Wonder • Five Hargreeves

08

We only see each other at Weddings and Funerals

Winnie had started painting.

It hadn't long to set up:
She'd brought all her paints over from her suitcase, dumping them haphazardly onto her bed. She then pulled out a blank canvas from the back of her closet and an old teeny-bopper easel from her younger years.

After that, it was just a matter of calming down and letting her power take over.

Five left a while back to change and look around the house. He learned a long time ago not to mess with Winnie while she was painting.

—
"Five, while I love you with every fiber in my being, I will not hesitate to stuff those test tubes down your shorts the next time you knock on my door."
—

When Winnie was smaller, she never had the best control over her power. There was always a problem with getting it to work when she asked or with showing her the  specific future event she wanted.

It used to be a just toss of the dice.

Five was positive she didn't have a problem anymore, but he wasn't going to test his luck. Not when the only time she'd ever threatened him was over her concentration during painting.

So there she stood, alone. The middle of a room, with delicate hands moving quick and chaotically. Eyes glazed over and staring at something past the painting.

To her, she was seeing scenes. Several and all at once in a dizzying array. It was kind of like watching a bunch of TV shows, on the same screen, and through a distortion filter.

She was forced to unfocus her eyes and try to see a pattern- a picture, if you will- in the scenes. One in particular kept morphing together; so she painted its chaotic after-image.

Not that she could actually see it.
In her eyes it was still just a jumble of colors and simple patterns. To others it was something much more.

"Whoo. That wasn't fun." Winnie commented. She placed her paintbrush into her water cup and breathed a sigh of relief.

A knock sounded at her door. Winnie threw a cover over her canvas and jogged over to pull it open. She stared up at the person on the other side.

"Hi Luth." Winnie greeted quietly.

Luther shuffled awkwardly in front of the small blonde. He was feeling a horrible mix of nostalgia and regret, and nostalgia for that regret.

After all, it certainly was not the first time he had accused her of murder.

—

A small girl sobbed openly in her room. Her face was red and puffy, tears streaming salty paths down her cheeks.

It was a bad mission. A mission gone wrong.

Winnie was the only one to blame.

Well, at least thats what two particular Hargreeves children thought. Specifically- Number one and Number eight. Luther and Winnie.

"Oh my god Ben. Ben Im so sorry. Im so sorry." Winnie sobbed.

Her small hands clawed at the side of her head, curling into herself like a ball. She was gently rocking herself on top of her bed.

"Winnie!" A taller boy roared.

He slammed open her door, hitting it so hard it hung off its hinges precariously. The force broke the wall behind it and threw several pictures off the wall and to the floor.