Alexandra Duncan

Science Fiction. Fantasy. Feminism.


My electromagnetic field has been acting up again this week. I've managed to erase messages from the answering machine simply by standing beside it, and change the radio station back and forth between two stations by walking from one side of the bedroom to the other. This is the worst it's been since the time in college when I miserably failed to learn Excel, because I made the lab computer malfunction any time I got within a radius of 2 feet.

Since all the significant milestones in my life at which my parents would have informed me of my alien heritage have passed, it's time to accept the truth. I must have been bio-engineered by some shadowy arm of the government, entrusted to my parents for safekeeping, and then forgotten by the now-defunct research program that begat me. Either that, or I'm actually a Scanner, in which case my pyrokinesis should be kicking in any time now.

"Maybe you're a mutant," Jeremy suggested after the episode with the answering machine.

"And these are my powers?" I said. "Short-circuiting minor appliances and making people reboot their computers? I can't even use them to fight evil. I only get in my own way! Worst mutant powers ever."

At least for the time being, I don't seem to be killing my car, or, say, overloading any power substations. When the neighborhood starts having blackouts every time I take an evening stroll, I'll start to worry. Then it'll be time to set up my yurt in the wilderness and wait for the scientists to come.

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