All Is Possible

The author’s thoughts or something:

These days, in the age of the iPhone, a generation where your popularity is directly linked to the number of your Instagram followers; days when if you don’t have Facebook you don’t exist; a generation of screens and hunchbacks, that has lost the meaning of love, and a moment when everything is instantly available and fast takes precedence over what nature intended, and hahaha, just you jerks, you think that’s going to be the thing now.

“Wait, what? You’re not going to mess with our heads?”

I’m really going to try not to, I swear. Because we’re surrounded by sons of bitches who are messing with our heads all fucking day. And a book, in my opinion, should give us a break. A book is supposed to be a friend, and everyone knows that a real friend is a mix of: hate someone with me, eat pizza with me, take your car out, be as messed up as me, and don’t leave me.

Because I’d rather have whoever’s telling me a story tell it in my own words, like a friend, and not throw in an “I think” in the middle, because that’s probably exactly when I’d tell him, “Hold on, I’m going to the bathroom,” and run home instead, just to watch dwarf porn to get rid of the bad taste in my mouth. Yep, this is the first book of its kind—literature for people who don’t read books and love other things like sex, drugs, and videos of fat people falling on YouTube. Mom, if you’re reading this, put the book down because it’s not for you—I’m serious, enough already.

The “Fucking with Your Brain” Chapter

Optional and not recommended—you can skip it. Anyway, at the end of every long paragraph there’s a summary of it.

It’s not easy for everyone when I say, “Oh my god, there are dragons now and people have superpowers, like ‘Ahlan-Ahlan.’”

So feel free to come back to this page every now and then to figure out what I’m talking about. And don’t be shy about doing it, because that just means you’re retarded.

So come on, put on a condom and use some silicone-based lube, because I have AIDS. Just kidding, I’ll wear a condom. Just kidding. Whatever. Let’s get started.

What’s the deal with the book

Anything Goes

Let’s start with the fact that it’s totally standard to believe that “anything is possible,” but “anything goes” also means I can write this however the hell I want. You know that guy who was born with webbed fingers and his hippie parents didn’t want to have them surgically separated, and today he owns a chain of movie theaters and is mega-famous? Yeah, that’s because anything goes—even that.

Now, there are limits because I want to take you on an experience, so the boundaries will be stretched in a more or less understandable way. So that’s it.

In short, there are no limits to what’s possible here. And everything can be within the bounds of what’s cool.

Background on the World

The story takes place in a world quite similar to ours, and begins in a large, central city. Here, too, here, everyone is glued to their iPhones and complains about people who are glued to their iPhones; in every ice cream shop, the flavors on the left side are the ones no one ever chooses, like lemon sorbet and tahini; protests by sluts; vegans who don’t know how to bring about change effectively; hot chicks looking down near a water source and a unicorn horn on Instagram; government corruption—easy; monopolies that are very careful to ensure that no one else in the world gets rich or succeeds; and, of course, plenty of bearded hipsters in backward hats who are crazy about Eyal Shani’s nonsense.

In short, the world is relatively the same as everything that’s happening here. Just with a few more things that don’t exist—and what madness it would be if they did.

But—and this is a big “but,” as you can see—physically, our history is a bit different. In our “once upon a time,” there were not only knights on crusades and other nonsense, but also fucking dragons, orcs, elves, fairies, and an endless array of legends that aren’t cool at all.

All of these more or less live among us. No need to get into it. Everyone knows, and at worst, there’s Google and streaming “The Lord of the Rings.”

In short, our history is different: Ashkenazim, Mizrahim, elves, orcs, and a whole lot of other nonsense. Different, advanced races of humanity—just think about it from a pornographic perspective for a second—omg.

Some people have powers. They’re called biots. And our hero is one of them, because what a bummer if he weren’t. Basically, what’s going on is the usual stuff: people who control the elements, like fire, electricity, ice, and air. There are telekinetics who can move things from a distance, and mentalists with the ability to enter someone’s mind and control it.

On the one hand, it sounds nerdy and super corny, but on the other hand, the people here have fucking superpowers. So, like, call me honey-glazed turkey pastrami for all I care and go blow your nose on a cactus, because our hero can shoot fucking lightning bolts from his hands.

It has to do with the fact that in our history, instead of calling someone a sorcerer and burning them while old-school whores with rotten teeth threw tomatoes at him, so he just became accepted, sat in the back of the bus, took off his shoes, and was given a place to grow up. Over the generations, we’ve advanced and developed the ability to manipulate, and we’ve continued to develop it.

And if you’re thinking: Haha, I’m sure there are people with powers to tie their shoes really well... well, no, and that won’t work. Haha, I’m sure there are some whose superpower is farting really loud—that’s their power, haha... Give it a rest already. No, and it’s not cool, and it’s obvious. Haha, drink up fast... I hope you step in shit.

Anyway, some people have superpowers like blowing someone up with a fucking fireball to the head. Or making a flower grow out of thin air and giving it to a girl on a blind date.

The History:

It all started 500 years ago. A wise and powerful leader named Avner rose to power. Avner the Brother They called him that because back in the day, more people were named Avner, and there were also more brothers because there were no condoms. Anyway, he came along and said, “Hey guys, let’s mess around with some microscopes and gunpowder.” And that’s how the technological revolution that changed everything began.

The problem was that all these changes and inventions seemed weird to most of the other races in the world, and they were like, “Well, what now?”

Avner the Brother organized a Summit Committee event without Facebook. He invited all the leaders of the kingdoms and tribes to Mount Souls, which is this kind of hippie mountain where people go to talk—but without arguing, because that’s not what it’s for.

Basically, he came to say, “Okay, guys, let’s take over the world together, invent stuff, and stop dying from the common cold.”

But none of the tribes or kingdoms wanted to join him, to move forward and evolve. They preferred to live as if it were the end of the world.

And then Nelson showed up—Nelson, the son of a bitch, the slut, the Nazi, and the hardliner—he arrived on his giant Siberian dragon and said to Avner, “Come on, let’s fight a little longer, right there.” At the site of the fight, so to speak. Then he razed the mountain—even though it was the mountain of the beautiful ones—and killed the King of the Elves, who was on humanity’s side, along with other important people.

Many of the creatures joined Nelson against humanity. The great kingdoms remained neutral, and humanity was forced to fight alone to avoid extinction.

In short, David Avner invented the technology 500 years ago, and Herzl emerged. He took his vision to all the other kings of the creatures in the world and told them, “Let’s develop technology together.” They told him no. And out of nowhere, someone appeared for whom “no” wasn’t enough. And he started killing. Nelson—and he’s the bad guy. The evil Nelson convinced many of the kingdoms of creatures to turn against humanity, and then they went to war: humanity against everyone else.

The battle that ensued was the greatest the world had ever seen. Humanity banded together against Nelson. And a war of mass slaughter began. They called it “The Great War.”

In the middle of the battle, there was a massive boom-crash. That was the moment the anti-technology generator began to work. A device built by the creatures, not by humans, which prevents the existence of any kind of human technology in any form whatsoever in half the world. It’s literally a 50-50 split. Humanity retreated from the battle. Because without technology, they were nothing.

My brother Avner was killed in the process.

In short, there was a war between humanity, led by my brother Avner, and the rebel creatures, led by Nelson the Thousand, that slut. In the middle of the war, the device the creatures built started working, and humanity’s hair dryers, guns, cannons, and everything else they’d invented stopped working, so they fled, and the creatures won, and Avner the Brother died.

The Generator: A device created by forces on the other side of the wall. It prevents any kind of human technology from working in half the world. It doesn’t matter if it’s a gun or a Bluetooth speaker. And so, it left that half free of human civilization or technological progress.

In short, technology doesn’t work in half the world because of a device the creatures built—the Generator.

The Separation Wall—there’s a wall surrounding half the world.

And beyond the Wall, human technology doesn’t work. So humans live on the right side of it, where everything’s on fire and there’s Winner beer and Camel cigarettes.

After the war, the Wall will give us the chance for a fresh start, for a future free of disruptions, for growth and progress. The wall was built hundreds of meters high, and it splits the world in two.

What lies beyond it is very interesting: the possibilities are... endless, colorful, and pretty fucking crazy.

In short, there’s a wall surrounding half the world, at the edge of the Generator’s influence. Behind it lie all the kingdoms, the madness, and the locked-up Dink.

The basics: Well, the story goes that when something major happens in the world, the universe chooses a cosmic duo—like a horoscope—a team of a human and a Siberian dragon (we’ll get to that) to set things right.

Every so often, the universe spits out a duo like this and grants them “Kim Jong-un-level” powers, with one absolute mission: to restore the balance between good and evil in the world.

We haven’t seen a duo like this since the last one, who ended the Great War and killed Avner.

In short, when good and evil become unbalanced in the world, the universe spits out a human-dragon duo to fix it.

Dragons—so they exist. Yes. I hope you know what a dragon looks like. Well, here’s the thing. It turns out there are four types: green, blue, red, and black, in order of relevance.

Green is a scooter dragon.

Blue is a Mercedes dragon.

Red is a tank dragon.

And black is an Apache helicopter or a fighter jet.

Dragons can talk and live with us like pets. They have highly developed language skills. Their brain structure is very similar to that of humans—specifically, that of a 4½-year-old with developmental delays—except for the black dragons, who are as intelligent as we are. All of them can breathe massive flames, but the blue and green dragons have the cartilage in their throats that enables this removed. It’s a kind of safety mechanism in Western countries.

A special note on the Siberian dragons: They are more intellectually advanced than the rest and are the smartest, strongest, and fastest of all dragon species. To their credit, they have maintained peaceful relations with the human race for thousands of years—until the Great War. Since then, they’ve been at odds with us, like most races and creatures in the world. They do not live among us or on our side of the Wall. They are extremely dangerous, and their tribes can be found on the wild side of the Wall.

In short, the Black Dragon—the Siberian one—is the strongest and most fiery. And as intelligent as we are. They live on the other side of the Wall.

You have AIDS now.

Linguistic advice:

D(A)Zen—He has a tough day; he gets up at 5:00 a.m., even on Saturdays. He drinks black coffee with his friend Moti, then goes out to fix things. He has paint stains on his shirt and shoes, and he’ll stop to help you with a flat tire and fix it in a flash. He has a beat-up gray pickup truck that spews smoke like crazy, and he couldn’t care less. A lot of the time, he’s your friend’s uncle or your uncle’s friend.

He doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t care about the things you care about. He works to make a living, so that his wife (Chiba, Hadzen’s wife) and kids have bread on the table. He doesn’t know the definition of “marinade,” but he knows what hard work tastes like, and that’s all that matters. He knows how to load up like a rocket scientist. He’ll turn one trunk into two, thanks to his efficiency.

It’s spelled “Dzen,” not “Dazen.” Because he has no patience for that “A.” He doesn’t care about the “A.”

Bokarf—a physical or spiritual description of something that’s weird or awkward, but not in a cute way; something that deviates from the norm in a slightly detached sort of way. Like when your dad puts on gel or your mom gives you a kiss on the mouth and for some reason you’re totally cool with it. An eyebrow piercing, a tough-guy face in photos, mega-fucking-skinny jeans even though you’re fat and a guy, Eve and Lear, shitting your pants, shitting in a public place and then walking out into a line of people where the first one is a hottie and it’s total chaos. Smoking a hookah, getting caught stealing a clipper while hanging out with people you don’t know well, eating the crap your aunt made and lying about it. Raisins.

Chatka—dictionary definition = a piece, a piece of (a piece of) an inanimate or abstract object, such as: a piece of emotion. A piece of anger comes over me. I’d love a piece of a fork, or a fork-shaped piece. A strong emotion—a piece. A piece of beer, or a beer-shaped piece, please.

As a verb, I got a “chatka.” I fell asleep like a “chatka,” for crying out loud. Why? Just because.

Gan Shavim—a playground. It’s funnier to say that. Also, “tzatzavim.” “Tzatzavim” chatka.

Pre-Pre-Chapter 1

Hi, I’m Dizzy. Short for Denzel. Yeah, it’s super weird—my parents are from England, so they named me after an Ethiopian movie star.

How do I describe myself... Okay, honestly, I’m a normal kid, I think. I don’t know if I can call myself a kid, but I do because I’m weird. It’s pretty typical for me to be walking down the street with someone and then start laughing uncontrollably because I pictured them slipping on a banana peel and cracking their head open, and then an ambulance shows up with a bunch of silent clowns who keep knocking them off the stretcher until one of them cracks their head open too, and another ambulance with clowns arrives for them.

I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box. And if for a moment it seems like I am, then I’m one of those sharpened pencils whose tip falls off and it feels like your eraser is dead. I’ve never excelled at anything, except in 11th grade, when there was a class party at Ronen the Indian’s house and I won by kicking a piece of gum through his neighbors’ window. They called the police, and I had a panic attack in the bathroom and threw up.

I’m of average height. My face is normal. Like a traffic light. I don’t really look like a traffic light, but a traffic light is very ordinary. Dark hair, a tiny mohawk, and I’m relatively broad. I don’t look anything like my parents. A Lego cutout under an apple tree. They always said someone got shoved in between them, and so the whole thing wouldn’t turn into a big deal, they just said it was the gods or something. They don’t know which gods—the main thing is that it wasn’t Itzik, the paperboy.

I don’t have any siblings. Because having siblings is gay, and also because I don’t have any siblings—not because it’s gay or anything. I only said that because I’m jealous. When I was little, I was always bored at home, and no one bullied me or beat the crap out of me after school. Once I babysat my neighbor’s kid, and I really got into the whole “he’s my little brother” thing—I got into a fight with him and accidentally banged his head on the corner of a table. Then an ambulance showed up—without any clowns—and I stopped babysitting him.

I only tell my parents I love them on significant occasions like birthdays or before flights—in case they might die—otherwise it’s just super weird.

I have ADHD and I don’t know how to lie. It’s a combo that’s right in your face. Because you have to lie at least a little for people to believe you have ADHD.

Otherwise, you really try your hardest and end up succeeding. So fuck it, I finally fucking succeeded at that shitty summer camp they stick you in for 12 years, which only causes social trauma while it breaks you down and rebuilds your character over and over again. All because when I try to lie, I get super weird—like, “He must collect flies and fingernails.”

Where am I in life? Pretty much nowhere. In the morning I work a sensible job at a clean energy plant, and when it’s late—in the middle of random nights—I remember to ask myself what I really want, without the courage to give myself an answer or change anything. Every time that happens, I die a little inside... and my time just keeps passing.

Our greatest truth is also our greatest pain. And I... I’m a coward, and that’s the truth. I haven’t given myself the life I wanted for myself—not really. I see the world moving forward, time flying by, and I stay behind, making the same mistakes—doing the second thing I’m supposed to do, knowing it will take me to a place that isn’t the best for me, because I don’t feel like doing the first thing; it’s a little too much for me right now. Always.

What’s comforting is that I know I’m not the only one. That everyone does this to themselves in some way because we don’t have the courage to choose to be different.

So many punctured and shattered dreams lie forgotten by the wayside, because in the only life we have, we weren’t brave enough to listen to our hearts.

Now, aside from all that, I’m also terrified of crickets—scared to death. I’m not kidding. Death.

But something is happening. Something is starting to stir inside me.

Prologue 1—Awakening

Half a tray of lukewarm, pathetic pizza sits in front of me. A dead expression is etched on my face. I bend down to pick up the bong from the table and fill my head, just to feel something, to drown out the boredom and push the problems aside.

“Click!” The lighter ignites and I take a drag. My eyes follow Game of Thrones playing in front of me. “Plop!” And my head drops. Dizziness sets in, and with it, nausea. The minutes pass; my stomach aches, but my head wants another slice. Maybe I’ll put it in my mouth... no... I’d have to get up for that.

And just like that, right in the middle of a bite full of mushrooms, something churned inside me, and I found my face contorting as if a bomb were exploding inside my body, while I tried to figure out why—as uncontrollable sobs burst out of me with my mouth full. Involuntary snores and internal screams echo. My stomach isn’t having it. “Baa! Baa-ah!” My body lurches toward the ashtray, and a chewed-up slice of pizza is spat into it.

Round two hits, and cheese and Coke spill violently into and around the ashtray. I drag myself toward the bathroom. I lose my balance and crash into the living room cabinet. Photos and figurines of someone who no longer needed them make their way to the floor. I’m sprawled across the cabinet, begging for help, through the slime and vomit residue that drips with every hysterical breath.

“Bah-ha-ha!” My stomach sends up everything it can onto the family photos, especially onto one of me with Mom and Sam, the blue dragon Dad got for his retirement. Back then he was still small and cute, on the day they brought him homeee... “Ha-ha...! Aaaah!” A spurt covers everything and those meaningless statues, just like me. Fuck... I can’t. I wake up every day in the same place and go back to the same place, looking to feel something different through this fucking bong while I burn out all my senses, getting as high as possible, and nothing makes sense.

All your friends from high school, from middle school—they’re all smiling, getting married, succeeding, together. And I’m alone, with no ambition. No fulfillment. No hope. Someone needs to throw me in the trash. I head to the bathroom, go in, hug the toilet, and scream into it.

Panic attack: “You’re nothing, nothing at all. I hate myself...” The words slip out of my mouth and echo back inside with sharp, piercing sounds. My stomach won’t let go, pushing more and more, and the digested pizza starts making its way out. I can’t breathe. My chest fills with pain over who I am, over everything I’m not. A red light flashes in my head, intense pressure on the wrong side of my pelvis. I have to go. I pull down my pants with one hand. The cold floor delivers a slap of reality. And I... I’m about to explode.

Self-loathing fills me: “You’re disgusting, you’re repulsive. Feel it well—your choice. Feel the z—” Oh no... it’s coming out. My ass can’t handle the pressure. It’s coming out! No! “Ha!” One pull upward seats me on the bare ceramic toilet, a torrent violently leaving my body. “Bah!” I cover my knees with vomit.

My head is spinning.

My body loses its balance.

I crash forward onto the cold floor.

“Mindin hin pen. Ni’i mindin hin yours... Ni’i the time... Mindin following pen. This is the ti’i... Follow your heart. It’s time.”

What? Who?

My eyes fly open.

A phone rings; a terrible smell hits my nose.

“Hello... hello... um... did you say something?” Ugh, what’s going on here.

“Ah, my buddy. Are you still asleep? Get your ass up. You’re late. Traffic’s crazy.”

Shit.

Chapter 1—First Rain

Raindrops pound the car’s roof; thunder roars. A storm is raging outside. Sunlight barely filters through the gray sky and tall buildings; raindrops form and vanish in their battle against the squeaking windshield wipers, and in the background, the air conditioner rattles as it runs on heat.

I’m at a traffic light, stuck in traffic, on my way to the factory. I think I’m going to pass out right now. What I went through yesterday was totally messed up.

“...About the storm over the city, Yaron?” the radio blared. Ugh. I wish someone would just beat the crap out of me.

“Yes, Keren. Look, clouds are covering the city and rain is pouring from the sky. Climate change has reached beyond the wall, and we couldn’t have predicted it. We all hope the storm will end quickly. The Ministry of Transportation and security authorities are urging all drivers to exercise the utmost caution.”

I hate this fucking rain. Fuck you, rain. And fuck you too, marzipan—I hate you. Stop showing up at the market with your orange slut of a friend.

The cars are starting to move. Finally. Turn left onto HaMifal Street.

“...And following the approval of the plan to extract resources beyond the wall, we’re joined by Shlomi Atias, spokesperson for the National Operations Command.” What now? Just drop some white shit on them and be done with it. I can already imagine the consequences. Fucking retarded idiots, I swear.

“...Hello, Keren. A few hours ago, the UN resolution to begin construction of the pump for extracting natural resources beyond the wall was approved. The pump’s motor will be installed on our side, and the pipe will be inserted to the other side of the wall, from where we’ll extract the resources needed to maintain our socioeconomic stability.”

“...In response to the decision, ambassadors from the kingdoms beyond the wall have urged people to take to the streets. Protests and riots are breaking out in major cities. Don’t you think a move like this could provoke or irreversibly jeopardize the peace between the two sides?”

“Anyway, those creatures have no use for oil on the other side...”

I turn off the dying radio and head toward the factory parking lot checkpoint, an hour late. The sound of the window slowly rolling down, and Nati the guard peeking out from the other side, waiting there as always with a satisfied smile—God knows why. How does he manage to smile like that every day? After all, what’s the difference between us? Neither of us planned to be where we are now; we both hoped to be somewhere else in a future that has become the present. I’m a parking lot guard just like him—just without the guard, without the parking lot, and with a little more money. Just another empty mark on the world.

“Hey, Dizzy, how’s it going? Did you see that? How did a storm just hit us like that? Believe me, you can’t trust the weather forecasters! They say one thing, and the opposite happens!” he complained. Man, he’s so weird first thing in the morning.

“Ah, Nati. Yeah... I’m just super late. I have to, like... the checkpoint.”

He looked down, searching for something to say with a sad expression. “I really didn’t mean that. Please, come on in. And sit with me for a smoke on the way out—let’s ramp up the panic a little!” He smiled sadly.

“Man, Nati, you’re an angel.”

“Nir.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Nir. You’ve been calling me Nati for four years. I didn’t want to correct you, but I read a book that really gave me the strength to rethink things, and I thought I should tell you that my name is Nir. Because... that’s my name.”

What?

Silence fell. The sound of the engine became awkward.

I didn’t even know what to say: “I promise I’ll call you Nir from now on.”

His face lit up with joy, “Have a good day, Dizzy. And you really do come over for Shabbat!”

The barrier went up. I drove in.

I parked and got out of the car, walking toward the elevator. Damn it, I’ve been calling this guy by the wrong name for four years. Fucking book—

“Clang! Clang! Clang...” The sound of metal scraping against concrete rang out. What?

“Who’s there?! Hello?” I waited a few seconds. “Come on! Say something! Don’t you know that’s exactly the kind of thing that freaks people out?!” I yelled. Chills, damn it.

“Clank! Clank! Clank...” echoing and fading away toward one of the far corners.

Fear. I’m late as hell. I ran to the elevator and rode it up to the factory lobby.

A bright light blinded me and made my eyes squint as the doors opened. I just needed to get to Monica and tell her I’m sorry, and say hi, and then go imagine that I’m doing something with my life.

I walk across the light-colored marble floor toward the counter, where Monica is sitting. Blonde, hot, big glasses. She’s stapling documents and bobbing her head to the beat of the music playing from a small speaker next to her. She looks up at me. Oh my god. She’s looking at me. Fuck. Calm down, this happens sometimes. Stay chill.

“H-hi, Monica. About... uh... this. Crazy day, huh? The storm and all... like... uh... this...”

What’s wrong with you, you Indian cripple? Stop it. Just talk normally now.

She smiles, raises an eyebrow, “You’re late, Diz. That’s the fifth time this month.”

Oh my God, her eyebrows are so pretty. I wonder if she’d still be hot without eyebrows... I wonder if it’s like someone being hot without arms. Fuck. Nice. Someone hot without legs. Wait... why... what’s wrong with me? Why would I prefer someone without limbs over someone without ebb—

“Diz?” Monica asked, blinking.

“Sorry, I was thinking about eyebrows.”

“And then you were late...?”

What? Holy shit. Why am I telling her this?

“No—no, there was traffic, and I had a super weird night—the kind you’ll remember forever.”

“Dizzy, you’re such a special kid.” She paused. “Nonsense. Everything’s a mess here anyway... and I forgive you. But this is still on the table. Starting today, you have to buy me stuff,” she said with a mischievous smile.

What!!! Oh my God, maybe she can’t see well because of her glasses and thinks I’m really rich. Tell her what to buy you quickly—show her you’re the boss when it comes to this stuff! “I really want to buy you all kinds of things, like tools and... P-spells. For bikes. What.”

“What?”

“What,” I’m about to go into a catatonic state.

“Tools?” she asked, confused.

Damn: “A chain. For events.”

“What?”

“What,” I’m about to throw up, damn it—no matter what, just don’t blink.

I blinked. Ugh! You idiot! Just stop it!

She burst out laughing and covered her mouth. “Diz... I’d really love a string of events.” I hope she’s flirting with me and that she doesn’t want to set my hair on fire with kerosene while I’m sleeping.

Shut up and stop staring at her already. I shook myself.

She smiled, “You know that five tardies means a talk with Ali, right?”

Fuck shit, “Uh-huh?”

“I won’t write it down, but maybe you should go talk to him anyway. Are you okay?”

Definitely not: “Yeah,” I said, turned around, and headed toward the elevator.

“Ding-dong!” came from one of the elevators. Ugh. I pressed the button for the executive floor. I looked for the most comfortable spot and leaned against the wall. I glanced to my right at the mirror right next to me, straight into my own eyes; I let it sink in for a moment, then looked away.

My mom always told me that the most important thing in life is that every morning and every night before bed, I look at myself in the mirror and know that I’m okay with who and what I am. That I should be happy.

But this place is driving me crazy. I’m suffocating.

HN

CH3

CH3

XXX pages to the next stop, yeah, man

My head rolled back, searching for the reason behind all this—this situation that’s too static, too sticky, too full of emptiness.

Boom-crash, story time:

The sound of waves crashing on the shore, one after another.

“Cut it out already, you pain in the ass. Every time we have a bonfire, you pull out that fucking guitar and you can’t even have a conversation. All I hear is you fucking with my brain.”

“What’s the big deal? A little guitar, the ocean, girls, drinks. What else do you need?”

“Shut the hell up. Here, have some orange vodka—we’re 17 now.

Noa, give him a drink so he’ll stop whining.”

“Okay. Dana, do you have the vodka? Eww. The mat’s sticky... Dizzy, who are those guys? Your friends?”

The campfire lights up a group of people rapidly approaching us.

“No. Oved, did you invite them...?”

“I didn’t... it’s... I don’t know.”

“Put all your phones away before someone here gets beaten to a pulp!”

“Mom!”—“Fine. Take them! Just give them what they want!”—“Dude, please. We didn’t do anything to you.”—“Don’t give him anything! Are you seriously going to hit a girl?!” I hear people around me say.

A foot steps onto the mat, heading toward Dana, who can’t keep her mouth shut. The other foot follows. A hand grabs her face forcefully, “It’s a shame about your pretty face...”

A terrifying, violent face illuminated by flickering fire, emphasizing the murderous glint in his eyes.

“Oved! No!”

“Let her go, you son of a bitch!”

A shove; a body crashes onto the sand; three others rush in and pin Oved to the mat, kicking him in the face and ribs. He screams in pain as he’s dragged off the mat.

I’m frozen with fear.

Three more join the mob attacking Oved.

Matan and Itai stand up to try to stop them.

I can’t move.

The girls’ screams to my right echo in my head. Matan and Itai are already getting beaten up. And I can’t move.

Dana pleads, crying, “Please! Please stop! Just take whatever you want!”

Matan is dragged toward the bonfire; two thugs shove his hand into the flames. My body is in shock; I don’t know how to process what’s happening.

I can’t do it.

They’re... b... burning Matan’s hand... but... how...

My heart is pounding, adrenaline is surging, my whole body is shaking. Matan’s screams of pain echo loudly in my head along with the girls’ shrieks.

A knife glints amid the commotion surrounding the worker.

My thoughts stop; a silence I’ve never heard before settles in.

An internal valve I didn’t know I had opens with a rusty clang.

Release, discharge. A blinding blue light.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Electricity races and shatters bottles, until it’s absorbed by the crowd that’s gathered. Everyone is convulsing, glowing. My friends step back through the flashes of lightning.

It usually starts in adolescence, sometimes later, but most often following a significant event. I had mine during the summer break of my junior year of high school.

They say the first time it hits you is simply the strongest. I don’t remember exactly what happened, only that I woke up on the boardwalk with a blanket over me and blinding police lights all around me. One cop bought me ice cream, and it turned out she was actually a female officer, and I felt embarrassed.

Two of those autistic guys woke up from their comas just a few years later.

Electricity—that’s my thing (see the chapter “Fucking with Your Mind”). I know how to discharge it from my body. It’s like going “poof,” only way cooler. That was my dad’s thing, and his dad’s too.

People like us, biots, usually work at a clean energy power plant. I, for example, was recruited to a plant like that a while after high school. It’s convenient—a government job, a decent salary, an apartment on their dime, parties, and drugs. I don’t know, I didn’t think too much about the consequences of going down this path. My dad did it... and my parents are pretty happy... I don’t know.

That’s it—storytime’s over. That’s all.

The elevator doors open. I walk toward the plant manager’s office. I peek inside and wave to the secretary.

“He’s available, you can come in. Name and department?”

“Dizzy. Electrical.”

She presses a button: “Let Dizzy from the Electrical Department in.”