Creative Mode

Twenty-two years, thirty-two minutes, and fifty seconds since the apocalypse that changed the world. Since then some people have been born with powers, and the human population has dropped significantly. Countries are a thing we learn about in history books. Our city is one of the biggest in the world humans rebuild fast. Were survivors. It’s been twenty minutes, forty-two seconds, and nine milliseconds since I graduated with an art degree. For the most part during that duration of time I’ve been driving. I could just teleport around. Hell I could create the perfect structural property imaginable, but I like the idea of finding it. The aesthetic of it all. I pass country homes, gas stations, fast food joints, and large forests. Mostly trees, and lots and lots of fields. I pass three stores in one building in a row. A cemetery/funeral home, a restaurant, and night club was on the corner of the street I was on. I didn’t like it. I wasn’t superstitious exactly more like I believed in fate. I hoped seeing the gravestones weren’t some kind on bad sign. I kept driving. There was only one other house on the road I was on. A small farm house, and an old woman owned it. She owned the wheat fields on ether side, and the two in front. The rest was just woods. Her grandson (her other grandchildren lived out of state) would swing by now, and then to use the tractor. She had no farm animals, and at the moment wasn’t planing on having any. She had an indoor cat, a siamese, but that was all. All good signs. Somewhere nice, and secluded. Exactly what I was looking for. I pass an empty field surrounded by thick trees. There’s one single tree in the center, it’s been struck by lightning twice. It’s almost dead, but not yet. That feels like a good omen. I change it, bend it to what I want. A living tree, leaves different shades of autumn orange. It’s old, pretty, and the trunk is slightly twisted. There was something in the back of my mind telling me such a sight at night may be slightly unnerving for some, but I brushed it off. Then I see it. There’s a lake out back in the large forest, but it’s not with in walking distance. There’s a few small flowers springing up in a large grass field. Acres, and acres. Probably more than what I need, but I’m a little greedy. I open my door, but don’t get out of the car. I send out my sense, though I’m sure I would have felt it if I was being watched. No one’s nearby. I turn my body so my legs dangle. I get to work. First it’s the slightly wilting gardenia tree. I always found it fascinating that even the dead gardenia flowers who don’t last long, are still so pretty in death. It’s rather inspiring. White, and almost orange. I lift the tree with a single taught rather feeling like I’m in a video game. Then placing it back down elsewhere. A little out-of-the-way. I change it to a cherry blossom tree. Though there not native here. I focus on the house as I close my eyes. I don’t need to look at the sketches. I think about building material, and square feet. When the foundation is set my mind moves faster, more inspired. A large house, with a large studio. Dinning room, family room, art studio, and storage on the first floor. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office, and a craft room. A sitting area in the back, and a patio. I could always expand later. Satisfied with my work I stand. The car door closed shut with a thought. It’s a pretty house. White, with a small amount of ivy crawling up one part. White window sills, and flower boxes. I enter. The big empty house changes. Furniture, and rugs appear from no where. The whole time information keeps running though my brain, almost like whispers in my ear. The square foot of the room is- Due to statistics from a study done last year this area is said to be the safest- It’s very excluded with only Mrs. Welling living on this street- Two other neighbors a street down- Common fauna found in the area are- The table is twenty-eight inches wide- Birch wood is commonly- It made it easy to find what I was looking for. I’m basically a walking, talking search bar. Omnipotent you could say. Though most of it is subconscious. I can technically process it all to some extent. I could process all of it at once if I really tried I’m sure. For now, though I sort of just look out for things like if I’m potential danger. I’m safe now though. I wonder into a large empty white room, there’s some tall windows letting in light, and light wood floors. This room is a blank canvas. As am I. I can’t help, but think back to the horrors, and tragedy that led me here.