Even in the darkest hour, you can see his light. Do you know how hard it is living with a superhero? The calls in the middle of the night, the codenames, the cover stories, trying to help him fix his stupid costume because he ripped another one and the fact he glows in the dark!
Gah! He’s infuriating.
“I couldn’t do the washing up, I had to save a boat full of people that was under attack. Did I mention all the small children I saved? Oh, no I didn’t pay the bill, I went to the bank but there was a robbery in progress. Your birthday? Was that today? Oh yeah, it’s the same date as the day I saved the city from that alien attack.”
The excuses are endless. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s another superpower of his.
You’d think he was the only one in the lab explosion. That night changed our lives. He had been at the epicentre of the blast and was in hospital for three months. We thought he wouldn’t make a full recovery and then one day he was sat up in bed, right as rain. I had been so pleased I hadn’t thought to stop and ask how. It had been another few weeks before he started to glow and hover off the bed.
Once he started to be able to control the powers he realised he could help people and I’d been proud of him. At first at least. You can’t imagine how hard it is to live with a superhero. He expects me to follow him round in awe and admiration. I half expect him to ask me to salute every time he walks in the room.
One night his face was on the television again. Grinning and smug. I don’t know what he’d done this time; saved some puppies probably. In that moment I had realised I couldn’t stand him anymore. I had reached out, my fingers bent into claws, growling as I reached for the off switch. The spark launched me back into the sofa.
I gave a surprised shake of the head; static wasn’t usually that powerful. But then, static doesn’t normally stay dancing round your fingertips. I stared at the blue glow around my hand. It was captivating. The crackling sound drowned out the television as the electricity tickled my fingers. A strange sound danced around underneath the static before I had realised I was laughing. Thankfully, I had figured out how to ‘turn off’ my hand by the time he got home.
Sitting in the garage, I smile at the small television in the corner. They’re playing a clip of him, flying over the river. He’s at some kind of parade, waving to the citizens. I pull on my new jacket, blue flashes stitched into the black leather. All those hours stitching his outfit back together came in handy. The mannequin stands in the corner. It’s been months since he’s come into the garage; my re-purposed workshop going completely un-noticed. If only he’d taken the rubbish out once, he’d have seen the model baring my outfit. The domino mask is still strapped to the head. I remove it and pull it over my eyes before getting my wig. A quick glance in the mirror confirms I’m ready. I can’t help the bubbling excitement inside. I look good.
Being a supervillain is much more rewarding.
Written in response to the Daily Writing prompts from The Haunted Wordsmith 13/05/19