My superpower is weakness. The truth is one weakness that will always give you the coolest superpower. I am an inmate at the federal Prison, not that I had stabbed an innocent kid, or had broken a law neither have I damaged the society’s property but it seems using one’s superpower is a sin punishable by confinement.
I have my names stamped on several houses built with irons and decorated with barb wires. I remember the days in the state prison. Those were days worth living again, not that I didn’t feel like an animal when the officers pushed us to dinner and woke us up with whips. But the greatest privilege of my superpower is the ability to enjoy even the most crucibles.
If time could be reversed, I would not change a thing in my past, but rather admire the person the holy book has taught me to be; a man of truth.
The sun had already spread its fingers; it crawled into my bed and knocked on my lid. I rolled on my bed and the holy book which I held fell to the ground, without delay I picked it up and dusted it. I walked myself into a Saturday dress and got out to the street. The air was thick with the pleasure of Saturday; families would sit at the veranda to talk about the week’s activities, children with broad smiles, young ladies with pajamas, young men with the sound of dice piercing the silence. I walked past a house as everybody greeted with smiles heavenly, everybody in the street knew me for my superpowers and I was popular with it.
A siren was heard at a distance, soon the siren got louder and the soldiers trooped into the neighborhood, men with heavy and pointed guns. Their cars were huge and being the one they came for was overwhelming, like a mad man tickled with a bird’s feathers. Their cars patrolled for a minute, the patrolling were unusual as the children stood and stared at them. One would see their parents ruptured with fear, as each bold child who stood to stare were sure to receive uncountable number of strokes.
In no time, the patrolling vehicles stopped and the man who seemed to be their leader ordered the soldiers to cuff my hands. These scene have been so common that I don’t cook before going out in hopes that my going out may be another coming in the next few years, but some I received few strokes while some, philanthropists bailed me out. I am suffering in prison again for my superpower. I have never been stronger; knowing that sooner or later the world will your superpower and bow their hearts. My superpower isn’t an avenue for wealth but my way to eternity on earth.
My name is Obalende Hassan Chinedu; a son of Africa and this is day 26 in the federal Prison.

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