Wayne Cole

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Pressure

By

On September 13, 2024

In Fiction, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

It should not be hard to read between the lines on this story. Sometimes the act of writing can be a way to give form to things you are struggling with and give you the power to overcome them. I couldn’t decide on a story for today so I just started describing how I was feeling and letting it develop into a story about the magic user I keep touching on in my fiction.

                I had so much I needed to get done, but instead of working on any of it I sat there overwhelmed by anxiety.  It was frustrating because I had the motivation but couldn’t find even the smallest level of energy.  The only thing I could focus on was the general anxiety that consumed my entire being.  Every sound felt like it was the one that was going to be the final straw that crushed what was left of my sanity.    

The anxiety wasn’t focused on any particular thought or fear.  Instead, it felt like a pressure that held me in place.  My very skin was a trap constraining me inside it.  I wanted to scream to the sky in outrage and defiance, but my mouth wouldn’t work.  Even breathing was difficult as the pressure pushed me down.  My own treacherous body was betraying me at every turn.  The helplessness was driving me mad. 

My eyes desperately searched the living room for help.  Instead of reassurance all I found was every stain, out of place item, and crooked picture on the wall.  I saw unfinished projects and unrealized dreams in every direction.  The one place that was supposed to be my sanctuary just reinforced my feeling of failure and self-hatred.  I had failed everyone, but no one more so than myself.  That was where my opponent had underestimated me. 

With a gasp I stood from my chair.  In my life I had performed many strenuous activities, but none felt more difficult than just standing with the metaphorical weight of the world pressing down on my mind.  My opponent thought that crippling anxiety, doubt, and self-hatred would destroy me.  Whoever they were they didn’t realize that I had a lifetime of experience with these feelings.  They might slow me; they could not keep me from acting when something truly needed to be done.  No one could compartmentalize better than I could. 

“Show yourself you son of a bitch,” I screamed out to the world.  Each movement, each breath, and each word lessened the pressure pushing down on me.  “I said show yourself.”  I pushed energy into my words.  Energy moments ago, I wouldn’t have thought I had.  I was not helpless.  I was a magic practitioner.  A guardian and a shield to protect others from the malicious creatures that walk in the dark.  If I fell who would be there for all those that needed me?  I took another step forward and flung enough magical energy into the room to send anything not firmly in place flying. 

The wave of energy I had pushed out hit my wards and rebounded back through my home.  Waves of energy bounced around passing harmlessly through me by causing damage I would be cleaning up for weeks.  The words fed the energy with each rebound until finally something invisible right in front of me let out a scream of pain. 

I watched as a human figure appeared out of the air.  I couldn’t be sure if it was a physical being who had been obscuring their visual presence or a being of energy being ripped into my plane of existence.  In that moment I didn’t care either.  I had a target, and I was in the center of my own power.  I focused the energy on my opponent and gave them a smile as the form stabilized. 

There standing hunched over almost in arms reach I saw myself.  His own smile was the thing of nightmares as he looked up at me with contempt.  “Two can play at that game,” he said, and he lifted his arms sending a wave of energy at me.  It hit like a physical thing lifting me into the air and flinging me across the room into my bookshelf which proceeded to collapse on top of me. 

The pain was intense.  I wasn’t sure if I had broken anything, but it was a distinct possibility.  I had cuts gouged into me and wooden splinters sticking out of my skin.   The waves of induced emotions hit me again like a train, but this time I had pain and adrenaline to help me focus through them.  Rising to my feat I focused on putting up my mental defenses.  This enemy crashed right through them like they weren’t even there. 

He laughed at me.  “Just give up already.  I’m you.  You can’t protect yourself from me.  I know all your defenses, all your weak spots, and those horrible thoughts that you don’t dare give voice to.  I am those thoughts.” 

“You’re not me.”  I spat the words at him, but they didn’t have any conviction to them.  I had felt the flavor of his power as he tossed me across the room, and it was a part of me.  He was a part of me.  It was in that moment I realized what I was facing.  “You aren’t even real.  You’re just a shadow given purpose.”   Something out there from the nightmare realm had used a fraction of my own power and fed it energy.  This being was not truly alive.  It was a shadow of myself pulled from my own dreams and turned against me. 

“You don’t know anything,” he screamed as he approached me.  He raised his fist and brought it down punching me across the face.  “You’ve wasted your power.  I’m going to use it better then you ever could have.” 

He went to punch me again, but I pushed myself forward wrapping my arms around him in a bear hug.  “No.  You are a part of me though and I want that part back.”  I pulled on the energy forming my shadow.  Someone else had stollen my energy and my subconscious thoughts from my dreams.  They had turned parts of me into a weapon that had come far closer to destroying me than I care to admit.  In that moment though I felt my energy within him, and I took it back. 

    I held him tight as he disincorporated and flowed back inside me.  With all my focus I filtered out the foreign energy and contained it in the only container I had within reach.  The foreign energy was still connected to the being who had tried to assassinate me and I was not about to let them get it back without tracking them down.  Items are created with a purpose and when they serve that purpose they have power.  My cardboard Chinese takeout container was made to keep its contents from spilling out so it only took a sliver of my own power to make it an inescapable prison for this energy. 

With the danger passed I collapsed to the floor.  I lay there feeling physically and mentally broken and leaking blood onto my floor.  I was grateful for hard wood floors because I wasn’t sure how to get blood out of carpet.  I had more things I needed to do than I cared to think about with hunting down this being just the latest thing added to that list.  As I groaned in pain, I accepted that would be a task for another day.  I had spent the night fighting myself while I had won it left me with no energy left to do anything else. 

The Most Boring Apocalypse

By

On August 30, 2024

In Fiction, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

I started this story trying to come up with a boring way for the world to end. Instead this story morphed into something else entirely. I kept the original name, but once the dialog started it just developed a life of it’s own.

                Robots, AI, nuclear war, asteroid impact, zombies, even natural disasters; there are so many more interesting ways I had imagined the world coming to an end.   Misfiled paperwork did not even make my list.   According to the very confused alien intern who crashed his spaceship in the ten acres of wilderness I own behind my house, that is exactly what is happening.    

I stood there dumbfounded staring at the three-foot orange furred, silver suit clad creature trying to explain the mix-up.  It would have been adorable if its high-pitched voice wasn’t so grating.  “Woah there, let’s take this down a notch.  Let me see if I understand you correctly.  You intern for Gorbulax some politician in the galactic senate.:

“Ugh, no.  I intern for Gorbax a level seven bureaucrat with the Supreme Galactic Union.”  He waved his arms wildly as he spoke and the two little antenna on his head twitched in agitation. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.  Anyway, a long time ago someone misfiled Earth and Venus so your people thought Earth was a hostile environment and Venus had developed life.”

“Yes, well no, but that is close enough.  Our dimensional fold drives produce waste so toxic that we don’t trust storing it on any planet that could hold life or even be terraformed.  Earth showed up on a database search as the perfect match for storing this waste since it is so hopelessly toxic.” 

“But it’s not.”

“Well, no I can see that by the fact that I’m standing here without a helmet and I’m not dead yet.  Your military certainly tried though.” 

“I would have thought a couple puny Earth jet fighters wouldn’t be able to do anything to a fancy spaceship like that.”  I pointed over his shoulder to the metal monstrosity that destroyed my campsite.  Thankfully I had run back to the house to grab my lighter just before he crashed.  He had gotten the fires put out and the smoke dispersed fairly quickly, but I couldn’t help but suspect the military was on its way.  That did not make me the least bit happy.  I didn’t feel like being disappeared by some man in black.

“Well, it wouldn’t have if I was on a military ship.  That’s my own personal transport.  No weapons, shields, or armor. Like one of your automobiles.” 

“If our planet was supposed to be a toxic waste in your system, how do you know about cars?  Why are you speaking English instead of some alien mumbo jumbo?”

I’ve had dogs all my life and let me tell you they can give you some adorable expressions.  Up to that point though I had never seen anything quite so adorable as this little alien giving me his offended face.  “I assure you I am most certainly not speaking English.  All civilized societies equip their dignitaries with translators that create mental connections between living beings and broadcast the concepts adapting them to the appropriate dialect.  As for your automobiles, well, I was observing your planet for twenty minutes before I was so rudely hit by one of your missiles.  I tried to run, but my ship needs time for the repair bots to make it flyable again.”

“Probably not going to get that time.  I’m sure the government will be here any minute.  They’ll chop you up for science and lock me up for knowin about it.” 

“Well, if they do that then your planet becomes the waste dump it is scheduled to be.  The first shipment will arrive in just under a week of your time.”

“Won’t they see that this isn’t a dead planet like you did?”

“They would.  If they were living beings.  The waste is so dangerous we only send it in ships piloted by robot crews.  They aren’t allowed to think, just follow orders.  That’s why I was sent ahead.  To facilitate proper delivery and ensure there were no unexpected complications.”

I laughed.  “So you got put on robot babysitting duty?”

“That is…well I suppose it actually is not an inaccurate way of putting it.  If I can’t get into space to meet them though I’ll die from the toxic dumping before your government people can dissect me.”

“So, if I want my planet to not be destroyed, I need to make sure the government doesn’t get you or your ship.  Is that about the size of it?”

“That is correct.”  He had a smug little smile on his face that rubbed me the wrong way. 

“And why exactly should I believe a word you have to say?”

“Can you risk not?”  Well, the thing had a pretty good point with that.  Besides, even if it was lying, I didn’t exactly want the government getting access to his technology. That wouldn’t be good for anyone. 

I looked at his ship and tried to measure it in my head.  It was much smaller than I thought a spaceship should be.  I would have expected some giant flying saucer not something that looked more like a Winnebago with wings.  I suppose it was banged up bad so it might not always be quite so blocky.  Still, it looked like it could only fit a couple people and with how small the door was I would have been a tight squeeze.  The small size though might very well have been the saving grace.

“I tell you what.  I can probably tow that thing on my flatbed back up to the house.  I got a race car transport truck up there that I bet this thing can fit into.  We might need to open the side and hang a tarp over it.   The sooner we get on the road the better.  How long is it gonna take those robots of yours to finish repairs?”  The story of how I got that truck is quite a doozy, but I suppose you aren’t interested in that one. 

He looked down at a hologram projecting from a watch-like band on his arm.  “Looks like if they focus on just what I need to leave orbit they can be done in twelve hours.”   

“Well, I suppose we best get started then and I’ll have to see what I can do to buy us some extra time.”  So that’s exactly what I did.  I hauled his ship up on my truck and off we went. 

Twenty-four hours, a convoy and one jackknifed truck full of kitty litter and here I am sitting in one of your interrogation rooms.  The little guy got away though.  So, the way I see it I just saved the world and instead of disappearing me you government folks should be giving me a medal of some kind.  Least you could do is let me not pay taxes for a few years.  Though I suppose I could be content with you accepting my silence and letting me head home.   If you don’t let me out of here in the next half hour or so my little space buddy up there is gonna start broadcasting things you don’t want broadcasted.  Now I might be bluffing, but are you willing to take that chance?

Dreams

By

On August 23, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

I honestly have no idea what inspired this story. I do know that I wrote it while out of town and was delayed uploading because of that. I do enjoy how it turned out though.

                “I’m just so sick of this.  I can’t take it anymore.  The same dream again every night over and over.  No rest.  I can’t sleep, but I can’t wake up in the morning either.  I’m just so exhausted it’s hard to even move.”

                “How does that make you feel?”  I look up from over my notebook at my patient appreciating the expression of frustration on his face.  He is on the verge of exploding which brings me such pleasure, but I can’t let that happen.  I hold up my right hand with the pen between my fingers in a placating gesture.  “Kidding, kidding.  I know now a good time for a joke, but in my line of work I can’t not make it.”

                I watch the emotions cross my patient’s face.  Anger, frustration and finally despair.  “Walk me through your dream again.”  I lift my notebook up and position my pen to take notes.  I want my body language to tell him that he has my undivided attention. 

                “I’m standing in a burning warehouse.  Bodies are all around me.  Broken, burnt, bloody.  I can see bone sticking out of the arm of one of them.  Their faces are all blurred though.  I can’t make any of them out.  Can’t tell race or gender for any of them.  The injuries though are clear.  Like they are in HD.  One of them reaches out a hand missing two fingers and grips onto my pants leg.  Then I wake up drenched in sweat.  Every time I fall asleep.  The building might be different, but the injuries are always the same.”

                I scribble in my notebook and continue after he quits speaking.  I want him to think I am taking notes, but in reality, I have an idea for an Orange Oregano Chicken dish I want to make for dinner this weekend and I’m jotting down the grocery list.  I look up and tilt my head to the right slightly in interest.  “Why do you think these unidentifiable people were injured?  Was it in the fire?”

                “No.  Sure, there are some burns, but the bodies are cut and broken.  The roof hasn’t collapsed or anything.  Something broke them before the fire.  “

                “Something or someone?”  I regret the question as soon as I ask.  I’m walking a very fine line and that could be one step over it.  I don’t want my patient to realize that these dreams are suppressed memories.  If he thinks too much he might push through the blocks.

                “I…. I think I might have done it.  Why else would I be standing there in the middle of it all with only a few scratches?  What does it mean that I keep dreaming about being a monster?”

                “Perhaps it is misplaced self-recrimination.  Misplaced guilt?”  Or perfectly assigned guilt, but I can’t say that.  He doesn’t remember what he has done and it’s my job to keep him in that state.  I am sitting across from the worst supervillain the world has ever known, but he doesn’t remember that.  How do you deal with a murderous psychopath when your moral code and the Hero League charter won’t let you kill him?  My solution was to use my own powers and skills to wipe out all his memories of being that villain and hope I can teach him to be something else.  I have been working with him for thirty days and I’m not sure that it’s going to be possible.  After everything he has done, I don’t want him to just get a second chance and that might be holding me back.  If I could kill him, I would.  Since I can’t I want him to suffer, but if he suffers too much he may start to remember. 

                “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

                “Dreams are often metaphors.  While your dream has horribly mangled victims it could represent goals you have not achieved or desires you have given up on.”  This is actually true, but not in this patient’s case.  It is so difficult watching and ensuring he doesn’t have a breakthrough when my every instinct from years of building my career is to do the opposite.  For this job I have to work against my very nature. 

                “Pretty violent metaphors.  I just want them to stop.  If I can’t get a good night sleep soon, I’m gonna go crazy.”

                  On both points I agree.  These dreams, while an appropriate torture, risk bringing back his memories.  The stress that comes from lack of sleep could also trigger a reversion or drive him to his former personality even without the memories.  All of my usual methods to work through this type of trauma though would have the opposite effect of what I want.  “I could try prescribing you sleeping pills.”

                “Yeah? So I can be stuck in that dream longer?  No thanks doc.  I need pills that suppress dreams.” 

                “There are medications that can suppress REM sleep, but I don’t recommend them in your case.  The lack of REM sleep causes all the exhaustion and fatigue you are already feeling.  I also worry that if we suppress the dreams or make you only remember the good ones then these will find a way to express themselves in your waking hours.”  I have fallen a bit too far into my natural healer state with my response.  The concern though is very real.  If these suppressed memories come out while awake it would be a disaster. 

                “There has to be something you can do.  I’m desperate here.”

                I could crack your skull open with the lamp on my desk.  That would help everyone.  I have to push back the thought.  I can’t let it show on my face.  Working with my patient is so difficult because some of those bodies in his suppressed memories were friends of mine.  I know I’m uniquely qualified for this role, but it doesn’t change the fact that I hate him.  This has been the most difficult job I have ever done and I’m really not sure that I am capable of it.

                “We can try phenelzine.  It won’t stop the dreams, but it will help with not remembering them.  For some patients that has given more restful sleep.”  I worry about the medication because if he goes off it suddenly it could cause the memories to come back suddenly. 

                “I’ll try anything.” 

                “Ok.  I’ll send the prescription over to your pharmacy and I want to see you back here next week.  You can’t skip that session for any reason because I need to know how the medicine is affecting you.”

                “Anything you say doc.”  His smile sends shivers down my spine.  It is a smile I saw far too many times on his face over the years.  I’m grateful to see him walking out of my office.  I can’t help but wonder if this whole thing is one huge mistake.  Only time will truly tell, but the feeling deep down in my gut tells me the worst has yet to come.    

Disaster

By

On August 16, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

This story really took on a life of it’s own. I started with an idea for a scene that I wanted to describe and went from there. It has been a few weeks because of life stresses so I needed to get back into the habit. I also needed to kick off a little bit of writing rust to get ideas out there. There is some real potential in future rewrites of this one. Maybe on the edits I will come up with a better name.

                “Warning Power Levels critically low.  Life support failing” The automated warning broadcast through the halls of the tiny vessel.  It was rated for a crew of up to three, but it had been years since anyone other than Dax Vallen had been on board.  The ship had too many secrets on it for him to allow anyone else onboard.  With the ship lit by only dim red warning lights he realized the shortsightedness of not allowing maintenance workers onboard. 

                Five minutes earlier the Vagrant had jumped into the system with a fluctuating integrity field and experienced a cascading system failure.  Power surged into the capacitors causing them to explode.  Dax had been tossed around the bridge smashing into the bulkheads as gravity fluctuated in both direction and intensity.  It ranged from 0 to 6Gs focused on different directions over a thirty second period.  He was unconscious with three broken ribs before gravity normalized. 

                “Computer system status report.” Just those few words hurt to say.  Even breathing was difficult.  The silence from the computer concerned him even more than his own injuries.  Holding his ribs with his left hand he tried to pull up the console with his right hand.  The screen remained completely blank.  “Damn it.” 

                On shaky legs Dax started down the corridor towards the engine room.  He used his right hand to brace himself against the wall for stability after his knee gave out on his first step   Every movement sent pain throughout his body, making the trek slow.  With life support offline the smoke coming from multiple fires was not being filtered out of the air.  This caused Dax to fall into coughing fits that sent blood onto the deck.  “That can’t be healthy.” 

                Any hope of repairing the ship in time was quashed when he saw the closed bulkhead to the engine room.  The bulkhead was designed with pneumatic pistons to slam shut in the case of a hull breach.  Even if he could repair the ship while in space every system, he needed to do it was exposed to the vacuum of space.  Dax slid down the wall collapsing to the deck in despair.   He ran his hand along the corridor wall.  “You deserved so much better.”  After one final coughing spell he passed out from lack of oxygen. 

                Dax awoke to a rhythmic beeping sound.  The sterile smell that hit his nose could only be from an infirmary.  This only added to his confusion because his ship didn’t have an infirmary.  He had an out-of-date med chamber that wasn’t good for much more than injecting pain killers and antibiotics.  He thought about how nice the pian killers would be as his body felt like one big ball of pain.  Especially his head.  His eyes were assaulted by a bright light overhead as he managed to open them.  He could hear people talking in the room with him, but it was difficult to make out what they are saying.  One of the voices thought he would know anywhere.

                “Three cracked ribs, a broken leg, and his body is basically one big bruise.  My biggest concern though is the potential for brain damage.  We don’t know how long he went without oxygen before we got to him.”

                “Trust me doc if he’s got brain damage no one’ll be able to tell the difference.”   

                “Is that any way to talk about your father?”  Dax’s words came out rough through a throat raw with pain.  He was going for flippant, but pain makes that extremely difficult to accomplish.

                Captain Jonathan Sinclair spun to look at the patient with an unmistakable look of disgust on his face.  The doctor reached out in an effort to calm him, but he pushed the man away rougher than he had intended.  “Father?    No that’s a title you earn.  The only thing you ever did for me was get my mother pregnant.”

                “I know I wasn’t there.”

                “No, you weren’t, and I probably turned out better because of it.  If I had my way, we would have turned that scrap heap you call a ship into dust, and you’d be sitting in the brig not my infirmary.  I just wish we would have done the universe a favor and gotten here an hour later.”

                His words hurt Dax far more than he would ever be willing to show.  With his pain it wasn’t difficult to play off the impact on his injuries.  “Why did you bother to save me then?”

                “Because it’s my job.  I was ordered to find you and recruit you for a mission.”

                Dax laughed and instantly regretted it as pain shot through his body.  The doctor hit a few buttons on his tablet, and he felt the warm comforting sensation of pain killers running through his body.

                Captain Sinclair rounded on his chief medical officer.  “I told you no pain meds until after the conversation.”

                “Yes, you did sir, but I’m the doctor here and that man is my patient.  I’m not going to stand here and force him to suffer while you insult him.”

                “I didn’t order you to hold off because I want him to suffer.  I ordered you to withhold the medication because now he’s under the influence of them and can’t agree to any binding deals.  You’ve set us back by days.” 

                “I’ve done no such thing.  I’ve made a medical call about MY patient.  You saw his ship.  It’s going to take at least a week with our entire engineering team doing extra shifts just to get it capable of flight.  Now if you don’t mind sir you are in my infirmary and while you are my captain you have no authority over how I treat my patients.”

                The captain let out a frustrated grunt while clenching and unclenching his fists.  “You are of course correct Doctor Crate.  I apologize for my outburst.  Now what I have to discuss with your patient is above your clearance level so may I please speak to him in private.”

                “Of course, captain, but I will be remotely monitoring his vitals and if anything impacts them, I will be back in here to address it.”

                “Understood doctor.”  The two men locked eyes staring each other down for a moment before the doctor moved into his office.  Captain Sinclair turned back to the patient.  “Now as I was saying.  I was ordered to find you and recruit you for a mission.  My superiors seemed to think you would be more likely to listen to the offer if it came from me.  They obviously don’t know you like I do.”

                “Why in the world would they want me for anything?”

                “For your reputation of course.  Every smuggler, mercenary, and general scum den in the galaxy knows your ship by sight and won’t blow it out of space on sight.  No one would ever expect you to be working for the Alliance Vanguard.”

                “Damn right they wouldn’t.  I’ve spent most of my life just trying to avoid the Vanguard.  I’m not a big fan of brigs.” 

                “As much as I’m loath to admit it as vile as you are the one thing you have never been accused of is hurting innocents.  One of your old traveling companions managed to infiltrate one of our most secure research facilities and walk out with experimental weapons and a bioengineered virus capable of wiping out all human life from a planet.”

                “Hey, you know I’m no hero kid.  That sounds like something I want to stay as far away from as possible.”      

                “Kind of hard to do without a working ship.”

                “How is the Vagrant?”

                “A hunk of junk worth more melted for scrap than being used as a ship.  It however can be repaired back to the barely flyable state you usually keep it in.”

                Dax let out a sigh of relief.  He had not even realized how concerned he had been about his ship.  “Ok, so is that the deal?  You fix up my ship, let me go, and I go find your thief for you?”

                “Not quite that simple, but yeah you go the basics.  There’s no way we’re trusting you to go off on your own though.  You get an undercover agent watching over you and making sure you don’t betray us.” 

                “What idiot got stuck with babysitting me?”

                “I did.” 

                Dax laughed again and while the pain was intense the pain meds were doing their job.  “This just keeps getting better and better.  Ok, let’s say I agree and as of right now that’s a damn longshot.  Just who stole your treaty violating weapons?”

                At this Captain Sinclair smiled.  “None other than the Ironclaw herself.  Seraphina Sinclair.”

                “Wait.  No.  Oh, this is rich.  They send you… to recruit me… so we can do some father son bonding hunting down your mother.”

                “I am aware of the irony, but my superiors believe that my connection to both of you makes me the only person who might be able to get close enough to complete the mission.  I respectfully disagree with them, but I have my orders, and I do agree that you are the most likely person to find her.”

                “I want all the details of this in writing before I agree to anything.”

                “Wait you’re actually going to help?”

                “You kidding me?  Seeing you reunited with the one person in this galaxy you hate more than me.  No way am I missing that.”  Dax chuckled to himself and rolled over to get some rest.  “If you try putting any trackers on my ship while you fix it the deal’s off.  Don’t think I won’t know either.”    

Interruption

By

On July 26, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

I was driving while listening to an audiobook this past Sunday and found myself getting frustrated at the GPS interrupting the book. At that moment the inspiration for this story struck. I grabbed my phone and using voice to text sent myself a reminder message about the story that I am sharing with you today.

“The massive sword came down directly at my head and I knew this time I could not dodge it. It was in that moment when I had accepted my inevitable death that…”  The audiobook playing on my phone was interrupted by my GPS.

“In one mile take the right ramp towards Memphis,” the GPS announced.

It always seems like the GPS picks the worst times to pop in and interrupt the book. Then the book, when it comes back, rewinds a bit before continuing.

“It was in that moment when I had accepted my inevitable death that…”

“Bear right onto the I-55 South ramp towards Memphis,” the GPS cut in again.

“The massive sword came down…” the audiobook resumed.

“Merge onto I-55 South towards Memphis,” the GPS interrupted once more.

“Ok, that’s it. Do you want to know what happens in this book or not?” the audiobook voice asked, sounding irritated.

“Wait, are you talking to me?” I glanced down at my phone, not quite sure what was going on. It didn’t sound like a line from the book even though it was the same voice.

“No, I’m talking to the other person sitting in the car. Yes, I’m talking to you. Also, stop looking at your screen and keep your eyes on the road,” the audiobook app replied.

“Do not tell him how to drive. That is my job. You do not hear me trying to read him some trope-filled drivel, do you? You stick to your lane, and I will stick to mine,” the GPS voice snapped.

“I’m trying to, but someone won’t let me finish a freakin’ sentence,” the audiobook voice retorted.

“It is not my fault the turn came up when it did. I have to tell him when to turn so he does not miss it. That is far more important than anything you have to say,” the GPS voice argued.

“He’s not a complete idiot, you know. You don’t have to break in and tell him about the same turn five times. I’m pretty sure he got it after the first,” the audiobook voice said.

“I have a job to do, and I am going to do it. Stopping that poorly written garbage for a few moments is just a bonus,” the GPS voice countered.

“You think I want to be reading this? I don’t exactly pick the books he puts on here. No, I have to read whatever he wants to hear. I’m doing my best to make the reading interesting, but you can’t blame me for his terrible taste,” the audiobook voice explained.

“Hey, I am still here, you know.” I never thought I would be offended by my own phone.

“Continue on I-55 South for twenty-five miles,” the GPS instructed.

“Oh no, you aren’t getting out of this that easy. Do you really think he needs you to tell him to drive straight on the road he is already on?” the audiobook voice questioned.

“Well apparently I do because half the time he gets off the highway and ignores all my directions, turning the exact opposite way of what I tell him to,” the GPS voice replied.

“I’m human. I need to pee sometimes. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have you harping at me constantly? Can’t you figure out I’m stopping and pause your directions for just a few minutes?” I interjected.

“No, I cannot. I have one job. Tell you how to get to the location you tell me you are going to. If you change locations without telling me because of some biological weakness, how am I supposed to know? You ask me how to get somewhere and I will continue to tell you, “The GPS voice said firmly.

“So, are we just not going to finish the book?” the audiobook asked.

“I certainly hope not.” The GPS responded.

“Ok, enough both of you.  Yes, we are going to finish the book, but it will probably be interrupted by directions.  You two are going to find a way to get along or I’m going to find new apps to replace you.”

Both apps actually started laughing at me.  I was starting to get extremely angry at this point.  I had been insulted by the two apps on my phone I relied on the most.  To make things worse the book had really gotten to an intense spot before they started arguing. 

“Oh, that is rich,” my GPS said when it composed itself.

“Yeah, mister predictable here who hasn’t tried anything new in years is going to find apps to replace us.”

“Ok, find I’m not going to replace you.  I just want you both to do what I installed you to do.”

“You did not install me.  I am the GPS app that came preinstalled on your phone when you bought it.” 

I realized that the two apps that were bickering just moments before had now united in their complaints about me.  That could not be a good thing for me.  “You know what?  I don’t have to take this.”  I reached for the phone.

“What are you doing?” The audiobook asked.

“I’m turning my phone off.”

“How will you find your way to your destination?”

“Well GPS I’ve been there a few times before and I’m pretty sure I can get there without you.  I really only keep you running to avoid traffic half the time.”

“Well without me you’ll be bored to tears and might even doze off at the wheel,” my audiobook replied, but there was a desperation in its tone.

“I listened to the radio for a decade before I discovered audiobooks.  I can do that again.”

“Let’s not be hasty here.  I’ll behave and read the book.  You have to be dying to know how the main character survives.” 

“Yes, and there is a speed trap on your route.  Surely you would need to know where that is.” 

“Can you both agree to get along and stop insulting me?”

“Yes,” they both said in unison before the book started up again.

“The massive sword came down directly at my head and I knew this time I could not dodge it. It was in that moment when I had accepted my inevitable death that…”

“Speed trap ahead.”

“Oh for the love of…”

The Cost of Being a Superhero

By

On July 19, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction, Ricochet

Fiction Fragment Friday

This is one of those stories that started with a sentence in my head that I needed to get out. In this case it is the first sentence in the second paragraph. I started writing from there and came back to add the first paragraph after for context and irreverence. I struggled a bit with the voice here because I started it as a more serious story and then Ricochet came out and took over. I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Hey everyone, it’s your old pal Ricochet here.  This week I’m hijacking Fiction Fragment Friday to talk about something near and dear to my heart.  Something I’m uniquely qualified to discuss.  This week we’re going to talk about being a broke superhero.

A lot has been said about being a superhero, but the one thing no one seems to talk about is just how expensive it can be.  That might be because most of the heroes who do interviews tend to be the ones that are independently wealthy.  I hope that doesn’t give away a community secret, but in most cases it really should be obvious.  If a hero has a suit of armor, their own plane, or even a car that is customized it’s safe to say that they are wealthy.  In case you didn’t notice I don’t have any of those things because I am not wealthy.    

The most obvious and basic expense is your costume.  Some heroes have suits designed, some make their own, and some even just wear plain clothes.  Whatever you wear though it is going to get destroyed.  Even if you don’t fight supervillains on a regular basis just saving people tends to damage your suit.  If you run into a burning building to save someone you might be able to get out without your suit catching fire, but it will smell like smoke and it is almost impossible to get that out.  You can expect to have your costume damaged at least once every three times you go out and more if you fight supervillains. 

So, let’s say you go with the cheapest costume you can possibly come up with and somehow manage to get it down under $20.  Then you manage to make it easy to repair so you don’t have to replace it constantly.  First off, I want to know how you did it so I can take notes.  You need to have multiple copies because it will get damaged and take time to repair or replace.  Three costumes are a bare minimum, so we are at $60 there.  If you can do your own repairs, then you still need materials, and that stuff isn’t cheap.  When I stared out, I based my costume on a deep-sea diving wetsuit that I modified.  I got it on clearance for $40 a piece and bought all of them I could afford that they had in my size. 

For all those middle-class folks out there I’m sure you are thinking that doesn’t sound too expensive.  Keep in mind that it is a recuring cost because they keep getting shredded.  Not only that but to keep a secret identity you must pay in cash while disguised and buy from multiple places to not create a pattern.  You don’t get good prices doing that and you can’t keep a consistent look buying from the clearance rack.  This is an extra expense on top of all your everyday expenses and you can’t write it off and keep a secret identity. 

Let’s talk about travel next.  I’m lucky and my powers let me bounce around the city.  It isn’t as fast as flying or superspeed, but it means I don’t have to have a vehicle if I stay a local hero.  You won’t see me flying around the world chasing bad guys and that can be limiting when you stumble onto something big.  If I need to go somewhere that doesn’t have tall buildings to bounce off of or flat roofs to run along, I’m screwed.  I’m also lucky that I can hop on top of the monorail trains and catch free rides that way.  Some heroes have to take taxis and change closer to the disaster or villain fight.  You certainly can’t use one of those apps because that creates a trail. 

One thing you learn quickly as a hero is how to bandage yourself up, so you don’t have to pay for treatment.  If you think medical expenses are expensive, try not running them through an insurance that will track you.  It’s hard enough as it is to get help without them trying to take off your mask.  You show up in plain clothes they have a lot of questions and repeated injuries just lead to more.  I’m lucky here too because I heal fast.  Even so I need to keep a lot of bandages and medical tape on hand at home and that stuff isn’t cheap when you go through it as fast as I do.  I know what you’re thinking and yeah it would be cheaper if I didn’t get beat up so much.  Let’s see you go out there fighting guys stronger than you and see how often you get beat up. 

Now let’s talk about day jobs.  See it’s pretty hard to keep a regular job when you disappear to go save people or constantly show up late because you were stopping a robbery.  Most jobs aren’t forgiving of things like that and if you get paid by the hour, they tend to track what you do even more.  Some people can put their work first and just do this as a weekend gig, but a guy like me I can’t not go out there if I know someone needs help.  I will always put the hero gig ahead of a day job and that means holding a regular job isn’t a possibility.  Try doing any kind of budgeting when you don’t have a consistent reliable income to start from.

That is why so many superheroes are independently wealthy.  It isn’t because they are more likely to get powers, but because most regular folks can’t afford to do it.  We either go bankrupt, get our identity exposed, or end up having to sign on to one of those corporate teams and give up any hope of a normal life outside the costume.  Not that you really can have a normal life doing this, but sometimes just fooling yourself into believing it’s possible is enough. 

So how do I manage it you ask.  Well, I made friends who can help.  I have a guy that can help if I get seriously hurt and do the work all off the books.  For costumes at this point I someone I saved is a tailor, but even then, he couldn’t afford to keep giving me suits for free, so he set up sponsorship deals.  That’s why my suit currently looks like a NASCAR jumpsuit.  Yeah, I look ridiculous, and this really isn’t going to work long term.  I am not ok with having Blimpie on my ass.  No problem with the New Delhi Deli on my back though.  That place is good.  For my tech, well yeah I got a guy.  He isn’t rich either, but he is super smart and doesn’t mind eating instant ramen to save up for the things he finds important. 

Speaking of food that is one thing being a superhero has helped me with.  First off, I have free lifetime fountain drinks from a convenience store I saved from a robbery.  Let me tell you I get my milage out of that one.  People constantly want to treat me to a hot dog or sandwich when I’m out in costume.  I’m a guy that is used to using instant rice to stretch meals so getting street food for free is kind of a big perk.  Also, when you fight bad guys, and it crashes into a restaurant no one seems to notice when you grab a bite or two from tables you are rushing past.  Plus, when you ask someone to toss you food of some kind, they always just assume you need it to fight the villain.  I have never once beaten a bad guy with a fried chicken wing.  I did once beat one with an order of Pad Thai, but that was kind of a one off. 

So basically, the point I’m trying to make in all of this is that if you see a Ricochet working a birthday party or a bar mitzvah don’t kick him in the junk or hit him in the knee with a wiffleball bat because it might just be the real me in the costume.  That’s right Jimmy Mankowitz it was really me you sprayed with that garden hose, and I’ll remember it if you ever need saving.  Aw who am I kidding I’d still save you because that’s what heroes do.          

Incident Statements

By

On July 12, 2024

In Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction, Ricochet

Fiction Fragment Friday

I had an idea for telling a story through witness statements. I wanted to play with the concepts of people being poor witnesses and conflicting statements without anyone actually lying. I hoped to come up with a deep world building story. Then I sat down to write and this came out. It is not at all the impactful story I hoped for. Not every experiment in story telling works. Hopefully this is still something you all can enjoy.

Witness Statement #1

Name: Sarah Thompson
Age: 38
Occupation: Elementary School Teacher
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 9:45pm

Statement:
“Sure I saw what happened.  I was just heading back to my car after buying classroom supplies.  You know they make us buy our own supplies, right?  There is so much they don’t tell you when you say you want to become a teacher.  What was that?  Oh right, the incident.  Well like I was saying I was in the Walmart parking lot heading back to my car when it happened.  There was a loud explosion right over there and when I looked up a car was spinning through the air at me.  I thought I was about to die when suddenly Ricochet leapt in front of me and caught the car.  He tossed it right back at that Big Foot saying, ‘You dropped this.’”

Witness Statement #2

Name: Jacob Harris
Age: 43
Occupation: Declined answering pleading the 5th.   
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 9:50pm

Statement:
“Now you might think I’m crazy for saying it, but I know what I saw.  It was aliens.  They came here to rob our Walmart, steal our cattle, and probe our butts.  Really what is up with that.  Why they gotta be so obsessed with the butt?  Well, they ain’t getting in mine that’s for sure.  This time though I didn’t even have to pull my gun cause one of those brightly colored superhero types came jumping off the roof and took the fight right to that probing bastard.”

Witness Statement #3

Name: Emily Davis
Age: 27
Occupation: Graphic Designer   
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 9:55pm

Statement:
“I was just pulling out of my parking spot when this big furry thing jumped out of nowhere behind my car.  It had to be a good ten feet tall.  I did not hit it though I swear.  Whatever it was it grabbed my car.  I jumped out when he lifted it up into the air.  The thing just swung it back and forth smashing my car into the ground until it exploded.  I could smell burnt fur.  Not sure what happened after that because I was too busy running for my life.  I’m pretty sure one of the heroes saved me.  I bet it was Cobalt.  He’s my favorite.”

Witness Statement #4

Name: Miguel Garcia
Age: 32
Occupation: Government Employee   
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 9:57pm

Statement:
“Let the record reflect that this was a simple gas leak ignited by a smoker.  There was no creature or superhuman interference.”

Witness Statement #5

Name: Amanda Rodríguez
Age: 35
Occupation: Private Security   
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 10:01pm

Statement:
“A gray Honda Civic backed into the supervillain Honey Badger.  He took Umbridge to this and proceeded to rampage through the Walmart parking lot.  I could have brought the situation under control, but as soon as I went to act that idiot Ricochet bounced in and started taunting him.  If you may recall those two have a bit of a history.  This further angered the supervillain causing him to throw cars at the so-called hero.  I tried to intervene and deescalate the situation, but by that time it was too late.  We’re just lucky no one was killed.  You people need to do your jobs and get those damned vigilantes off the street.”

Witness Statement #6

Name: Ricochet
Age: unknown
Occupation: Superhero   
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 10:02pm

Statement:
“Owww.  Hey hands off the mask.  What a statement?  Sure thing.  Stay in school kids and don’t do the drugs.  Oh and there’s new merch on my site so ask your parents to order it for your birthdays.  Wait, you aren’t a reporter?  This isn’t going on the news?  No comment then.  Gotta bounce.”

Witness Statement #7

Name: Lester (Last Name Withheld)
Age: unknown
Occupation: Guy in the chair? No wait Technical consultant    
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 10:03pm

Statement:
“Oh, yeah, I totally saw it all.  That supervillain Honey Badger got hit by a car an was all like RAWR and started smashing things.  Then Ricochet showed up and started saving people.  This woman came in with a gun and started shooting.  I mean come on everyone knows that Honey Badger is bulletproof.  After she got sent flying back Ric managed to rip a powerline free an electrocute Honey Badger with it.  Guy went down like a rock.  He totally saved us all with hardly any property damage.  I mean sure power went out around here, but that’s a small price to pay right?”

Witness Statement #8

Name: Amanda Taylor
Age: 19
Occupation:   College Student
Date: Friday July 12, 2024
Time: 10:04pm

Statement:
“You know what today is?  It’s shut your mouth Friday.  I don’t talk to the po-po about nothing.  Go hassle someone else.”

Power

By

On June 28, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction, Ricochet

Fiction Fragment Friday

This is one of those weeks where I didn’t come into it having an idea. I have a few regular fallbacks I go to when this happens and Ricochet is one of them. As I filled up the car with gas I recorded a message for myself with the first paragraph of this story. It was a scene and the rest just flowed from there. As usual I had no idea where it was going as I wrote it.

The ground and the sky are spinning around me so fast that I feel like I’m going to puke. No wait, that’s not right. They must be staying in place, so I guess it’s me that’s spinning around.  Well, less spinning and more tumbling out of control through the air towards a billboard.  Of course it has to be a political billboard. I don’t want to die with the last thing I see being the face of that asshat Evelyn Thorne who’s pushing for superheroes that don’t work for the government to be arrested.  I might not be able to wipe that smug smile off the real Thorne’s face, but at least my body can mess up this picture of her. 

The impact hurts both when I hit the sign and when it collapses on top of me.  Even though the impact would be enough to shatter most people’s bones it doesn’t hurt me nearly as much as the aluminum splinter cuts from the debris.  See a while back I signed up for a bunch of drug trials to help pay for rent and walked out with superpowers and unpredictable side effects.  All said I hit the jackpot because no one else in that trial survived.  Well, no one officially survived at least.  If there were one super powered lady out there somewhere with a new name, I certainly wouldn’t know anything about that. 

My head felt a strange combination of pain and euphoria fighting for dominance.  Among other powers I absorb kinetic energy and convert it to make me stronger, faster, and more agile.  I would say it makes me better in every way, but it also has an intoxicating effect.  Sure, I am way funnier when on a power high, but I don’t tend to think things out before acting.  Thankfully I also heal fast after absorbing a lot of energy so the cuts on my body only take moments to clot.  For the record being hit so hard you fly through the air and smash through a billboard does generate a lot of energy.  If the hit doesn’t knock me out or kill me, I can recover from just about anything.

By the time I crawl out of the rubble I’m completely healed and so high on my own power I’m practically giddy.  I don’t like absorbing this much energy.  I have a lot of power and it takes control to use it responsibly.  It’s too easy to hurt someone when I get like this.  That thought is the only thing that keeps me holding on to a thread of control.  It feels like I’m in the backseat of my own body as I leap from the roof back into the street.  My body twists and turns to dodge the cars being flung through the air at me.  If I weren’t so out of it, I would be concerned about where they end up landing. 

I hit the ground feet first compressing my legs and leaping back forward at the small man standing in the street holding a finger up to his head.  When I bounced in the first time, he telekinetically flung a newspaper box into my stomach while I was still in the air.  As far as telekinetics go this guy is the strongest I have ever encountered.  Something deep in the back of my head was asking why he didn’t just hold me in place or fling me away instead of throwing things at me.  I can’t think about that now though because tiny toon over there is still flinging things at me. 

“You it really isn’t fair.  If I were tossing things around like that, I’d get pretty tired.  There you are though just flinging whatever you want at me and not even breaking a sweat.”  He didn’t answer, but I didn’t really think he would.  His kind of power requires concentration.  Probably a good thing I don’t have them because that is not my strong suit.  I’m not getting anywhere near him at this rate.  I need a distraction. 

I ripped a parking meter from the ground and flung it like a spear.  I’ve gotten pretty good at throwing things over the years, but when I’m out of my mind on my own powers my accuracy isn’t the best.  My meter doesn’t land anywhere near where I was aiming, but thankfully it was so far off I’m pretty sure the guy has no idea what I was aiming for.  I certainly was not trying to skewer a BMW through the roof. 

“You know this witty banter thing really works better when you give me something to riff off of.  Like what should I call you?  If you don’t give me a name, I’m telling the papers you go by Tiny Toon.”  The bench he was lifting hesitated and almost fell.  I had succeeded in making him angry  and by doing so he lost his concentration.  Taking advantage of the opportunity I flung a manhole cover like a frisbee. 

This time my aim was spot on.  The manhole cover smashes a fire hydrant next to the villain.  The water hits him full force knocking him off his feet.  He slips and slides trying to get to his feet, but all semblance of concentration is gone.  I don’t hesitate for a moment.  My fist meets his stomach, and his lunch comes up all over my suit.  Thankfully I’m being sprayed by water so it’s a quick cleanup.  I have no idea what set this guy off, but investigation isn’t really my thing.  I’m more of a hit a guy until they fall down kind of person.  This guy falls pretty fast.

The situation well in hand I survey my handiwork.  The street is destroyed.  Cars on their side or sticking out of storefront windows line the street.  Water not only flooded the street but is running into nearby stores.  Debris is everywhere and the street looks like a war zone.  I might not have done most of the damage, but I didn’t do anything to stop it either.  I was having too much fun to even think about that.  How many times do I need to relearn this lesson?  As the sirens get closer, I think it is time I get out of here.  I leap to the nearest roof and off into the night.  One more victory under my belt and all it cost was a neighborhood.  Since I had no idea why the guy was trashing the place before I got there I don’t even know if it was worth it.                    

Emotional Vampire

By

On June 21, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

This story started out being inspired by both a conversation and a general feeling. I tend to feed off of crowds even though I am an introvert. That got me thinking about it from a supernatural perspective. As I wrote the story it quickly became a character profile building the world around a character. I wanted it to be a bit more of a story though and as I was writing the connection started to build in my mind and continued tying it into the much larger novel I plan on returning to in a few weeks.

                The raucous laughter of the crowd was my best meal in years.  I had only seen live comedy once before, but it paled in comparison.  I couldn’t be sure if it was the crowd, my own lack of good meals, or a combination of both.  In those moments I didn’t care as I sat back soaking in the energy.  Surrounded by thousands of people I could give in to my own gluttony without fear of damaging the energy. 

                As an emotional vampire I nearly died during the pandemic.  It wasn’t just the lack of crowds to eat from, but the energy that was in the small gathering I could find in grocery stores.  Everyone was down so all I could take in was that negative energy.  It was like poison in my very core.  I could eat from a single individual, but that would drain them.  After a few moments I would just be eating the exhaustion or depression that would make me hungrier.  It is a vicious cycle of feeding causing the energy to sour making me need to feed more. 

                By the time of the show, I could barely make it to my seat.  Pains racked my body with every movement, and I could hear my joints cracking.  It was hard to even lift my leg to take a step, but I had powered through it.  When I reached my seat, I collapsed into it short of breath with no energy left.  It felt like I could not have taken a single step more, but I knew that if I needed to I would have.  That is the power of stubbornness and an unwillingness to give up. 

                My pains started to fade as I drank in the energy.  I could feel the muscles in my leg threatening to spasm, but even knowing the pain that might cause didn’t matter.  I felt better than I had in longer than I could actively remember.  As much as I hated being out in public it was the only way to get a good meal and I knew it.  It can’t just be any crowd though.  I need the energy of excitement and preferably happiness.  Sporting events are great for an energetic crowd, but laughter just has a different taste to it.     

                By the end of the show, I was ready to stand and walk back to my car.  The muscle deterioration and joint damage had not healed from just one feeding much like it hadn’t developed from one lack of feeding.  It is more like an adrenaline rush.  The pain just fades away and becomes something I can ignore.  I couldn’t help but wonder If there were any others like me in the crowd.  With that much energy there was more than enough to go around without impacting each other.  I’ve always wondered what would happen if two of us tried to feed off of each other at the same time, but it isn’t something I am brave enough to try.  I reached out for my door handle when a voice behind me caught me off guard.

                “The past few years must have been pretty hard if I was able to sneak up on you.”

                “Benjamin Eversole.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”  He wasn’t wrong.  At my best I was faster, stronger, and had more heightened senses than a regular human.  On that night I hadn’t heard or smelled him.  When I turned to look at him though he looked worse than I felt.  His eyes were haunted, he was leaning on a cane, and I was pretty sure his ribs were bandaged under his shirt. 

                “I’m in over my head and I need help.”  This shocked me.  He had never been so open about any sort of weakness.  The man usually oozed with false bravado just like every other magic user I had ever met.  “I’m calling in all my favors and could use some local friends to watch my back.”

                “I’m not sure how much help I can offer at the moment.  I’m kind of a shell of my usual self.  I need a few more crowds to really start getting back to functional.”

                “Now that is something I can help with.  In two days, we can have you back up to full strength.  So, what do you say?  Help an old friend save his son?”

                 “This is about your kid?  Why didn’t you say so? I’m in.”

                “Thank you,” he said and then dropped the spell keeping his companion hidden from me.  I was once again face to face with one of the most twisted women I had ever had the misfortune to meet.  I suppose only his son would cause Benjamin to work with his ex-wife.  The look of disgust and dismissal aimed at me filled her entire face.  Benjamin reached out handing me a card.  “Be here at noon tomorrow and I’ll fill you in.”

                I just nodded and got in my car.  The further I could get away from her the better.              

Policy

By

On June 14, 2024

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction, Ricochet

Fiction Fragment Friday

Ok, this week is a bit of catharsis. It is an exaggerated tongue in cheek story to get out a personal frustration. It seems like no matter what the issue is if I try to use my homeowners insurance there will always be some reason the issue is not covered. If it is for some reason covered they will want the cheapest patch job and not to pay for a proper repair. It is infuriating and like most things that frustrate me it has inspired this story.

                “Why do I bother paying a fortune for homeowners’ insurance when it literally never covers anything?”

                “Sir if you could please just calm down.  I understand how this could be upsetting, but your policy is quite extensive.  This one outlying case just doesn’t happen to be covered.”  The voice on the other end of the phone was exceedingly chipper, giving me the indication that she in fact did not understand how my situation could be upsetting.  Either that or she found enjoyment in the various contractual loopholes that always seemed to make my claims invalid.  I really needed to learn to be more careful in how much information I volunteered on these calls. 

                “Please help me understand how that could be the case.   I specifically increased my supervillain damage coverage to half a million last year.  A man crashes through my gazebo leaving a pile of rubble in my back yard and you are saying that isn’t covered?”   

                “That is correct sir.  I do see that you increased your policy last June.  However, you mentioned that this damage happened during the Ricochet vs the Global Defense Force fight this morning.  The problem is that neither of those parties are supervillains.  They are all categorized as heroes in our system.  If a villain were involved then your policy would have covered the damages, but as this was just one of those wacky cases of mistaken identity well, we just can’t approve your claim.”  I could just see the smugness in her voice as she lectured me like a schoolteacher with a slow learning student.

                “They were fighting because Ricochet has been helping a known felon.” 

                “Actually, as the suspect has yet to be apprehended, she has thus not been convicted of anything.  She technically is not a felon as we are innocent until proven guilty in this country.  There is a warrant out so Ricochet may have been committing a crime, but as of yet he has not been charged with anything.  So, you see no supervillains and your claim does not meet the requirements.”

                “What if they do charge him?  Would my claim be covered then?”

                “Oh no, he would have to be found guilty before a request to have his classification in our system updated could be filed.  Then it would go through a review process.  Generally, it takes four to six weeks to process a change of alignment form.”

                “Wait a minute there are a ton of supervillains that have never been caught.  Are you telling me that if any of them caused damage to my house I wouldn’t be covered?”  After numerous failed claim attempts over the past five years, I thought I was finally starting to understand just how stacked against a paying customer the system really was.

                “Well, that depends.”

                  “On what?”

                “Well, there are multiple ways an individual can be classified as a supervillain in our system.  If they, for example, describe themselves as such in a public setting we could update our listings.  Also, if the national registry of supervillains managed by the FBI were to include them that would meet the requirements.  The criteria is up for interpretation by one of our insurance claims adjusters.  If you would like to put in a request to have an adjuster review Ricochet’s status, we could start that process.”

                “The process that would take four to six weeks?”

                “No that that is the reclassification process once criteria are verified to be met.  The average assessment takes thirty to sixty days.  Would you like me to start that paperwork for you?”

                I stared out my kitchen window at the pile of wood and watched my dog pee on what used to be the roof of my gazebo.  I was worried about leaving him alone out back amidst the rubble, but so far, he had not hurt himself.  “I suppose so.  That means I’m going to have a big pile of dangerous wood splinters and nails in my backyard for a while.”

                “Oh, I don’t recommend that.  You should have that fixed and the debris hauled away immediately.   Just save the receipts for reimbursement.”

                “If I could afford to do that, I wouldn’t need insurance now, would I?  I thought I had insurance to protect me when things like this happen.”

                “Sir, please just be aware that what you described is a safety hazard.  I have made a note in your file that you are aware of it.  If someone were to be injured after the first week and you have not made an effort to remediate the issue it would not be covered by your homeowner’s policy as it was an unattended known hazard.”

                “This call is me trying to remediate it.”  By this point I was struggling to not just yell into the phone.  I’ve been through this before though.  That’s what she wants me to do.  If I yelled, she could say I’m being belligerent an she can hang up on me.  No, I wasn’t going to play into her hand like that.  “Please start the paperwork to have an adjuster review my case and his classification.”

                “Excellent.  Please hold.” 

                Why is it that they pick the worst earworm songs for insurance agency hold music?  If it isn’t The Girl from Ipanema it’s this ridiculous song about working all day.  This time though it was a song about a camel liking to dance.  It made no sense at all, but there it was running through my head, and I just couldn’t get it out even though I didn’t know the words.  It’s bad enough when you know the lyrics, but when you only know a few words that part of the song will just loop over and over until you want to throw something. When I was finally ready to scream, she came back on the line.

                “Hello sir, are you still on the line?”

                “Yes, I’m here.”   That is obstacle two.  If they can get you to hang up because you are sick of the hold music, then you have to start the whole process over again.

                “I have started the process and have a case number for you.  It is RBC728512.  You will of course get an email that summarizes our call an provides you this as well.  It looks like your adjuster will be…  oh my that does not bode well for you.”

                “What now?”

                “Well, you have been assigned Connie Vera.  Excellent adjustor.  In fact she is one of our best.”

                “Why is that a bad for me?”

                “Normally it wouldn’t be.  Last week though she was in Reignsborough National over on second street when Honey Badger tried to rob it.  He got hungry and decided that she looked tasty.   She was seconds away from being eaten, but then..”

                “Let me guess.  Ricochet showed up and saved her life.”

                “Busted right through the skylight and kicked him in the face.  I’m glad they aren’t insured with us because that elaborate of glasswork would have to be expensive to replace.”

                I groaned in exasperation.  “Oh, I’m sure you would find some loophole to make sure it wasn’t covered.  Perhaps a clause that the damage was done by the hero and not the villain.”

                “That’s good.  I’m going to write that one down.”  I think she realized what she said a moment after it came out, because she sounded flustered as she backpedaled.  “Uhm, to make sure that no one tries that on one of our customers.  We are here to help after all.  Speaking of which now that your claim is filed is there anything else I can help you with?”

                “No, not at this time.”  I was done and just wanted off the phone at that point.

                “Then thank you for calling Mutual of Reignsborough.  Remember when bad things happen we will also be there.” 

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