Sync pulled up the hood to his cloak, covering the mark on the back of his neck. An Eagle tattoo, marking him as a aerial magic user.

He was a stigma- a singularity.

Most people thought that aerial magic was entirely useless.

Well they were entirely wrong.

Sync walked over to his window, slowly opening it so that it didn’t make a sound. He climbed up on the sill and leaned out before allowing himself to fall.

The wind picked up a bit and Sync felt light. Large brown feathered wings spread from his back, hidden against the night sky. The wind carried him carefully over the city, eventually landing on the roof of a skyscraper.

New Risha City was beautiful at night. One of the largest cities in the country.

Sync let out a low whistle.

A pigeon flew to his outstretched arm, perching on his hand like a falcon. “Hello,” Sync said, “How are things?”

The pigeon whistled back. Sync had deciphered the pigeon’s language a while ago. It was another hidden talent of aerial magic users- the ability to communicate with birds.

Most Aerial Magic users could only manipulate the wind.

Sync was a special case. He whistled something back to the bird before taking to the skies once more. In the sky he was in a state of euphoria- always feeling as though he could touch the stars.

Nights like this were wonderful, with the stars at their finest. The pigeon flew along next to him, until the pigeon took a sudden dive, and Sync followed suit. They landed atop a tall office building and the pigeon gave a short whistle.

“Here!” It chirped in it’s language.

“Well done,” Sync responded before dropping down in front of the building- South Risha bank. He pushed open the doors and upon seeing multiple people with guns he commanded, “Put down the weapons!”

The thing about Sync was that even if he tried to be a superhero, he was not the most threatening person.

One of the robbers let out a chuckle. “Or what? You’ll peck us to death?” She laughed, “stupid pigeon.”

“Pigeon is such a stupid name. I wish you’d all just drop it,” Sync said before lifting his hands and sweeping a gust of wind across the room, throwing the weapons from their hands.

The woman who had scoffed before had her face twisted to that of pure rage. She pulled a knife from her pocket and charged.

The hero simply dodged, grabbing her wrist and knocking the knife from her hand with a twist. He kicked the back of her knee, throwing her to the ground.

Sync let out a low whistle and a flock of pigeons came crashing through the window, attacking the remaining robbers and Sync let out a short laugh.

“FEAR THE PIGEONS!” Sync yelled before running back onto the street and flying off, pulling out his phone and calling the police.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“South Risha Bank,” he said.

“Pigeons.”

There’s this stereotype, a stigma, that all witches are green and evil. My name is Shadow and I’m Pagan Wicca. Pagan Wicca is a religion of nature. Most people believe that humans rule over nature, however Wiccans believe that nature rules above humans. Some Wiccans call themselves witches, or even practice witchcraft. I’m filled with euphoria when I practice witchcraft. I haven’t met a singular witch that don’t enjoy witchcraft.

I lay in bed a lot, it’s sorta my thing you know. Late nights staring at my phone, hoping for a slumber that isn’t coming. Bipolar has this stigma around it, this idea that we constantly change our personalities and feelings. That we are essentially crazy. I know if people could just understand the singularity of our minds, they wouldn’t judge so hard. I am living with this illness everyday. Everyday I think I will be ok. Bipolar never fails to break that notion. I am consistently sad, except the rare occasions when my mania hits. Those few hours or sometimes day are like the most effective drug in the universe. Pure euphoria. That’s the problem though, when you come down from that drug, that high, it’s like death. So I am constantly agonizingly suffering a death, while my brain chases the high.

Carrie looked into the mirror, there she stood, looking into the mirror, she saw herself. Her hand resting on her growing bump. She moved her hand to rub her bump. Never had she felt more alone, she had no one to turn to, it was a stigma to be pregnant and alone.

Her parents had kicked her out, over ten years ago, because they did not want her, she had rebelled, pretty much against everything and everyone, in her singularity, she had managed to turn everyone away and now she was paying the price.

A tear ran down her cheek, as she began to sob, she had thought of ending her life, to just go, no one would notice, she just wanted to be loved, it’s not much to ask she thought.

Then suddenly, she felt a kick against her hand, which shot her out of her daze, but was the first time she had felt the baby kick.it suddenly dawned on her, the Euphoria of the baby kicking, was telling her, that I love you, that everything will be alright, not to give up, there is always hope,

The tears turned from tears of sadness and sorrow to tears of joy and happiness, and for the first time, Carrie felt complete.