[Maybe it's enough for those who've never touched the sky. Never felt the mad rush of leaping high and never stopping, unbound by gravity and feeling its weight pull futilely at their skin and behind their skull. Maybe for those who don't know the siren call of absolute freedom, watching others soar is enough.
But to those who've taken flight, being grounded is like losing part of the soul. The silence in his head finally broke, bringing the maddening, agonizing relief of whispers behind it - the whole thoughts of a city, the raw burn of pure power blazing if he dares to call it.
But he largely hasn't. He's not even tried to lift off the ground again, or lift a car, or catch bullets. He's not exercised any of his powers beyond a few mental exercises, a couple instances of reaching out. And he doesn't even know why, beyond a conviction that he can't anymore.
To those whose power comes from the mind, the spirit means everything.]
What's the point of making it if you don't get to use it?
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But to those who've taken flight, being grounded is like losing part of the soul. The silence in his head finally broke, bringing the maddening, agonizing relief of whispers behind it - the whole thoughts of a city, the raw burn of pure power blazing if he dares to call it.
But he largely hasn't. He's not even tried to lift off the ground again, or lift a car, or catch bullets. He's not exercised any of his powers beyond a few mental exercises, a couple instances of reaching out. And he doesn't even know why, beyond a conviction that he can't anymore.
To those whose power comes from the mind, the spirit means everything.]
What's the point of making it if you don't get to use it?