Manifesting

Chapter 1

I realised I had powers when I was like 12 years old. My mom left me at my aunt's for the summer. I was so bored that I started writing things on paper. Things I longed for, that I desired. I would list them, decorate each word carefully.
Then I switched to draw my wishes. There, things began to change.
I asked a lot out of the universe: the first gift was a black cat. I was hooked on Sabrina, The Teenage Witch, and I wanted to be her. I drew that animal for not even ten days and it just happened to be right under my nose, in auntie's garden. Now Hugo is almost eight years old. My baby.
Then it was school's turn: I wished I had good grades. And yes, I put in the effort, but even when I don't study and spend my days playing Playstation and eating junk food with friends, I still get very good grades. I also asked for the Playstation itself as a Christmas present, to have more followers on Instagram, for my mother to get a raise. It always came true within a few weeks.
Except for Matt. I've been writing about wanting to date him for months now, but nothing is moving. It's our last semester before we part ways for university, but I'm kinda obsessed with him. We have some lessons together, but he's so cool and cold that he won't speak to anyone who isn't involved in sports or clubs in general.
I'm still thinking about his words. About the fact that he thinks I'm out of shape, that he's so shallow that he prefers that stuck-up guy with beaver teeth, Billy, who is probably getting pounded by Matt right now, while I'm standing here staring at the blank page of my notebook.
I'm not fat either. Sure, I'm a little flabby and I tend to put weight on my thighs, I'm a little pear-shaped. I'm 175 pounds and 5'8'' tall, though, only an athlete like Matt Crawford could see me and say I'm too chubby.
I get up from my desk chair and take off my shirt. I look at myself in the mirror, the big one by the closet: I have no muscle definition, the love handles are there, two small pillows resting above the waistband of my boxers. If on other guys I don't mind them, on me they are hideous. After Crawford's comment, it is as if they have gotten bigger. I grab them with my hands, about to cry. Why do I like Matt? He's so shallow. The typical arrogant and stand-offish 6-foot jock with huge shoulders and a marble ass, as muscular as the Olympian gods. Chiseled jawline, blonde hair, big lips. He makes me so insecure.
If only I could make him understand that ther- I open my eyes wide. EUREKA.
I know how to get my revenge. And make him learn a lesson in the process.
I hurriedly go back to the desk and think of Billy and Matt fucking. Of Matt in ecstasy, Billy caressing his toned pecs, whispering to him, "What a killer physique you have."
I grab the black pen and start drawing, feeling a very strong rush from my brain go through my ribcage and into my right arm.
I see Billy kissing Matt, caressing those mighty shoulders, already thinking about how they will dress for prom.
I don't even look at the paper on which I'm hastily scribbling, a breeze blows my head up, messes up my curly dark hair. I go blind for an instant.
I see only red. Then nothing.
I wake up on the floor, surrounded by pages from my notebook fluttering around my room. They are all completely red. One is black, the only one left on the desk.
It has white writing on it: "Greed."
My heart races, I try to scrub the writing off with the eraser, but it is indelible. Panicked, I tear up the paper. The bits hang in the air for a few seconds, glowing like fireflies in the forest. I fall backward in surprise. After that, they disintegrate.
The typical silence of my room comes back.
What the fuck just happened?