![canstockphoto144002513b44d.jpg](http://www.steemimg.com/images/2017/01/29/canstockphoto144002513b44d.jpg)
> http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/156109857968
> "The world’s best have been transported to a single building, each having their own field of expertise. You, an average Joe, have also been transported. You have no idea what you’re so good at, but everyone else seems to be afraid of you." -- Anon Guest

The right hand rule sucks. I kept finding myself back at my own marks. Upstairs, downstairs... everywhere was closed in. No exits existed. Not even in the extensive gardens that seemed to grow every food plant in existence... as well as a few food animals. Small ones. Not the large ones that needed a lot of upkeep.

There were homes. Flats, habitats, whatever you wish to call them. There were places that could have been shops if they weren't arranged by an alien. There were no checkouts. There was no security. Everything was fresh, clean and new. Scarily clean. It was like the whole place was a habitat for a human collection.

There were others here. The best of the bunch. For every job, the leading name in that field was here. Wherever here is. The best doctor. The best psychiatrist. The best gardener. The best cleaner. The best... everything. And then there's me. Someone from podunk nowhere with a dead-end job in cubicle hell. I don't get it. I'm not the best at anything.

All my life, I've been a C-grade student. I just... barely pass. We all have nothing to do, here. Everyone is healthy. Everyone can eat what they like, fresh or pre-prepared in the mall section of our... habitat. Everyone can read what they like out of the library wing. Everyone can watch or listen to what they like out of the media wing. I just have... more nothing to do than anyone else.

Everyone here is like a freaking genius. I'm just... me. And I'm sort of bored with all the choices we got in here. Everyone else has this sort of... society going. And then there's me. I just wander around and try to find ways to get out of here as soon as I think of them.

And the weird thing is... everyone else is afraid of me. I don't even know why. I'm friendly enough. I have good manners. I try different smiles on them all. No luck. Some of them are nice enough about it. Some are genuinely trying to get over it. Some... aren't. I try to avoid them.

What are they even scared of?

I can't figure it out, and the world's best psychiatrist won't tell me for some reason. People who actually talk about me fall silent whenever I come near. And the weirdest thing...

None of them want to get out with me. It's like... they'd be happier when I've figured out a way to get out of here.

[Image <a href="http://www.canstockphoto.com">(c) Can Stock Photo / Bialasiewicz</a>]

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