This is the last in my collection of imaginings of characters/moments we didn't see, since these were all the stories I had floating round from when I wrote them years ago, and I won't be writing any more since I have a new book obsession now (read 'The Hunger Games' and you will understand). Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and favourited this, it means a lot :)

I wasn't originally going to post this one, because I found it to be needlessly dark and not of a very good quality, but I decided I may as well. This is what happened to Bindi (remember her?) after she left Bloors, because I liked the idea that she one day did develop a power and had adventures like the others do. I think she now lives in the US, because I chose what I felt to be quite typical American names for the OCs.


An unusually small girl sat slumped against the hard, undecorated concrete wall of her basement, her gaunt, pretty face betraying her misery. Her dark eyes drooped as if she were about to fall asleep. This conception was right, on one level, for she was tired. Tired of the disappointment that had promptly followed after so long awaiting the unlocked mystery of her talent, tired of ceaselessly having to control herself, tired of wishing she had relished her freedom-days more before she had been forever cursed with this so-called 'gift'. She was just so tired…

"Bindi!" a contented, homely voice shouted. Bindi sighed heavily. One other culprit of her weariness came from the pretence that the sensitive side of her nature forced her to keep up to her mother, that everything was fine. She loved her mum dearly, thus she wanted to shield her from the danger and tribulations that came with having an endowment.

Bindi enjoyed acting, she really did. That was why she had chosen to do drama at Bloor's and at the new acadamy she now attended after discovering her endowment, even though she would never quite be as good as the other children, whose lives consisted of nothing but learning lines, singing loudly and just generally being overdramatic. But when acting became no longer a choice, a pastime, and it was used to protect rather than to entertain, it developed into a lie, a sham, a shameful deceit.

She listlessly stood up, using the wall for support, and slowly shuffled over to the door. It was only then that she realised how late it was and how many hours she had been in there, despondently brooding about her new-found 'talent'. The realisation came from how the before bright daytime sunlight pouring in from the window had dimmed to the darkness of night, so completely that she could barely make out the door handle.

Squinting in the darkness, she failed to notice one of many boxes in that room that rested peacefully next to her feet, and promptly walked into it, taking her completely by surprise and knocking her off-balance. As she fell to the floor, a flickering yellow ball erupted from each hand, the abundant yet tiny forks of electricity that they consisted of leaping out and binding themselves urgently around her thin wrist as if they were being finally released from a torturous prison of isolation and were desperate for human touch. So hungry that they would hug a murderer if they were the person closest to hand, and never let go...

Bindi's friend, Chelsea, had a theory about this. She believed that, because endowments generally seem to reflect how the perpetrator is feeling through their disposition, Bindi's endowment was revealing her true thoughts; the ones that stay locked up in your head and are never known by anyone, not even yourself, yet are always there, engraved in your heart.

There was a thump as Bindi crashed to the floor, though being rather light due to her size, the noise wasn't as strident as it probably should have been. She sat upright and stared, completely focused, at her hands for what seemed an eternity, her usually warm, friendly brown eyes taking on a burning intensity that seemed highly unnatural and slightly scary. Eventually the electricity lost its child-like energy and died down to a few rogue sparks that leaped from hand to hand before bouncing off into the shadowy corners of the room.

She knew that she had been lucky that the old wooden floor hadn't set alight. It had happened once before, when she had just turned twelve and was beginning to discover her 'talent'. The grass of the park she had been so blissfully relaxing in with her friends had surrendered to the intensity of the heat that the sparks created and were soon choking under a (luckily) hastily put-out fire.

"BINDI!" the voice came again, louder and more insistent this time. Bindi sighed and got up once again, even more tired by the repetition of the action and typical yet annoying and embarrassing reaction to surprise that had overcome her just a few minutes ago.

She made her way to the door, this time carefully inspecting the floor before she placed her diminutive feet into the space before her. Her mother, and presumably her tea and her normal façade life, was waiting…

...

A week later, Bindi found herself sitting in the same place, in the same depressive mood. As soon as she had got home from an arduous week of school, she had plugged herself into what Chelsea disdainfully called 'emo' music at the highest volume her I-pod went to. It wasn't loud enough for her. It wasn't loud enough to drown out the murmurs of sadness and, occasionally, the faint crackle of angry sparks that irately shot out of her hands.

No, the music was not nearly loud enough. But it was deafening enough that she could not hear the door eerily creak open a few metres to the side of her, and the pad of footsteps, slowly but surely making their way towards the unsuspecting girl sitting in the dark with her eyes closed. They rung out like gunshots round the still, virtually silent room, and were only accompanied by the hum of expressive screeching and erratic bass guitars fighting their way through Bindi's headphones and enclosing her in an emotional, reclusive bubble: exactly the effect she had been aiming for. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in her unhappiness...

The footsteps abruptly stopped and a hand clamped down on her shoulder, making Bindi jump in surprise and triggering a bright flash of light to explode from her hands.

"OW!" Bindi heard a pain-filled wail as she pulled her headphones out. She looked up to see Chelsea holding her foot, which had several white hot, blue sparks on it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Bindi pleaded miserably, quickly brushing them off. Chelsea, still nursing her foot, which felt like it had been mercilessly stabbed by several hot needles, gazed round the dark, empty room and cried

"What is your problem?", staring incomprehensively at her friend. Bindi's deep, sorrowful eyes slid down to the assorted knots and lines carved into the wooden floor, every one of which she knew by heart after her seemingly length-less hours in that same room.

"Everyone I touch I electrocute. Every time I'm happy I shoot sparks. Every time I'm sad or angry or confused or surprised…" her voice trailed off into a defeated sigh as she gazed at her hands, which were layered in an intricate pattern of yellow electricity, writhing round the barely distinguishable blue bolts on her palms, which seemed to only choose to make their appearance when they felt a human touch. The glow gave her beautiful mahogany skin an unhealthy and unearthly yellow tinge.

"You'll learn to control it" said Chelsea comfortingly, sitting down beside her.

"No. No I can't. I've been trying, and trying, and I just can't!" her voice turned from the monotone drone she had become accustomed to speaking in recently to a plaintive wail at the last few words.

"I know this is hard, but it will get –"

"How do you know? All you do is breathe underwater!" Bindi exploded. "Oh, how hard for you! How you must understand how hard it is to try to control an incontrollable endowment!" She snarled sarcastically, then got up and walked away towards the door in disgust.

"Nothing is uncontrollable" Chelsea muttered in a way that was so deep and mysterious that Bindi stopped in her tracks and turned to look with blazing eyes at her only friend, instead of just ignoring her like she usually did.

"So you say. But you know what, Chels? You think you know it all, but you don't know anything! You're the most stupid girl I've ever had the misfortune to meet!" then walked off, leaving Chelsea staring despondently at the empty space where Bindi had previously occupied, marveling sadly at how Bindi had changed.

...

Bindi walked to school with a particularly dark, sinking feeling. Ever since last month when the excitement of her new-found endowment began to dwindle to annoyance, her social skills had deteriorated until even the best of her numerous friends had deserted her, having given up trying to help what clearly to them was a lost cause.

The only person who had stayed true to her was Chelsea, one of the eight endowed children who had been invited to study at the academy. She had walked beside her on her rambles of solitude round the grounds, chatted to her companionably (compensating for the severe lack of reaction from the other side of the conversation by talking excessively animatedly), when she could see all too clearly from Bindi's face that she really just wanted to be alone to wallow in silence, and was so detached from ordinary life that most of the time she had no idea what the other girl was on about.

And now Bindi had surely lost her only friend, her only lifeline to reality, through her harsh words.
She sighed as she trudged through the gates, surrounded by excited children greeting each other then instantly launching into lively gossip about their weekend. But no one greeted her. Not since she had been immersed in the same bubble of seclusion that she had locked herself in for the past few weeks. No, she thought bitterly, it wasn't herself who had locked her in, it was her endowment; her supposed 'gift'.

"Bindi!" came an urgent, relieved voice. It occurred to Bindi that the voice was familiar, though she couldn't think why. She had been having great trouble remembering faces, voices and even names of people who had seemed so unforgettable to her before. Before…she reminisced pensively.
A vaguely recognisable boy suddenly darted in front of her.

"Thank goodness I found you! Do you know where Chelsea is?" Of course, she thought sullenly as she shook her head in reply. No one ever wanted to talk to her, and if they did it was always about someone else. Someone who mattered.

He groaned, looking round agitatedly. "We need her" He looked round for Chelsea again then grabbed Bindi's arm as she began to slip away."You too" he added.

"Me?" She asked, confused. The dreaded sparks began to spit from her hands, betraying her anxiety. The boy barely noticed. He looked at her with his deep, serious green eyes and said

"We need all the endowed. Well, the good ones, anyway." he lowered his voice "The problem has got worse"

"What problem?" She suddenly remembered who this strange boy was. He was Aaron, one of the endowed. His talent was amazing…

He sighed irritably, realising that Bindi had been so wrapped up in her own problems lately she had no idea what had been going on, and he was not looking forward to the long explanation that would be required.

"Tyler let the Nothing out of 'The Neverending Story'. You remember his endowment, right?" She did. It was something she had always thought of longingly, wishing that she could be able to do something like that. How incredible would that be, she thought, to be able to lift words from a page and thread them into a living, breathing version of what they had been describing...

"Oh" was all she could reply.

"Miss Storm thinks we can stop him with Tolemeo's Feather, but it'll need all four of us to muster enough power for it to work"

"Oh" she breathed again. After so much time trapped in a vortex of her own troubles, consequently doing the same mundane things everyday and averting herself from any engaging goings-on, all this sudden action rather overwhelmed her.

"She'll probably be in one of the Art rooms, drawing or something. Come with me" Aaron said, heading quickly for the large double doors that marked the entrance to the large, imposing building, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along with him to the beginning of an uncertain adventure…


The 'emo music' reference was the result of being an MCR fan in a pop obsessed world, so I didn't mean to cast a negative portrayal of this type of music, I just had a problem with other's perception of it. Rock on :)