daily n5! 847 words okay this is absolutely not where i wanted this to go but lkjgljkldjk i was short in time also forums didnt let me to post this due to inappropriate language or smth so project it is :( Othello looked through the window. His focus was on the pouring rain, lamenting he couldn’t go out for his daily walk. He turned to his daughter, playing on the floor with some wooden blocks. He grabbed a random non-fiction tome from the bookshelf and started reading. The cover read “Genetic material modifications regarding the powerless.” The 8-year-old girl suddenly got up. “I’m sleepy, daddy…” She complained. “Really?” Othello exclaimed. “It is quite early. A bit abnormal for you, Anne.” He said, thinking back to the nights where he had to convince her to go to bed by reading her a story. “Can you take me to bed?” She asked, her eyes closing. The man nodded. The moment Othello tucked her in, without even saying goodbye, Anne fell asleep. Her peaceful breathing eased her dad as well. He went back to his book. Someone knocked on the door, thrice, sending shivers down Othello’s spine. Had his time finally come? After all, he was advanced in years. He knew exactly who it was and exactly why they were here. “I’m sorry, Anne.” He muttered to himself before grabbing the doorknob. And his assumptions were, in fact, correct. He felt his heart racing. “Prunt.” One of the men in the door stated with authority. “Prunt, Othello.” “Indeed. You are speaking to him right now.” Othello had imagined this moment for years. There was no way he’d escaped his fate for these many years. “We have orders of arrest.” Another guard stated with the same tone. “In the case that you decide not to accept our orders, you will face the proper consequences.” Othello looked down. And as he stepped out of his house, the one he had known for a big part of his life, he was immediately being greeted by the rain. He turned his head around one last time, to his sleeping daughter. He cursed the rain. ~ [11 YEARS AFTER] ~ Adrienne sat on the floor hugging her legs just as the door slammed shut. She was all alone, just like she had been hundreds of times before. This was not the first time a worker came and left a few days after. Something was happening, but she was used to it by now. She sobbed, but stopped herself. “All she had was herself. And she was going to make it work.” But whenever she thought that, she reminded herself that it would not work. There was no way out. The rain raced through the windows. She heard a faint thunder in the distance. Her powers were just too much for everyone. But what was she meant to do? She was an orphan with no one to teach her. She had sufficed and took care of herself for around a decade now. And even though everyone her age’s abilities were meant to just be starting developing, hers were already at Tier 4. Adrienne hadn’t met her mom. Or at least, she couldn’t remember her. For all she knew, she had always been alone with her dad. And he was gone too. Now, she was supposed to be taken care of by volunteer state workers. These people (she had met quite a few of them) were… not her favorite. They made her follow way too many rules, and treated her like a little kid. Why couldn’t anyone see her like the adult she was about to become? And… Why was everyone so scared of her? She knew her powers weren’t normal, but why was that bad? She could learn to control them. She stood up, so determined that the floor creaked beneath her, and went straight to her room, decorated with a plant theme. One of her walls was trellis-inspired, with vertical planters and tons of pots lined against it, most of them filled with plants already, for her experiments. Adrienne picked up the first one. She remembered the day she made it as if it was yesterday. Her dad was telling her about the different power genres. “Growing plants is one of them. If I could do that, I’d probably grow forget-me-nots or dahlias. I just love how pretty they are.” She remembered him saying. She even remembered how he had stopped for a second to think. “Flowers can have so much meaning. Or so little. Did you know that some people use flowers to com-” She stopped her memory to look at what she was holding. There it was. The first plant she ever made. A forget-me-not and dahlia hybrid, in honor of her disappeared father. The next pot had a single dandelion. According to her dad, this was her mother’s favorite flower. So simple, yet so pretty. A tear streamed down her eyes. Because of her plant-growing power, she was well known in many botanist topics. One of them was the flower language. And that night, where she was feeling so nostalgic, she decided to look through it again to take her mind off things. Re-reading the table of contents, she found the meaning of all three flowers. She heard another thunder. Maybe it was a sign.
