Aberration – pt. 2

Previously: Part 1


I’m looking out at the world. On the other side of the window is a thing of beauty, but not for the reasons you think. That’s neither here nor there and neither am I once I head back home.

My lair.

Let me dispell your hopes and dreams, cupcake.

My lair is a dark place under the city. It’s damp and I hear rats for more hours than anyone should have to. I don’t have lights. There’s running water, but not for the reasons there should be.

Your little cotton brain is asking why I don’t go for something better. Put on a fucking disguise to blend in. Go all Clark Kent on life.

You’re fucking stupid, did you know that?

You know how I know that? Because you don’t understand physics. I didn’t either until I got a crash course in it. Words like density, force, and inertia. I don’t have a fucking Ph.D., sunshine, so I’m not gonna walk you through Newton’s laws, but I can tell you a few things you need to understand.

You don’t get to be strong enough to crush a car and interact with normal life anymore – it’s like trying to play with ants. There’s no amount of careful that stops you from killing them eventually.

You can’t stop a fucking freight train just because you’re strong. You have to push back with the force of another fucking freight train. That force comes from somewhere. Put it like this, buttercup, you don’t want me walking on your roof.

Not being a whirlwind of carnage is more exhausting than any criminal mastermind on the fucking planet. I gotta tip-toe through life just to make sure I don’t crush everything, kill everything…ruin everything.

Know what people call me on the street? Shit Storm. Yeah. Warm fucking receptions abound.

Fuck it, though, right?

I was at that crossroad. I had god’s own brand of dynamite in my hand and the universe said, “The fuck you gonna do with that, precious?”

I could’ve been a right git. I could’ve put it in the center of the fucking earth. I could have made my little throne of blood and skulls and hooker tears and drank the dreams of humanity from the skulls of your world leaders.

Maybe I should’ve. It would’ve been easier.

You didn’t hear it, but I did. The sound of trouble. And no, I don’t mean that trouble has some neat little frequency. I’m not a fucking trouble bloodhound, but I can damn near hear the wheels in your head grinding from deep in the sewers. I hear the hammer of the gun cock back. I hear the bullets leaving chambers. I hear the sound of a knife when it screeches against bone. I hear you all crying like babies because the schoolyard bully took your fucking teddy bear away.

It’s a gift and a curse. Mostly it’s a curse.

I dash out. Putrid water on my feet. I use lift to keep my body from acting like an army of atom bombs marching through the underbelly of the city. I move so fast that rats don’t even startle when I move past them, but know they will when the thunderclap hits them when sound catches up to my fury.

My front door is a big pipe that flows water out into the great basin. I’m out it and up with the speed of a chimpanzee on crack. Up the broken, rotted earth and rock that clings to my door like a pile of shit from a titan who eats cluttered garages and failed gardens.

I’m moving down streets and, if only for a second, I stop. It’s a second for me, but you wouldn’t even realize I was there yet. I stop and take in the scenery of life and feel my teeth clench. Not for the reasons you probably think.

I continue on. I’m over scaffolds, and around moving cars.

As much as I destroy, you’d be surprised at just how fucking graceful I really am. My destruction is the exception, not the rule, but no one cares how many bullets you stop – they only count the ones you didn’t.

I’m on the top of a building. I’m focusing more on lift than I want to so that I don’t sink into the interior like a fucking anchor in an ocean of beanie babies.

He has a gun to her head. He being some shitbag with a gun. Her being some lady I don’t know who’s crying because some shitbag has a gun to her head.

“You got a fucking death wish, sunshine?” I say.

“Just a messenger,” the man says.

I only barely see it, with so much focus on not making the building implode like a god damn star gone supernova, but this fuck is scared. I mean, yeah, duh…he’s fucking scared. He’s him and I’m me. But no…this isn’t that.

“Why don’t you go ahead and let the nice lady go and let me have that message then, sweetheart”

I’m faster than a bullet. Believe that shit.

But when it’s put to the back of someone’s head, it’s a short path from Click-Town to Bang-City.

I’m dashing forward. I see the blood in slow motion. His hand is literal putty when I grab it. I can hear the bones and flesh rupturing. It’s happening so fast he doesn’t even know he’s in pain yet. I’m faster than your fucking synapses in some ways.

I hear her body finally fall with a thud. My own force has this scum bag down on his back with so much force I hear a crack from his spine and the stone beneath him. He’s dead and doesn’t know it yet.

“He knows,” the man says.

I don’t wanna know what he means, but I instantly know what he means.

I’m focusing so much on lift, on not being a warhead. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed anyway. But I notice it now. I feel it now. The force of the exploding C4 on this cocksucker’s back tied to a dead man’s trigger on the gun.

I feel a wave of heat like god’s fury. It’s a volcano vomiting last nights drinking binge. It’s enough to punch a hole through stone with the best of them. It’s enough to make me flinch – to lose focus. I don’t think about lift so much when there’s a hurricane of fire and brimstone in my god damn eyes.

I sink through the hole in the building like a meteor from outer space. I don’t stop until I’m in the basement.

The building doesn’t even realize it’s fucked yet. No one inside realizes they’re dead yet.

I do. I know it immediately. I know the reason why.

Because I’m a fucking atom bomb and someone just found my god damn trigger.


Part 3

Aberration – pt. 1

I’m standing at the peak of a tall building. It’s the iconic view you’d think of when you imagine a superhero surveying the city. I’m waiting. I’m watching. It’s everything you imagine when you think of a superhero ready to protect his city.

You, unfortunately, don’t know a fucking thing about life, my friend.

You can forget all that those wonderful tales you’ve been reading about. You can shitcan those movies. Those serialized shows on whatever networks are currently tossing out episodes like metaphorical dollar bills to the stripper that is your nerdy little DC vs Marvel heart.

I’m probably the most hated man in the city. Only reason I’m not the most hated man in the world is that the rest of the world doesn’t have to deal with me. That’s not an accident either. It’s not an oversight. It’s a choice on my part.

I wanted to be everything you’d think when you imagine a superhero.

I AM everything you’d think when you imagine a superhero.

The rest of the world, however, is nothing like you think when they have one.

So where do you want me to start? You want me to tell you about who I was before? Where I got my powers? What my costume looks like?

Later, sunshine…later. Right now, daddy’s got work to do.

I hear the sounds being carried on the wind. The world is a stranger place for me. I focus on the sound that’s currently catching my attention. It’s a blur under the waves of noise being produced by everyone and everything. The world is a loud machine, and none of it’s working in rhythm. But I hear it all the same…

I make my descent. I leap down and down again. I grab ledges single handed and slip toward the ground with more grace than should be possible. None of it feels difficult. There’s no strain. I’m not even breathing heavy.

I dash forward through the streets. I’m over cars and moving up the sides of other buildings like the most absurd Jackie Chan movie that he never got a chance to make. I see people stop to snap pictures. Some of them stop to give me the middle finger. Some spit. Some cheer. Children cry. People look away. People pray as they close their eyes and hold their crosses.

I don’t give a fuck what they do. I got a job to do, sunshine…

I round the corner and see the first man fly out of the doorway like Kramer in Seinfeld. Except this guy has a gun and less balance. He almost falls over in his egress. Another guy comes out shortly after. I hear the screaming from inside the building. I hear gunshots.

I walk forward calmly. The first guy finally sees me. Gasps. It’s the look of a man who’s spent his whole life sinning and now he’s standing before Saint Peter. My name isn’t Peter, sunshine…

Like a dog reflexively thinking it can go alpha on its owner for just long enough to regret it, the man raises the gun. I grab it and snatch it from his hand so fast that fingers come off with it. Blood sprays and spatters my outfit. The red does nothing for the aesthetics of the black and green. He drops to his knees and starts crying like a little bitch.

His friends see me and panic. I can smell one of them pissing themselves. I launch myself forward and drive my fist into the next man, I can hear the sound of his spine crumble even as my knuckles drive into his flabby stomach. His mind isn’t even registering what happened. He remains doubled over for a second before he drops to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut. The third man just lays down on the ground while his face leaks sweat, tears, and snot.

The shop owner comes out for a second, sees the scene and ducks back in. No hero’s handshake. Kiss that shit goodbye, sunshine…

I wait until the sirens come screeching in. Like all wild animals, they’re more afraid of me than I am of them. They have their guns out. You know the drill. Freeze. Step away. Blah, blah, blah.

I don’t do any of that shit.

One guy is either an idiot, new, or so shaky that he just fucked up. The gun goes off. It hits me right in my left cheek. It’s an explosion of bone and wet tissue. I watch their faces as they watch the escaping parts of my face stop mid-flight, and pull back…reconnect. It’ll never look the same again.

I walk over casually enough. I can smell one of them is pissing himself. Bunch of fucking Nancies…

I can smell the gun that fired. I stand in front of that squad car and punch the hood so hard that it bends in half like cheap cardboard. I keep on punching. The cops are cowering. One of the brighter ones goes forward and deals with the scumbags I just put on the ground. Let them get their hero’s handshake from the shop owner. Whatever…

I walk past the other cops who are still too scared to move. I jump out and up, grab the ledge of a building and dash like gravity is more of a suggestion. I hear the sound of people taking pictures or mentioning me in whatever conversation they’re having on their cell phones. I hear children crying and women praying under their breath.

I’m a god damn superhero, sunshine…

Buckle up…It’s gonna be a bumpy ride…


Next: Part 2