The Fire Drill

The Fire Drill

It was a normal day of school, there were no indications of anything special. Students arrived in the morning, went to class, complained about how tired they were to their friends,who complained about something else right back. The same thing, just with a different day. Midway through the second period things started getting interesting. That was when fire alarm began going off. Everyone stopped what they were doing and having had experience with fire drills, the students and teachers all began heading outside via the planned upon routes.

Most of the students were outside in the field adjacent to the school when a room in the second floor of the northwest corner exploded, showering glass below onto the pavement. Cries of surprise and panic could be heard from students and teachers alike as they tried to flee from the school. This was not a drill, not anymore. The common emergency protocol of “walk, don’t run” was little more than an after thought as everyone was now running as far away as they could from the now burning school. This was not a drill, not anymore.

The blast happened in the chemistry room; a lab requiring the Bunsen burners was in session prior to the drill and one of the more timid students leaped up in surprise when the alarm rang, knocking her burner over and onto the rubber hose of the adjacent lab group’s burner. The chemistry teacher saw the event happen and immediately went for the emergency shut off valve, yelling for the students to shut their gas valves. The intense heat of the Bunsen burner coupled with the old, damaged hose was too much, however, and the gas line ignited.

Firefighters were on the scene in minutes, thanks to the school policy of having the fire department supervise fire drills, and were guiding those still inside out to safety. Those watching from the fields sat in shock as more firefighters ran in to get the students out who were still by the chemistry lab room. They watched hoping to see everyone make it out safe.

Super Villain – Draft II

 

“With great power, comes great responsibly.” These are words any self respecting comic nerd should know. They are a warning against the dangerous, corrupting influences of ultimate power. These words embody a great truth about human nature; about human greed and that constant desire for more. What they fail to realize however, is how goddam fun true power really is. How exhilarating it is to have some smug bastard completely at your mercy. You must think me a monster, that I’m touched in the head. Maybe I am, but then so are you and so is everyone else.

Trust me, I didn’t always think this, I was once like you. I fantasized about the super heroes everyone knew and loved. Spider-man, Iron Man, The Hulk; I would lay in my bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could wake up with amazing super powers and fight bad guys, help little old ladies across the street, save the fucking world every other Tuesday. Everyone always thinks of themselves as the good guy, that if they had true power, then they would do the right thing. And some would. Some. Most people wouldn’t… couldn’t. I’m talking 99.99%. Look no further than our lovely politicians if you want to see the proof.

Anyways, I digress. The point is, I was like most people when my shot finally came, ignorant of the truth, ignorant of me. Sure I started out good, most do, but that all changed the moment my family was murdered, and by the very same people I was trying to protect.

They called me freak, monster, said I gained my powers through the devil or some shit. Nevermind that I just saved their lives from some two bit gang of thugs trying to rob a bank. You see, real life isn’t like comic books. When people see things they can’t explain, like for instance a bank robber getting thrown through a window with someone’s mind, they don’t cheer for the man who saved the day, the man who stopped bullets in mid-fucking-air with his mind, and put away three murderous thugs behind bars. No. At the end of the day, I was called a freak, not a hero.

The very next day I’m an outcast at school. Everyone was afraid of me; my friends, my teachers, everyone. Parents were making their children stay home from school so they wouldn’t be by the dangerous freak. I come home to see my house vandalized with ‘Go Away’ and ‘Freak’ spray painted all over the yard. Over the course of a very long, and hellish week, my family and I were terrorized by the city, never in person mind you. They were too afraid for that, but they always left something new for me every time I returned home from somewhere. One day, the school stopped allowing me to attend all together, saying I was too dangerous. When I showed up at the office to argue my case, they called the cops. I was arrested for little more than existing, forced to spend a night in the local jail. They locked me up like some kind of animal. My family tried to come get me out, they offered bail money and everything. The cops would have none of it and sent them out, threatening to arrest them for some ‘obstruction of justice’ bullshit. In all honesty, I could have busted out of that place anytime I wanted, but my dad told me to play along, that it would all blow over eventually.

Well word must have gotten around that I was in lock up because that night there was a break in at my house. My parents fought back I’m sure, but when I was finally out I found the door to my house kicked in, the place trashed, and my family beaten.

As you could imagine, I was furious. I called for an ambulance and upon arriving at the hospital, was denied service. I tried to contain my rage, I did. Most of that hospital visit is a red haze, but what I do remember is the startled gurgling noise that the heartless asshole of a doctor made as I threw him through two walls and a window… on the 4th floor. I didn’t have anymore problems with finding doctors for my parents and sibling after that. Unfortunately, it was already too late, the wounds were too severe and the medical treatment didn’t come soon enough. My family died in their hospital beds that afternoon.

It was at that moment I realized who I was. Or really, who I wasn’t. I am not the good guy. I am not the hero. I am the fucking super villain. And I fucking love it. If they want a monster, I’ll give them a monster.

Super Villain

“With great power, comes great responsibly.” These are words any self respecting comic nerd should know. They are a warning against the dangerous, corrupting influences of ultimate power. These words embody a great truth about human nature; about human greed and that constant desire for more. What they fail to realize however, is how goddam fun true power really is. How exhilarating it is to have some smug bastard completely at your mercy. You must think me a monster, that I’m touched in the head. Maybe I am, but then so are you and so is everyone else.

Trust me, I didn’t always think this, I was once like you. I fantasized about the super heroes everyone knew and loved. Spider-man, Iron Man, The Hulk; I would lay in my bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could wake up with amazing super powers and fight bad guys, help little old ladies across the street, save the fucking world every other Tuesday. Everyone always thinks of themselves as the good guy, that if they had true power, then they would do the right thing. And some would. Some. Most people wouldn’t… couldn’t. I’m talking 99.99%. Look no further than our lovely politicians if you want to see the proof.

Anyways, I digress. The point is, I was like most people when my shot finally came, ignorant of the truth, ignorant of me. Sure I started out good, most do, but that all changed the moment my family was murdered, and by the very same people I was trying to protect.

They called me freak, monster, said I gained my powers through the devil or some shit. Nevermind that I just saved their lives from some two bit gang of thugs trying to rob a bank. You see, real life isn’t like comic books. When people see things they can’t explain, like for instance a bank robber getting thrown through a window with someone’s mind, they don’t cheer for the man who saved the day, the man who stopped bullets in mid-fucking-air with his mind, and put away three murderous thugs behind bars. No. At the end of the day, I was called a freak, not a hero.

The very next day I’m an outcast at school. Everyone was afraid of me; my friends, my teachers, everyone. Parents were making their children stay home from school so they wouldn’t be by the dangerous freak. I come home to see my house vandalized with ‘Go Away’ and ‘Freak’ spray painted all over the yard. Over the course of a very long, and hellish week, my family and I were terrorized by the city, never in person mind you. They were too afraid for that, but they always left something new for me every time I returned home from somewhere. One day, the school stopped allowing me to attend all together, saying I was too dangerous. When I showed up at the office to argue my case, they called the cops. I was arrested for little more than existing, forced to spend a night in the local jail. They locked me up, like some kind of animal. My family tried to come get me out, they offered bail money and everything. The cops would have none of it and sent them out, threatening to arrest them for some ‘obstruction of justice’ bullshit. In all honesty, I could have busted out of that place anytime I wanted, but my dad told me to play along, that it would all blow over eventually. Well word must have gotten around that I was in lock up because that night there was a break in at my house. My parents fought back I’m sure, but when I was finally out I found the door to my house kicked in, the place trashed, and my family beaten.

As you could imagine, I was furious. I called for an ambulance and upon arriving at the hospital, was denied service. I tried to contain my rage, I did. Most of that hospital visit is a red haze, but what I do remember is the startled gurgling noise that the smug bastard of a doctor made as I threw him through two walls and a window on the 4th floor. I didn’t have anymore problems with finding doctors for my parents and sibling after that. Unfortunately, it was already too late, the wounds were too severe and the medical treatment didn’t come soon enough. My family died in their hospital beds that afternoon.

It was at that moment I realized who I was. Or really, who I wasn’t. I am not the good guy. I am not the hero. I am the fucking super villain. And I fucking love it. If they want a monster, I’ll give them a monster.