‘A Bad Day’

Robert Young woke up at the same time as he did every morning. His clock-radio went off at 8:30 a.m. and he slowly gained consciousness and turned it off. He stayed in bed for a few minutes before getting off his raised bunk. He picked some clothes off the chair by his dresser and put them on: army green pants, a longjohns shirt under a black T-shirt with writing on it. He bent over and put on red socks and large steel-toed boots over the socks.

After getting completely dressed, he walked out of the little shack he had made into his home into the bigger house about 20 feet away. He opened the door into the kitchen. His brother and sister were playing cards at the dining-room table. He walked to the range top and filled a cup with coffee.

“Hi, Bob!” his brother and sister said simultaneously. His sister ran to him and wrapped herself around his waist. When he pushed pushed her away she pretended to cry.

“You’re too melodramatic,” Bob said.

“What’s that mean?” his sister asked.

“Never mind.”

Five minutes later his dad drove Bob’s siblings to school.

Bob set out his binder on the kitchen table and opened his math book. He wanted to finish a unit before the next day. He was two lessons from the end when he decided that was enough.

Bob went to the refrigerator and pulled out a large pitcher of orange juice. He poured himself a glass and brought it to the basement with him. He set the glass on a coffee table and leaned back on the couch in front of the TV.

Thoughts whirled through Bob’s head. He was not happy; life was not good for him at the time.

He concentrated on the black TV screen and eliminated all thoughts from his mind. He then stared at the power switch on the TV. He did the same with the power buttons on the VCR. It was easier as he did it more. The movie started playing. Bob still sat on the couch.

He had discovered this strange power only a few days ago. As he thought of the occurrence that first showed these supernatural powers his fists clenched and he ground his teeth.

Bob walked down an alley only one block from a police station when three gangsters or “homies” stopped him. They gave him the common unimaginative line that he needed to pay a toll to get through the alley. Bob didn’t have any money so he told them that and started walking back. Then, of course, one of them got in front of him and stopped him. He had to give them something, they said, since he had already been going down the alley. Not wanting a fight he started pulling things out of his pockets to show he had nothing of interest. He pulled out balloons, pens, bus schedules, nail clippers and other worthless items.

After emptying his pockets he asked if he could go. They said no and started to surround him. Then he said he found something they could have. He pulled a small can of mace from his pocket and sprayed the closest one to him. The homie fell to the ground screaming as Bob turned to face the other. He turned right into a plummeting fist. In a rush of adrenaline, a picture appeared in his mind. It was of the homie’s heart suddenly stopping. In the back of his head he was wishing for this to happen while building himself for a fight. As Bob turned to face them, the homie who hit him was falling to the ground with a startled look on his face. The last one started screaming at a bewildered Bob.

“He’s dead, he’s dead! You killed him! AHHHHHHH! I’ll kill you!”

The gangster started attacking him in a blind rage. He hit Bob in the face, stomach, chest, back, anywhere he could until Bob fell down. Then he started kicking him. Another strange and unwanted image popped into Bob’s head. The vision showed the last guy bursting into flame. He saw the skin blistering and melting. He saw the oversized clothes burning. Becoming aware of the adrenaline rushing through his body, Bob heard the homie’s screams turn from anger to pain. Bob looked up and saw him running down the alley with flames streaming off of him. He was throwing himself against walls until his screams started dying and he fell down. Thick, black smoke wafted off his burning body and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Bob sat on the ground, overcome with fear.

Later he was taken to a hospital by police, but all he had was a few minor bruises and small cuts. He was questioned but let go because there was no proof that he was connected to the homies’ deaths, and he had maced the first one in self-defense.

Bob sat on the couch thinking about these strange new powers that he didn’t really want to call his own. He decided that he would develop these powers and move on. From there, things couldn’t get much worse.

The following fields overflowed: SUPCAT = COLUMN, SHORT STORY - Writers’ Block