Awakening Power

The world used to tick by with a predictable rhythm, like the old grandfather clock in my aunt’s hallway. Every second accounted for, every day a gentle echo of the one before. But since the star sticker found its way into my life, that rhythm had shattered. It was no longer a clock ticking, but a drumbeat, erratic and urgent, thrumming beneath my skin.

It started subtly, small things I’d dismiss as coincidence or an overactive imagination. I’d reach for a jar on a high shelf, one I’d always needed a stool for, and my fingers would just… *stretch*. Not a physical stretching, but a feeling, a pull, and the jar would be in my hand, as if I’d willed it closer. Or I’d be walking down the street, a sudden gust of wind whipping leaves around me, and I’d instinctively duck, feeling a prickle of unease, only for a loose signpost to crash precisely where I would have been standing.

One afternoon, while helping Mrs. Gable carry her groceries, one of her heavy bags slipped from her grasp. Time seemed to stutter. I saw the oranges tumbling, the glass jars teetering, the inevitable mess and Mrs. Gable’s flustered apology. But before my mind could even form the thought, my hands shot out, not in a frantic grab, but with a strange, steady grace. The bag, impossibly, hovered for a split second, just long enough for me to secure my grip. Mrs. Gable blinked, then chuckled. “My goodness, Anya, quick reflexes! You saved me a whole lot of cleaning.”