shut-in[/b][/h3]
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Apartment Block 3, Midtown, sometime around 9 AM.
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My fingers hurt. I've been typing non stop for the past half hour and I barely have five thousand words. This is possibly one of the only downsides to doing what I do. The goddamned writers block. Sure, three thousand words in half an hour may seem like a lot, but it's not. Not really. I want to write a frickin novel, not a one shot short story.

Sliding my laptop to my left, I bang my head down on my desk and stare blankly at the wall. I'm considering disintegrating it, just for something interesting to happen and give me some inspiration. Years ago I would have thought I could've become a super hero with powers like mine, but I didn't. My powers don't exactly hold up to the super hero codes and morale's or whatever, since my powers can literally pick something apart and erase them from this plane of existence.

Course, I have little idea of how to actually use my powers on much more than a garbage can, when I accidentally turned one into literally nothing. There was a small flash, and poof, gone. Anti-matter is weird like that. At least that's what I assume my powers have to do with. 

I honestly don't know.

Whatever, being a superhero wouldn't have paid the bills anyways. It's hard enough being outside anyways without having a double identity to worry about.

The wall isn't yielding any of it's secrets, nor am I going to destroy it. It'd probably come out of my bill even if the landlord couldn't find any way of pinning it on me, and then I'd have a large hole in my room for however-damn-long. Peeling my cheek off the wooden table, my eyes move towards the poster I had mistakenly grabbed yesterday. Foolish of me, but I had already filled out the sheet that came with it, and the meeting was...early tomorrow. Great.

I hate going to social gatherings... I hate people...I hate the society I'm forced to live in. I know my inner thoughts make me sound like an anti-social asshole, but that's basically how I've lived my life. A fly buzzes by and hits the window, trying to get to the chilly outside of the building. Flies never learn, that's what sets me apart from them. 

I know very well I don't have to go to the gathering, but... I haven't had anything to eat but cheap pizza in weeks, and as great as pizza is, some kinds of pizza taste terrible, and you can only live off of pizza for so long, even with vegetables. Goddamn gross.

I'll go there for the food, that's it. That's what I keep telling myself, even as I head for my bed for an early sleep, but deep down, I know why I'm really going.

I never knew that a life without others could get so lonely.


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[h3][b]A Day Later...[/b][/h3]
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Lost track of location, goddamn cold...maybe central park?
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Somebody end my suffering. Please. Kill me and be done with it. I hate the cold, not that I can't handle it, but I hate it like I hate being out in public, and since the cold is always outside, combine two things I hate into one.

I think I'm getting close to the building, can't tell, in the cold I always lose track of where I'm going cuz I'm to busy thinking about how much I hate everything. Maybe I should have grown a beard, at least that would help, or maybe a scarf, nope not in my budget right now.

My jeans aren't exactly winter material, but they work surprisingly well against the cold. Problem is, I forgot to buy winter boots before most of my money dried up and I'm stuck wearing my sad non-winter proof sandshoes. They aren't bad sneakers by any means, but they aren't the most well equipped to deal with snow and water, both of which are somewhat prominent in the winter time here in our fair city. Bah.

I decided not to dress like a total casual, so I wore my only dress short under my dark winter jacket today. It's one of those ones with the wooly interiors, so it looks both cool and it's warm. Sadly the zipper's broken and I don't have any gloves. Everything sucks. I hate everything. Well, maybe not everything, food is always a perk me up.

Stepping through the door shortly after another man, one who was trying to catch his breath  after what must have been a bloody marathon, I saunter past him silently and head straight up to the food table. Are those...oh my god those are Danishes. The sweet cheesy nectar of the gods. I swipe two, ignoring any glares, and take a seat at one of the empty chairs, munching on one of the Danishes with an almost cheerful smile. The flavor was rushing through me like a wave of utter ecstasy.

Delicious.

Nodding to the woman who had organized this, more as a respectful gesture then anything, I continued to savor the lovely taste of the food, trying to pretend I was the only one in the room.