I am flying in a slight breeze, exploring a desert that just appeared out of nowhere, when the Commodore appears in a muddy Jeep. "You're looking at the symptom, my dear Hero. Things would go more smoothly if you checked out the cause first. Standard protocol in investigative procedures." He strides forward smugly, Indiana Jones hat set in a rakish manner, to examine the sand. He pinches a bit. Brings it to his nose. Sniffs. "Interesting," he mutters.
"What??" I exclaim, trying to peer over his shoulder.
"This isn't real sand."
....
The Commodore tracks the sand-signature to a manufacturing company in San Diego. The sign over the warehouse is old and the place looks like it hasn't been in use for quite some time. I peer in a grimy window, and can make out a few tiny figures moving inside. They look like...children. I sneak over the skylight and down into the building. "Hello?" Three little boys and a girl scramble behind a pile of empty packing crates. The dust they disturbed billows up in momentary obfuscation of my brain. I cough, trying to order my thoughts. "Er- Are you all right? I know you're here. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just trying to figure out a certain mystery. Perhaps you could help me? It has to do with sand. Lots of sand." The little girl breaks from the others, hesitantly, and steps out of her hiding place.
"What d'you know about the Sand?" She asks suspiciously. "Where've you seen it?"
"Up north, in Oregon. Took a huge swath of the eastern countryside. Whole towns disappeared."
"Did you touch it?" She shouts, stepping back as if I carry a disease.
"Well, no, but my companion did. Anyway, we were just wondering where it came from, and traced it to this factory. If you could be so kind as to help us find the manufacturers, well..." I pause. The girl is staring in fear at something behind me. I turn, quickly, because I hate it when moments like this are drawn out, and my skin is crawling enough already. It's Dylan. The Commodore. Sand is bursting from his orifices, like the Waters of Mars creatures from one of my least favorite episodes of Doctor Who. He staggers forward, reaching out a desperate hand.
"Crap!" I shout, grabbing the girl's hand and heading for the back exit. "I mean, run!"
We scamper out the back of the warehouse, the boys leading the way, dodging through abandoned cars and streets rapidly filling with the strange sand...
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Pirate Granny
I'm not sure exactly what has come over her.
She's wearing that blue, high-waisted dress she made herself over fifty years ago. No shoes. My tri-corner hat. Mum woke up early this morning to make blueberry pancakes, to find that Granny had gone pirate. She is hanging from the kitchen light, singing bawdy sailor songs from her youth, waving a yardstick like a cutlass.
I try to coax her down with the blueberries but she isn't having any of it.
"Surrender or Die!" she yells from the ceiling, pointing the yardstick menacingly at my face.
Obviously, the only rational way to fix the situation is to have a face-off. I run to my room and get my own sword. "All right, Gran!" I cry. "Let's get this settled! I win, you have to come down from there and have breakfast." We strike up a fierce tune of metal on wood, but for some reason, Granny's stick is doing better than my cheap Goodwill sword. What the heck? I mean, it's metal! It should be much more effective...
It turns out Granny is not actually holding a yardstick. Nor are we in the kitchen. A strong smell of salt air pours in when mum opens the window, followed by a huge gush of water. A wave knocks us over the bow and into the sea, and down, down we sink into deepening shades of grey-blue confusion...
Mum looks over at me in the growing haze and gurgles, "Whaaaat juuuusst haaaapeeenned?" I answer back, "Graaany muuust beee haaaviiing heeerrr seecooonnd chiiildhoood..." indeed, her dream-forces are strong enough to suck us both into her own imagined realm. With a force this strong in her old age, I wonder what her imagination must have been like when she was a child...
We emerge, coughing and spluttering, onto a bank of yellow grass.
She's wearing that blue, high-waisted dress she made herself over fifty years ago. No shoes. My tri-corner hat. Mum woke up early this morning to make blueberry pancakes, to find that Granny had gone pirate. She is hanging from the kitchen light, singing bawdy sailor songs from her youth, waving a yardstick like a cutlass.
I try to coax her down with the blueberries but she isn't having any of it.
"Surrender or Die!" she yells from the ceiling, pointing the yardstick menacingly at my face.
Obviously, the only rational way to fix the situation is to have a face-off. I run to my room and get my own sword. "All right, Gran!" I cry. "Let's get this settled! I win, you have to come down from there and have breakfast." We strike up a fierce tune of metal on wood, but for some reason, Granny's stick is doing better than my cheap Goodwill sword. What the heck? I mean, it's metal! It should be much more effective...
It turns out Granny is not actually holding a yardstick. Nor are we in the kitchen. A strong smell of salt air pours in when mum opens the window, followed by a huge gush of water. A wave knocks us over the bow and into the sea, and down, down we sink into deepening shades of grey-blue confusion...
Mum looks over at me in the growing haze and gurgles, "Whaaaat juuuusst haaaapeeenned?" I answer back, "Graaany muuust beee haaaviiing heeerrr seecooonnd chiiildhoood..." indeed, her dream-forces are strong enough to suck us both into her own imagined realm. With a force this strong in her old age, I wonder what her imagination must have been like when she was a child...
We emerge, coughing and spluttering, onto a bank of yellow grass.
Trashbag Attack!!
Laila and I are hanging out behind the music room after school, among the dumpsters.
Usually a peaceful spot to talk and hide from the wind. Kids don't bother us, teachers don't know we are there. The smell keeps most curious folk at bay. Today, however, is different. Two random and suspicious-looking hikers come walking by the school, spot us, and decide to have some fun by flashing their multipurpose switchblades at us and-- cliche as it may be-- ASKING FOR LUNCH MONEY. They think they are incredibly funny. Laila laughs too, a bit longer than should be possible with human lungs, making them uncomfortable. Then she and I turn simultaneously, and launch two trashbags from the dumpsters right onto their faces. We dash out behind, twist their wrists, take the knives, and force them to the ground, waiting for someone with a cell phone to some by, see us, and call the police.
Instead, MORE suspicious characters turn up in the parking lot. Friends of the hikers. Since we have nothing with which to tie up the two we are already holding, while Laila keeps them in a steel grip, I focus my mind on the dumpsters and bring them closer to us. I start to spin them around in a protective field, then open the tops and start flipping garbage out at random. A cry emerges from the melee. "We got one!" I shout.
After awhile I start feeling bad about the amount of garbage scattered around the school yards, so I slow the dumpsters and return them to their places. Littered around the parking lot in various stages of trash-induced hysteria are seven men. They all look like members of some sort of hiking-cult: specialized fanny packs and color-coded water bottles, tailored shorts and combat boots, tattoos of trees...
Curious as I am, we do not have time to find out more about them, as a teacher comes by, calls the local fire department, and the hikers are dragged away, their walking sticks confiscated.
We have to file a report saying why we attacked them...
I leave out the mention of garbage, since we managed to get most of it cleaned up before the law arrived.
Usually a peaceful spot to talk and hide from the wind. Kids don't bother us, teachers don't know we are there. The smell keeps most curious folk at bay. Today, however, is different. Two random and suspicious-looking hikers come walking by the school, spot us, and decide to have some fun by flashing their multipurpose switchblades at us and-- cliche as it may be-- ASKING FOR LUNCH MONEY. They think they are incredibly funny. Laila laughs too, a bit longer than should be possible with human lungs, making them uncomfortable. Then she and I turn simultaneously, and launch two trashbags from the dumpsters right onto their faces. We dash out behind, twist their wrists, take the knives, and force them to the ground, waiting for someone with a cell phone to some by, see us, and call the police.
Instead, MORE suspicious characters turn up in the parking lot. Friends of the hikers. Since we have nothing with which to tie up the two we are already holding, while Laila keeps them in a steel grip, I focus my mind on the dumpsters and bring them closer to us. I start to spin them around in a protective field, then open the tops and start flipping garbage out at random. A cry emerges from the melee. "We got one!" I shout.
After awhile I start feeling bad about the amount of garbage scattered around the school yards, so I slow the dumpsters and return them to their places. Littered around the parking lot in various stages of trash-induced hysteria are seven men. They all look like members of some sort of hiking-cult: specialized fanny packs and color-coded water bottles, tailored shorts and combat boots, tattoos of trees...
Curious as I am, we do not have time to find out more about them, as a teacher comes by, calls the local fire department, and the hikers are dragged away, their walking sticks confiscated.
We have to file a report saying why we attacked them...
I leave out the mention of garbage, since we managed to get most of it cleaned up before the law arrived.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Mind-Body Synthesis
Sometimes things don't always go as planned.
Sometimes your body doesn't follow your brain. In this particular case, I am going grocery shopping with Syca, and while she ogles over the avocados in the veggie aisle, I spiral through the air happily in an imitation of Cirque du Solei magesty, swooping down over the carts of the shoppers who by now are used to my unnecessary antics. It is my hometown, after all.
But then this guy dressed in black jumps out and starts pelting me with hula hoops. Delighted, I duck into them and start dancing with spirals moving at different speeds all over my body, grinning and showing off. The guy speaks into his radio: "Yep! She's one of the 61! Initiate phase two!" A guy from my AP Chemistry class, whom I'd always admired as a human being, comes up from the floor, and suddenly my mind is ejected into space as my body rushes forward and begins doing various unseemly things to him. Fuming, I yell at myself: "This is OBVIOUSLY a trap, you silly mound of flesh! Come back here before you get kidnapped!"
It doesn't hear me, of course, and a moment later, the boy (who is actually a robot facsimile of the original) stuns my body's neck, throws it over his shoulder, and descends through the trapdoor in the floor.
Great. Now I gotta rescue my body...but when I do, I'll be faced with the reintegration of its sensory memories. Not lookin' forward to this...
Sometimes your body doesn't follow your brain. In this particular case, I am going grocery shopping with Syca, and while she ogles over the avocados in the veggie aisle, I spiral through the air happily in an imitation of Cirque du Solei magesty, swooping down over the carts of the shoppers who by now are used to my unnecessary antics. It is my hometown, after all.
But then this guy dressed in black jumps out and starts pelting me with hula hoops. Delighted, I duck into them and start dancing with spirals moving at different speeds all over my body, grinning and showing off. The guy speaks into his radio: "Yep! She's one of the 61! Initiate phase two!" A guy from my AP Chemistry class, whom I'd always admired as a human being, comes up from the floor, and suddenly my mind is ejected into space as my body rushes forward and begins doing various unseemly things to him. Fuming, I yell at myself: "This is OBVIOUSLY a trap, you silly mound of flesh! Come back here before you get kidnapped!"
It doesn't hear me, of course, and a moment later, the boy (who is actually a robot facsimile of the original) stuns my body's neck, throws it over his shoulder, and descends through the trapdoor in the floor.
Great. Now I gotta rescue my body...but when I do, I'll be faced with the reintegration of its sensory memories. Not lookin' forward to this...
Friday, March 23, 2012
B.A.L.D.
We've got it! The perfect superhero team name. Well, almost. It's thanks to the introduction of one Commodore Dylan Horton that D possibilities came into view, and Becca just happened to discover this one when randomly sounding out combinations of initials. I for one think it's brilliant...but it sounds like it'd only include Becca, Amanda, Dylan, and Laila, as a strict naming. Which makes me wonder...are we destined to separate? Laila's busy at college now, and I'll soon be going away, and Mary's got so many theatre positions she hardly sleeps...it looks like the major task force in Oregon may be left to those with the most time on their hands. Besides, I'm pretty sure Willa's becoming a villain, if she wasn't before...
Anyway, we take it as a brief name for our current logo purposes (we have to advertise to get business. Superheroes need to make a living, just like anyone else) and head off to an alternate universe. We received a distress call from Amanda's sister Chloe, who has apparently been living in this alt world for some time.
A troll guide leads us not to the silver city, but to the dangerous misty forest that guards the metropolis from unwanted visitors. We hack our way through the brush and evade the fierce jumping spiders as best we can, but then I accidentally drop my bag in quicksand. It's may favorite bag, too. The one I made out of a pair of jeans and decorated with a three-headed phoenix using multi-coloured sharpies. I have to rescue it! I touch the edge of the quicksand, and find I have a new power: I can emulate the earth. Although, I suppose all my powers stem from some form of emulation... I fight the quicksand with reverse suckage (I know it's a terrible-sounding term), and pull the bag out-- but to my surprise, there are now two bags. Great. Which one was the original? Did I duplicate it, or is the forest responsible for this trickery? I carry them both as we move on, staying close to the others to fend off attacks, trying to figure out which is the real bag. They both smell like swamp. They both look the same-- covered in goo. I guess I won't know until we reach civilization and a sink...
Well, we finally make it out, and to the skyscraper apartments where Chloe lives. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the apartment complex are filled with pillows, because it is an anti-grav establishment. We float along until we find her room-- the penthouse suite-- and she gives us a package to deliver: some vital information and a strange brown clayish thing. Apparently the seed of all genetic diversity or somesuch. We are to take it to Pluto somehow, and bury it deep in a crater. It's to be a safeguard for our Galaxy in case of a disaster that destroys all living things. In the event that its highly sophisticated sensors register no life within given parameters, it will begin a large-scale process of regeneration.
Who knew Chloe had access to such tech?
We are strictly warned not to let NASA know it exists. We sneak out in the middle of the night and stick it onto a probe headed for Pluto. When it arrives, the blob presumably knows to detach itself and float down into the nearest crater.
We return home, and I wash the bags, and decide to keep the smellier one, and give the other to a random hobo I meet in Portland. No harm there, right? I mean, it's not as if there could possibly be anything dangerous in a clone bag from an alt universe, just waiting to become an invasive species...
Anyway, we take it as a brief name for our current logo purposes (we have to advertise to get business. Superheroes need to make a living, just like anyone else) and head off to an alternate universe. We received a distress call from Amanda's sister Chloe, who has apparently been living in this alt world for some time.
A troll guide leads us not to the silver city, but to the dangerous misty forest that guards the metropolis from unwanted visitors. We hack our way through the brush and evade the fierce jumping spiders as best we can, but then I accidentally drop my bag in quicksand. It's may favorite bag, too. The one I made out of a pair of jeans and decorated with a three-headed phoenix using multi-coloured sharpies. I have to rescue it! I touch the edge of the quicksand, and find I have a new power: I can emulate the earth. Although, I suppose all my powers stem from some form of emulation... I fight the quicksand with reverse suckage (I know it's a terrible-sounding term), and pull the bag out-- but to my surprise, there are now two bags. Great. Which one was the original? Did I duplicate it, or is the forest responsible for this trickery? I carry them both as we move on, staying close to the others to fend off attacks, trying to figure out which is the real bag. They both smell like swamp. They both look the same-- covered in goo. I guess I won't know until we reach civilization and a sink...
Well, we finally make it out, and to the skyscraper apartments where Chloe lives. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the apartment complex are filled with pillows, because it is an anti-grav establishment. We float along until we find her room-- the penthouse suite-- and she gives us a package to deliver: some vital information and a strange brown clayish thing. Apparently the seed of all genetic diversity or somesuch. We are to take it to Pluto somehow, and bury it deep in a crater. It's to be a safeguard for our Galaxy in case of a disaster that destroys all living things. In the event that its highly sophisticated sensors register no life within given parameters, it will begin a large-scale process of regeneration.
Who knew Chloe had access to such tech?
We are strictly warned not to let NASA know it exists. We sneak out in the middle of the night and stick it onto a probe headed for Pluto. When it arrives, the blob presumably knows to detach itself and float down into the nearest crater.
We return home, and I wash the bags, and decide to keep the smellier one, and give the other to a random hobo I meet in Portland. No harm there, right? I mean, it's not as if there could possibly be anything dangerous in a clone bag from an alt universe, just waiting to become an invasive species...
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
It Never Happened.
Mum, Gran, Lyle and I are immigrating to Europe, because America has become so poor and corrupt you can't live in safety in an underground bomb shelter. We had to sell our home and all our possessions except the Terminator we reprogrammed to assist us on our journey. It goes slightly haywire every once-in-awhile, but then mum just bangs on its left foot and all its circuits return to normal.
On the way, our train gets pushed off a cliff by a giant dragon. I hold it in the sky as long as I can, while Laila chases after the creature. I tell mum to call Amanda and Becca and Mary, and see if they can come help me out, because super-strength is NOT my fortay. They come. We fix the train and discuss the merits of the new cell phone service, then are nearly crushed by the feet of the pursuing dragon as it returns our way, Laila leading it into the forest away from human settlements. The train continues down the underwater track leading to Europe.
When we arrive in Europe, there is a scandal afoot. Previous immigrants from America, a villanous cabal called "The Tamers," are going around innocent little country villages and drowning people. But...they appear to be doing it by convincing the victims to drown themselves. Some kind of Mind Control...emanating from the blonde dreadlocks of the beautiful leader. As she sings, and her hair reaches out toward me (whom everybody elected to use as bait in this situation), I can feel my brain start to grow foggy...
They wake me, hours later, and I wipe the bubbly drool from my face. "Yuck."
"Man, you were SO entranced," laughs Mary. "You had the dopiest-looking grin on your face."
"Did you catch them?" I cough, Standing and brushing a strange goo from my pants.
"No," Amanda sighs. "They had some sort of magic fairy dust. I've no idea where they went. But...it turns out they're not just killers. They're also dabbling in sorcery...And from the looks of it, just for fun." She motions to two motionless shapes lying across form me in the little tower room we are now in, which is filled with musty astronomy tomes and old telescopes and boxes of newspapers, neatly folded. I move closer and see that the forms are two dogs. Well, one normal-looking dog, one that appears to be made of blackberries.
Next to them are a series of spiked cages with bones in them. Bones of various shapes and sizes, some that look so unusual I wonder what kind of animal, if any, could have possessed them all in the same body.
The villagers are a grey, shadowy people, easily impressionable, easily afraid. Events like these could cause the entire species to go extinct if not treated carefully.
"What shall we say to them?" I ask.
"Nothing," says Laila, covering the dogs with an empty corn sack. "Tell them it never happened."
On the way, our train gets pushed off a cliff by a giant dragon. I hold it in the sky as long as I can, while Laila chases after the creature. I tell mum to call Amanda and Becca and Mary, and see if they can come help me out, because super-strength is NOT my fortay. They come. We fix the train and discuss the merits of the new cell phone service, then are nearly crushed by the feet of the pursuing dragon as it returns our way, Laila leading it into the forest away from human settlements. The train continues down the underwater track leading to Europe.
When we arrive in Europe, there is a scandal afoot. Previous immigrants from America, a villanous cabal called "The Tamers," are going around innocent little country villages and drowning people. But...they appear to be doing it by convincing the victims to drown themselves. Some kind of Mind Control...emanating from the blonde dreadlocks of the beautiful leader. As she sings, and her hair reaches out toward me (whom everybody elected to use as bait in this situation), I can feel my brain start to grow foggy...
They wake me, hours later, and I wipe the bubbly drool from my face. "Yuck."
"Man, you were SO entranced," laughs Mary. "You had the dopiest-looking grin on your face."
"Did you catch them?" I cough, Standing and brushing a strange goo from my pants.
"No," Amanda sighs. "They had some sort of magic fairy dust. I've no idea where they went. But...it turns out they're not just killers. They're also dabbling in sorcery...And from the looks of it, just for fun." She motions to two motionless shapes lying across form me in the little tower room we are now in, which is filled with musty astronomy tomes and old telescopes and boxes of newspapers, neatly folded. I move closer and see that the forms are two dogs. Well, one normal-looking dog, one that appears to be made of blackberries.
Next to them are a series of spiked cages with bones in them. Bones of various shapes and sizes, some that look so unusual I wonder what kind of animal, if any, could have possessed them all in the same body.
The villagers are a grey, shadowy people, easily impressionable, easily afraid. Events like these could cause the entire species to go extinct if not treated carefully.
"What shall we say to them?" I ask.
"Nothing," says Laila, covering the dogs with an empty corn sack. "Tell them it never happened."
The Betrayal
In the basement, past the laundry room, we plot our secrets.
Or, could, if we ever got around to it. The convention this Friday of five or six supers doesn't mean much, since there are nine total and everyone in the group has to be present to accomplish anything. Right now, those present are goofing off. Becca and Laila are playing foosball, Amanda's eating popcorn and watching Doctor Who, Mary's practicing the dance choreography from Chicago...No one shows even a hint of paying attention when I ask them to look over the plans with me. I slink over to the corner and slump onto the floor in defeat. They do not realize the gravity of the situation, the dark brooding matter spinning under my skin. I want things to be taken seriously. I am just about ready to split, to abandon this worthless cabal-- a mere splinter of obligation remains between loyalty and villainry.
Danny, a newer member of the group, saunters over and decides it'll be fun to mess with me. He waves his beautiful Native American locks in my face like a feather duster on crack. "Hey, hey, Hannah- don't sneeze!" he chuckles maniacally as I jerk my head away. I pull my knees up to my chin and sit huddled in frustration.
"Leave me, alone, Digger. I'm not in the mood for stupid games. If you're going to address me, be mature, and use my codename. I'm The Weaver, not Hannah, to you."
He rears back in farce. "Geeze, some fangs you got there, snakey. But can you bite?" I can see he wants to joust or banter with words, or both, but my patience is just about drained, and I can feel something else inside me boiling up to take its place. If he'll just walk away, maybe nothing bad will happen...
He doesn't. He saunters up until he is so close my nose touches his chin. He smiles, and the corners of his mouth twitch annoyingly. He pokes at my gut with a finger, looks into my eyes, and says: "You need to lighten up a bit," and, so saying, stomps his left foot so that the ground raises up under me and throws me into the air. He laughs at his little trick. He is just barely learning how to control the earth and move through it, but is not above using his limited talents for practical jokes. I am so sick of it. I'm sick of all of them...
I use my momentum and leap over to the weapons cabinet, yank open the badly locked wooden door. It splinters. I grab out two katanas from the top rack, throw one to Danny. "Defend yourself, you jerk!" I yell. "You've messed with me too much this morning, and now you're going to pay!"
Danny grins, thinking I have finally relinquished to his sport, but I am not fooling. His face grows shocked as I slam into him with my first blow. The ricochet of the metal knocks us both back and echoes throughout the base, bringing silence at last. Laila and Becca stop playing foosball to stare at us.
"I'm sick and tired of having to babysit you guys and wait around on your whims to get anything done!" I shout, slashing the air where Danny's organs were half a second before. "I'm the youngest member of the team, and it shouldn't be me that has to plan everything and get you all off your sorry derriers!" Smash. The flatscreen TV we got from the Superhero's Sustainability and Starter Support Fund dies under the piercing judgment of my angry blade. "What are you even doing, sitting around and watching TV all night? You're not heroes, you're friggin' bums! And not the cool kind, the purposely-leeching-off-society kind! You're not even motivated to come out of the basement because you're always getting takeout delivered to the door! I'm so SICK of you all!"
Something splits inside me. The growing thing. I can feel it, peeling itself apart from my soul, curling in smoky trails through my heart and lungs, resting its claws confidently upon my brow. A cold, murderous haze descends over me like rotten cotton candy. The monster within me is awake. It wants to come out... And I am bloody relenting.
I raise my arms and open my mouth wide, and begin sucking the power from all the lights in the building. With a flash, Becca and Mary and Laila are around me, but I funnel my energy into a spinning explosion that knocks them across the room.
I dash up the stairs, leaving a trail of disarrayed telekinesis behind me, whipping dryers off their cords and plates out of cupboards.
I race out into the street, and am momentarily disoriented by dancing people, balloons, music. I'd forgotten it was carnival weekend. *snicker*... These Portlandian fools. Always willing to celebrate one thing or another while the world comes crashing down around their heads...And soon, it will be.
I duck behind an ice-cream vendor's stand. Taking a moment, I change my face and form so that my friends will not recognize me when they come out at last, if they even try to search for me. As if they care. I step out, and hear the rushing of the first of the evening's fireworks. An idea strikes. Flying over the display, I wait until the timing is perfect-- until the next rocket has just been launched-- and direct it to the little underground base of my so-called associates. I wait, legs crossed and hovering calmly. BOOM.
I fly over the devastation, but see that they are already outside and unharmed. They spot me, and start running towards me. Silly little supernobodies...Waving their limbs frantically as if to ward off the Second Coming. They do not know what I have become, they are useless things. I will shape the world now, to my liking. They have already lost.
I land on the pavement with a sonic crash, and take a moment to look them all in the eye. "Goodbye, friends. you will not be seeing me again."
Then, I slow down time.
They rush forward pathetically, their little muscles nothing against the ravages of time. I rocket away into the atmosphere, and by the time my spell has worn off, I am sitting cross-legged on the wing of a passenger jet headed towards my new destination, reading A Tale of Two Cities for the third time. The relative concepts that guide my balance here ebb gently away from the aura burning inside my new soul.
How long it has waited to awaken.
Or, could, if we ever got around to it. The convention this Friday of five or six supers doesn't mean much, since there are nine total and everyone in the group has to be present to accomplish anything. Right now, those present are goofing off. Becca and Laila are playing foosball, Amanda's eating popcorn and watching Doctor Who, Mary's practicing the dance choreography from Chicago...No one shows even a hint of paying attention when I ask them to look over the plans with me. I slink over to the corner and slump onto the floor in defeat. They do not realize the gravity of the situation, the dark brooding matter spinning under my skin. I want things to be taken seriously. I am just about ready to split, to abandon this worthless cabal-- a mere splinter of obligation remains between loyalty and villainry.
Danny, a newer member of the group, saunters over and decides it'll be fun to mess with me. He waves his beautiful Native American locks in my face like a feather duster on crack. "Hey, hey, Hannah- don't sneeze!" he chuckles maniacally as I jerk my head away. I pull my knees up to my chin and sit huddled in frustration.
"Leave me, alone, Digger. I'm not in the mood for stupid games. If you're going to address me, be mature, and use my codename. I'm The Weaver, not Hannah, to you."
He rears back in farce. "Geeze, some fangs you got there, snakey. But can you bite?" I can see he wants to joust or banter with words, or both, but my patience is just about drained, and I can feel something else inside me boiling up to take its place. If he'll just walk away, maybe nothing bad will happen...
He doesn't. He saunters up until he is so close my nose touches his chin. He smiles, and the corners of his mouth twitch annoyingly. He pokes at my gut with a finger, looks into my eyes, and says: "You need to lighten up a bit," and, so saying, stomps his left foot so that the ground raises up under me and throws me into the air. He laughs at his little trick. He is just barely learning how to control the earth and move through it, but is not above using his limited talents for practical jokes. I am so sick of it. I'm sick of all of them...
I use my momentum and leap over to the weapons cabinet, yank open the badly locked wooden door. It splinters. I grab out two katanas from the top rack, throw one to Danny. "Defend yourself, you jerk!" I yell. "You've messed with me too much this morning, and now you're going to pay!"
Danny grins, thinking I have finally relinquished to his sport, but I am not fooling. His face grows shocked as I slam into him with my first blow. The ricochet of the metal knocks us both back and echoes throughout the base, bringing silence at last. Laila and Becca stop playing foosball to stare at us.
"I'm sick and tired of having to babysit you guys and wait around on your whims to get anything done!" I shout, slashing the air where Danny's organs were half a second before. "I'm the youngest member of the team, and it shouldn't be me that has to plan everything and get you all off your sorry derriers!" Smash. The flatscreen TV we got from the Superhero's Sustainability and Starter Support Fund dies under the piercing judgment of my angry blade. "What are you even doing, sitting around and watching TV all night? You're not heroes, you're friggin' bums! And not the cool kind, the purposely-leeching-off-society kind! You're not even motivated to come out of the basement because you're always getting takeout delivered to the door! I'm so SICK of you all!"
Something splits inside me. The growing thing. I can feel it, peeling itself apart from my soul, curling in smoky trails through my heart and lungs, resting its claws confidently upon my brow. A cold, murderous haze descends over me like rotten cotton candy. The monster within me is awake. It wants to come out... And I am bloody relenting.
I raise my arms and open my mouth wide, and begin sucking the power from all the lights in the building. With a flash, Becca and Mary and Laila are around me, but I funnel my energy into a spinning explosion that knocks them across the room.
I dash up the stairs, leaving a trail of disarrayed telekinesis behind me, whipping dryers off their cords and plates out of cupboards.
I race out into the street, and am momentarily disoriented by dancing people, balloons, music. I'd forgotten it was carnival weekend. *snicker*... These Portlandian fools. Always willing to celebrate one thing or another while the world comes crashing down around their heads...And soon, it will be.
I duck behind an ice-cream vendor's stand. Taking a moment, I change my face and form so that my friends will not recognize me when they come out at last, if they even try to search for me. As if they care. I step out, and hear the rushing of the first of the evening's fireworks. An idea strikes. Flying over the display, I wait until the timing is perfect-- until the next rocket has just been launched-- and direct it to the little underground base of my so-called associates. I wait, legs crossed and hovering calmly. BOOM.
I fly over the devastation, but see that they are already outside and unharmed. They spot me, and start running towards me. Silly little supernobodies...Waving their limbs frantically as if to ward off the Second Coming. They do not know what I have become, they are useless things. I will shape the world now, to my liking. They have already lost.
I land on the pavement with a sonic crash, and take a moment to look them all in the eye. "Goodbye, friends. you will not be seeing me again."
Then, I slow down time.
They rush forward pathetically, their little muscles nothing against the ravages of time. I rocket away into the atmosphere, and by the time my spell has worn off, I am sitting cross-legged on the wing of a passenger jet headed towards my new destination, reading A Tale of Two Cities for the third time. The relative concepts that guide my balance here ebb gently away from the aura burning inside my new soul.
How long it has waited to awaken.
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