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I get snickers in the hallway. People don’t give me the time of day, but I’m all right with that. If I were popular, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. Someone shouts, “Hey Ned! Did you hear? Mist has struck again!”
I roll my eyes. Fools. “Mist” doesn’t exist.
People push past me and crowd around the guy’s phone, watching the news report.
“The mayor’s daughter was kidnapped this morning.”
I cannot believe that these high school freaks actually listen to the news during their free time- and they think that I’m weird.
“The kidnapper was found by his car on route 112, hands and feet bound by ice…”
What a waste of my time. I am not a model citizen, so why act like one?
“Mayor Sheldington’s daughter was later found at her house, sleeping in bed. Thanks to Mist.”
I leave the barren walls, graffiti strewn lockers, and guarded hallways of what everyone else calls “school”.
I stop by the bank on my way home. My hands get chilled. Ignoring the frost forming on my fingers, I give the bank manager a handshake- thanking him for his time- and leave.
The news headline that next day reads: “Mist Has Struck At The Bank! Get The Chilling Scoop About The Apprehended Bank Robbers!”
Fools. Mist doesn’t exist.