3 months and three weeks later

3 months or ninety-two days

It's been ninety-two days since the explosions. Ninety-two days since the world flipped upside down like a table no one wanted to sit at anymore. The news still doesn't know what to call it. Some say it was a meteor shower, others say a solar flare. Some crazy YouTubers are convinced it was aliens. But the rest of us—we just call it The Fall.

After that day, things weren't the same. Schools shut down. Airports closed. People my age—kids, teens, even college students—started waking up... different. Some of them never woke up at all. And the ones who did? They were either scared, sick, or glowing—literally.

I'm not glowing. Not yet.

But something's happening to me. Something I can't explain.

It started with the dreams. Then the headaches. Now, sometimes when I get mad, things around me start to shake, like the world is flinching with me.

I haven't told my parents. I don't know how to.

They already look at me like I'm something fragile. But I don't feel fragile. I feel like I'm becoming something.

And deep down, even though I'm scared... part of me wants to know what.

Three Weeks Later

Three weeks. That's how long it's been since the world flipped over and shook the life out of everyone between the ages of 5 and 25. Three weeks since the mall, the explosions, the chaos. Three weeks since I passed out in front of H&M and woke up in a hospital bed with oxygen tubes and a pounding headache.

Now I'm home. Back in my own room. But everything feels different. Like I'm standing in someone else's life, watching it fall apart from behind glass.

Every day since then, my parents have been glued to the news like it's the only thing keeping them sane. The TV is always on—day and night—flickering with words like mutation, ability, power surge, classified DNA patterns, and the new term scientists are throwing around: Sheeds. Short for "shifted breeds." Like we're some new species or something.

But the real shock didn't come from the scientists. It came from TikTok.

It started small—a video here, a video there. A girl in California lifting a metal chair with her mind. People said it was edited. Then came a guy in Tokyo who solved a Rubik's Cube in less than a second, his eyes glowing white. Another hoax, they said. Then someone in Brazil punched through a car door. A joke. A prank. Special effects.

Until it wasn't.

Because when a kid in Chicago posted a video of his mother—who had full-blown AIDS for over a decade—standing up from her hospital bed completely healed, smiling, eating jollof rice, and dancing to Burna Boy, no one could ignore it anymore. The doctor confirmed it on live TV: her blood was clean. Completely. Not in remission. Gone. Erased. Like it was never there.

That's when the world stopped laughing.

Suddenly, the media exploded. Twitter (or whatever it's called now), Instagram, YouTube, even Facebook—it all turned into a frenzy. Hashtags like #SheedsUnleashed and #AreYouOne started trending. News channels scrambled to report the flood of stories, and every day brought more unbelievable footage.

People flying. People controlling water. People moving objects with their thoughts.

And people stealing.

There were stories of someone robbing a bank with nothing but a flick of their fingers—money floating into bags like feathers. A man who could bend light walked straight out of a jewelry store while invisible. Even healing became dangerous—people were offering "miracle cures" for cash, injecting blood, making promises they couldn't keep.

I watched my parents more than I watched the screen. My mom hardly ate. She would sit with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the news, her lips moving in silent prayers. My dad barely talked, his jaw tight as he paced back and forth, always on the phone with someone from church or work or the neighborhood group chat.

They were scared. We all were.

But me? I didn't tell them what was happening to me.

Sometimes, I'd walk past a dying flower in the kitchen and find it fresh again the next morning. Once, I cried after a nightmare, and when I wiped my tears away, my pillow had tiny sprouts growing out of it. Little green leaves, no bigger than my pinky nail.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. But I wasn't.

And it wasn't just me.

James, my nine-year-old brother, kept racing through the house like a flash of lightning. He could clean the living room in ten seconds, then pop up behind me with a grin before I could blink. At first, Mom thought he was just hyper—until he ran so fast he shattered the glass screen door by mistake.

Jason, my six-year-old brother, suddenly started doing college-level math in his coloring books. He built a fully functioning robot out of Legos and duct tape. One night, I caught him on my mom's laptop, coding something I couldn't understand, humming to himself like it was nothing.

I wanted to tell someone. To tell my parents. But every time I opened my mouth, something held me back. A part of me didn't trust what would happen if I did. What if they tried to take us away? What if they thought we were dangerous?

Because that's what the news kept saying—some of them are dangerous.

We weren't all healing grandmas and lifting cars out of floods. Some Sheeds were hurting people. And the world was starting to divide. Not by country or color—but by power.

One night, I overheard my dad whispering to my mom in the hallway. I only caught a few words:

"...military's getting involved..."

"...classified blood types..."

"...they'll start testing at schools next..."

That's when I started to get scared. Because if they tested us… they'd know.

They'd know James was faster than any normal kid. They'd know Jason was basically a baby Einstein. And they'd know I had something strange blooming inside me.

I wasn't sure if that meant I was a healer or a weapon. And I didn't know which one was worse.

All I knew was that something was coming. Bigger than the explosion. Bigger than TikTok.

Something that would change everything.

And somehow… I was right in the middle of it.

3 weeks continued 

Three weeks.

That's how long it's been since the explosions. Since the world went from normal to something straight out of a sci-fi movie. Since I blacked out and woke up feeling like someone had pressed a restart button on reality. Since Mom held my brothers like they were made of glass and Dad never let the car go below half a tank.

Life hasn't been the same since.

People call it the Event now. Like it's something you could just put in a file and label. But the truth is, no one knows what really happened. All we know is that two massive explosions lit up the sky and everyone between the ages of 5 and 25 passed out cold. Including me. Including my brothers. Including kids all around the world. And then… some of us came back different.

The internet is wild. TikTok, Instagram, YouTube—people everywhere are showing off their powers. At first, everyone thought it was fake, just another dumb trend. But then came the videos they couldn't explain. People lifting cars, solving complex equations in seconds, healing injuries with their bare hands. It wasn't fake. It was real.

A guy from Canada ran a mile in under thirty seconds. A girl in Brazil turned an entire field of dead crops into blooming sunflowers. And one woman claimed her mom, who had been battling AIDS for a decade, was suddenly cured. No one believed it—until the doctor confirmed it on live TV.

I'm not gonna lie. It was terrifying.

But also… kind of amazing.

At school, it's like living in a superhero movie—except none of us signed up for it. There's this girl named Paige who made a pencil hover in class. She tried to pretend like it was the wind, but the whole class saw it. Then Devon—yes, thatDevon—lifted our teacher's desk off the ground during gym. Just flexed his arms and boom, it was in the air.

Everyone is either pretending they're normal or showing off like they're auditioning for a Marvel movie. And me? I'm somewhere in between.

Because weird stuff keeps happening around me. Like, I'll touch a dead plant and suddenly, it's not dead anymore. Or I'll get upset and flowers bloom on the grass outside. It's small, but it's real. And I know it's coming from me.

My brothers are changing too. James is practically a blur now—he runs so fast it's like watching a glitch in a video game. And Jason, my six-year-old genius brother, corrected my math homework in pen—and he was right. He knows stuff no first grader should know.

Mom and Dad are always glued to the news. Every day it's something new. Riots. People using their powers to rob banks or steal cars. Some people are trying to play hero, stopping crimes or healing the sick. But it's chaos. And the one thing everyone agrees on?

Both the healers and the dangerous ones are not normal anymore.

We heal faster. I saw it with James when he scraped his knee—he barely bled, and the skin was good as new by the time we got home.

Scientists are involved now. Talking about gene mutation and accelerated healing. About how this could be the beginning of the next phase of evolution.

But no one has answers. Just fear and theories.

At school, it's getting harder to focus. Some teachers are acting like everything's fine, assigning homework and pretending we're not all terrified. Others just don't show up. We talk about powers in whispers, like it's some secret magic. But the truth is out, and no one can ignore it anymore.

And today—something's different.

Everyone's buzzing about a major announcement from the president. The news said it would air tonight, and rumor is, it's going to change everything. People are saying they're going to start registering those with powers. Others say the government's already started rounding people up.

I don't know what to believe.

But as I walk into the living room and see Mom and Dad frozen in front of the TV, and the screen cuts to the president stepping up to the podium with a face like he hasn't slept in weeks…

I know things are about to get a whole lot worse.