My Superpower

Often asked “If you had a superpower … ?”
My answer is ready prepared,
printed on business cards,
to present, along with my notoriously charming
chipmunk smile.

Set in a fancy font within a scroll border,
It reads:

My preferred choice for a superpower is
to be able to dematerialise into nothing,
at will,
rematerialising in any place I so did choose,
back into myself, fully intact.
Along, with these following, built-in provisos:
1. Anyone within my vicinity, 
looking in my direction,
just before my dematerialisation,
would find themselves turning away,
without questioning why.
Thus, ensuring my superpower would remain a secret from others.
2. On my reappearance at some other place,
the same scenario, no one would be looking.
3. I would always arrive in a safe place, fully clothed and with plenty of cash in my pockets.
4. I could bring back unlimited souvenirs.

Some Kind Of Sick Joke

The third instalment from a series of short form fiction; inspiration taken from collage by pedrov_dog

That was some weird experience. One minute I’m at Susie’s party, dancing – with Susie and Beth under the disco ball and the next, said disco ball – without warning, falls from the ceiling, lands on my head, knocking me out cold.

Then, I’m waking up in this rainbow world and there are two guys looking exactly the same as each other. Twins? No, you might think so, they were dressed in identical naval outfits and they both had a cut in the same place on the face. They were dead ringers! There’s no doubt about that.

Well, I know how this all turns out, so I’ll quickly explain and tell you – they were duplicates.

This is what they told me, they said a character appeared shortly after their arrival, calling himself ‘The Guide’. He tells them, that when you’re knocked out – when you lose consciousness, you transport to a timeless world of rainbows. Timeless being the key word here.

What happened with these two? Well, it’s complicated to explain, not least because they have come from a different time period to me – and I mean different by decades. These two, they were serving on a battle cruiser in the North Sea during the Second World War. Except – you see, they were one person… I said it was complicated!

Okay, so according to what the guide dude told them, this is the big picture surrounding what happened to them. In a surprise attack a British submarine torpedoed Wolfgang’s ship with two direct hits, virtually splitting the vessel in two. In the immediate aftermath, the main mast holding the radar equipment collapsed and Wolfgang took a blow to the head.

In a case of double calamity, in that last possible moment between consciousness and unconsciousness, he took a second blow to the head.

The guide says their teleportation duplication was an error on his part, like an involuntary double-tap or something. But basically, that’s why the two of them were there. The worst part of it, they were both really nice guys – I mean really nice.

And, by worst, I mean, this rainbow world, it’s temporary. It’s just where you go when you fall unconscious. Although Wolfgang made a point to say it’s only when you’re seriously unconscious. Not like when you fall asleep, or faint, or whatever. But like when it’s – BANG! You’re completely out, like a mini coma or something – but not the same as a proper coma, that’s another place you go to, with a tunnel, a bright light, blurry moving images and enhanced sensory hearing, apparently.

So, the big thing is, it’s temporary. After a while – don’t ask me how long, you go back, go back to where you came from. And for me, of course this was Susie’s party. I woke up – regained consciousness on Susie’s Mom and Dad’s bed.

For Wolfgang, well, I guess you can imagine where he went back to : (


The second instalment from a series of short form fiction; inspiration taken from collage by pedrov_dog

By then, two years into college, I’d not had much interest in boys. Experience demonstrated my male peers to be… let’s say, inadequate and really quite easy to dislike. What’s wrong with them? A fair question; how much time do you have exactly?

Actually, I’ll assume you don’t have much attentive time on your hands and proceed with economy in mind, throwing around but a few points of reference. Take these examples, such as the low capacity for sensitivity as an outward expression, a sophomoric level of humour, physical movement devoid of grace and that highly irritating, stubborn, inborn sense of self-entitlement.

Oh yes, and the obsessions, so designed as female repellent – don’t you think? The cars, the money, the competitive need for reflective glory appropriated from a successful sports team. The Friday night drinking session, predictably ending in a stupor or complete loss of consciousness. And that unceasing, squeezing out of all remaining enjoyment derived from hobbies that include an element of collecting and acquisition. This, in exchange for a fleeting and temporary sense of satisfaction. What is wrong with them?

Of course there’s the sex too. Their goal-focused, blind desire for wanting as much as possible, with as many women as possible (or men, if they are that way inclined). If lucky enough to find themselves in a relationship, there’s the romance-killing aspiration for an unreasonable level of frequency – at least for those first six weeks. All, with such little concern for a sensual ecstasy of a truly meaningful kind. That’s the shallowness of boys. That’s the male species neatly defined and sewn up, at least for me and from what I can make out.

Luckily for me one balmy late summer’s day and completely out of the blue, Lindsey came along.

But Next Day

The first instalment from a series of short form fiction; inspiration taken from collage by pedrov_dog

Mother said there’s no point learning to drive, but next day this man arrives saying he’s my driving instructor. There’re things about him I don’t like. I don’t like his clothes or his beard, how he talks to me in that over-familiar tone. Like he owns me or something.

And I don’t trust him. If I am going to learn how to drive with anyone, they need to be someone I see as trustworthy. What if he gets me to run people over, zig-zag across pavements taking out unsuspecting shoppers, leaving them maimed for life? What if he’s got a loaded gun stashed under the front passenger seat?

I don’t know. I’m bored by the whole idea of learning to drive and I’m not sure Mother really has my best interests at heart. I’m not sure she’s ever had my best interests at heart. I wonder if there’s some sort of secret history between Mother and ‘Rick’? Not that I care two jots if there is… frankly.

I want to go back to reading my book, which I have to finish by Tuesday and return to the library, because I’ve run out of renewals. How can I tell this weirdo to leave me alone? Okay, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll just stand up – not say a word to either of them, climb the stairs and shut myself in my bedroom for the remainder of the morning.