Ms. Schlocky had lost control, among other things.  She was the new child-therapist, and currently hustling down the 18th floor hallway, head twitching left and right.  Her stilettos percussed to the erratic beats of her anxious heart.  Her bun had become disheveled and coils of fire-truck red hair were poking out of the once perfect hairdo.

“Blaine?” She called; worry increasing like the zip of a violin.  Steps gaining pace, she descended yet another flight of stairs.  ‘Please be safe, please be safe’ her dainty whisper repeated, dripping of distress.

“Have you seen a little boy?!”  She practically screamed, clutching the mail boy in a vice; her crimson nails digging through his once ironed shirt.

Ignoring his shocked “um”, she left, practically sprinted down the hallway.

“BLAINE!?” she screeched into the stairwell.

It was hopeless.

Blaine Anderson was hidden in the skyscraper’s boiler room for approximately three hours and forty minutes, curled up and staring blankly into the darkness.  Upon finding him, Leslie Schlocky’s first position as a child therapist had been revoked.   Unfortunately for Blaine, this was only the beginning.

Following her came Mr. Boney, a plump man who spent his time analyzing the inside of his eyelids; Mrs. Radish, with her smarmy smirk and stiff posture; Dr. Steve, who resorted to finger puppets and made everything rhyme (sayings like: “just sit on the couch Mr. pouch”, or “water for the daughter?”); and the list trails on.   All had errors, all insisted to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson that there tactics made weeds turn into multi-colored flowers, and all had failed miserably.  Thus leaving the Anderson’s in a pit of worry.

Their son, their prince, was deemed “anti-social” and “depressed” before even enrolling into grade school.  Blaine, of course, didn’t understand the implications bestowed on him; much less why every time his mother said “you’ll be meeting a new friend”, it was actually a grown up with a clip board.  He didn’t find anything of imperfection within himself.  However, with the monthly visits and his parents’ constant trips to the bank, his opinion eventually changed.

(x)

By the time Blain had transferred to McKinley High School, after hopeless sessions and the final (if not reluctant) concession that he was actually sane, Blaine had come to understand two things:

Firstly, his parents were the epitome of flawless.  Employed at honorary and well-paying jobs, hair still fully intact and coifed in just the right way; suits and dresses tailored to their healthy and slim forms, smiles both pearly and straight.  And Blaine was their son.  Realizing this indisputable fact, he began to strive.  Accumulating medals and diplomas, credits, friends, girlfriends (which didn’t last long), and even a reasonable amount of muscle.  He was popular and talented; he blended seamlessly into family portraits…at least to the untrained eye.  For in all actuality, he was the utter opposition to all their glamour and grace.  A fact he had chosen to ignore, in light of maintaining reputation.

The second realization was this: something was deeply wrong with him.  Not the superficial flatness of his hair, or the calculations of his grades.  Not even the peculiar urges he felt hum underneath his skin around other boys-although that too was an increasing worry.  No, Blaine was…abnormal. Something sparked and rumbled throughout his body, setting his veins on fire and his vision blurry.  A wave, a magnetic pull, that made his eyes trace peoples’ actions and swallow the secrets whispered into his ears for future reference.  It was malicious, he knew.  It clawed and danced at the sight of road kill, it salivated at the command he had in the Warblers.  It was dangerous, or so he thought, and yet simultaneously the most liberating and exhilarating feeling he had ever felt.  It was Power, pure and unadulterated.

The first display of this, he assumes, was Pammy’s demise.  A morbid occurrence that would later be referred to as “The Beginning”.  From there came the floating spoons or toy animals in his room, the light generated in complete shadows, and his personal favorite, the manipulations of people.

Blaine would grow a cruel smile at this particular power.

A smirk he would later cower from in his bed sheets; a grin that raked Goosebumps up his arm and conjured apprehensions in his nightmares.  For he was, in blatant truth, a monster.

Nonetheless it still happened.  With concentration Blaine had the adept ability to intensify a person’s feelings; whether that be anger, or grief, or lust.  It was quite comical to witness.  Especially when his old friends Nick and Jeff began making out without regard to the half-full classroom.

Don’t be fooled, the recognition of his…interesting abilities, left little implications on how to improve them, control them.  Blaine still tended to make the lights burst when overly stressed, or drive people to hysterics when dissection day came.  He once managed to get knocked out after tapping into Billy Donner’s aggravation.  He was a novice, but one determined to subdue the chaotic electricity pulses through him and be an inconspicuous face in the crowd.

(x)

Which is why we find him here, at McKinley, standing intimidated in front of the large school.

Breathe, nobody knows you. You’re just the ‘new kid.’

With that he took his first step towards the public institution.  Only to be bumped by a boy with pink hair.