The Green Ring
"Alright, everyone shut up for a second, Jesse's gonna do his party trick," my friend yells from atop the bar. For some reason, everyone stares at me and I get a little nervous. Isn't there like some superpower rule where you aren't supposed to tell the audience how you did the trick?
Shit, no, that's the magician's code. I'm supposed to have some costume and superhero name, something better than the hoodie I have on now and Jesse. But Zach made it plain that I've got a trick to do, so I'd better do it.
"It's not that special," I mutter.
"Speak up!" someone shouts, and I pick him out from the waiting faces; the bright red Hitler-stache made it pretty obvious who spoke.
Just to see his awe, I make blatant eye contact as I pick up my beer bottle, down the last two gulps, and make a big show of spinning it around like a magician. Shit, I'm a superhero; I keep forgetting.
"Jesse, you're losing them." I elbow Zach and give the crowd a smile.
"My friend made the mistake of calling my superpower a 'party trick'. If you all wouldn't mind, observe this." I hold up the bottle and stick my finger in the neck. It fits perfectly, the molecules of my finger contracting to fit inside.
The man laughs, his face burning bright red. "I can do the same thing, idiot." He proceeds to shove his finger into his own bottle, and everyone roars with laughter.
"That's a different brand, the neck is a bit bigger," I protest, face face growing red.
The man waves his hand in the air, waving the bottle with it. "And my fingers are a 'bit bigger', asshole. Unless you can fit your whole hand in there, you're just another boring idiot."
"It doesn't work like that." I take my finger out of the bottle, glaring at Zach. He knows my powers extend only to my index finger. I can only shrink it by a couple millimeters anyways.
"Come on, Jesse. Let's just leave them."
"You have to believe me!" I grab a hot sauce bottle, spin off the cap and squeeze my finger in it. "See! Bet Ham-hands can't do this!"
That gets their interest; everyone turns away from the grinning man and crowds around me. "Does it hurt?"
"It's a superpower so of course not." Content with the asshat's humiliation, I start to tug my finger out and leave. It doesn't budge. I yank again, wincing.
"Ha, stuck, are you? Thought you had a superpower," the man says, striding over with his hands on his hips. "Guess even ol' beer bottle finger here has his limits. Maybe hot sauce is his kryptonite."
Everyone crowds back around him, leaving me to struggle with the bottle. Finally, I give up, leave a five on the counter to buy the bar a new bottle and head outside. With a sigh, I set my hand down on the curb and beckon for Zach.
"You sure?" He pulls out the designated bottle breaking rock from his coat and holds it above the bottle.
"Yeah. Maybe next time you won't have to do this." I look away. "I told you not to tell others about my power."
Zach exhales and smashes the bottle. "Or you could measure the bottle before showing off. It's not my fault your one finger only shrinks down three ring sizes."
"3.7 millimeters. I've told you that before."
"Whatever, Green Ring," Zach scoffs, pointing to the glass still stuck on my finger. I guess I got my name and costume after all, at least, until I got out the coconut oil and smacked Zach upside the head with that stupid rock.
I flip him the bird and walk home alone. It's too bad my power isn't something useful like a middle finger that grows big enough to be seen from the tallest skyscraper. I'd love to flip off this entire city.
The Blank Bedroom Wall
Her parents opened the door immediately, on my first knock.
Two middle-aged people, stressed out and worried; the mother constantly biting her lower lip while the father kept on adjusting his spectacles without there being any need for that.
“We took her to so many doctors, to so many churches. So many pastors prayed and poured holy water on her. Then the ..................... condition seemed normal for few hours but it always keeps coming back.”
The wife dabs at tears falling down her face while the husband dutifully puts a hand on her shoulder, although he seems in as much need of consolation as her.
“Please, we don’t know what to do.”
“Can you do something for her?”
I promise the wife that I will do the best I can for their daughter.
* * * * * *
Being an exorcist is no easy job.
You never know what the hell you’re up against; whether it’s an agitated spirit, a horde of corrupted souls or a demon who has decided to take some poor soul for a spin.
Plus, this is my first sole exorcism.
I’ve seen it being done quite a few times and have helped to do it but I’ve never done it without an experienced exorcist by my side.
I wouldn’t have tried to do it by myself either but no one who can help is around and the girl’s condition seems to be worsening rapidly.
If whatever possessed her didn’t kill her, hunger, thirst or some physical affliction would.
They had not been able to feed her or even give her water for a day or two.
I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing as I entered her room.
If I screw up she would be dead. But if I did nothing the result will probably be the same.
Damned if you do.
Damned if you don’t.
* * * * * *
Her room felt ‘off’.
There was no cooling, yet the room was cold and the air itself felt charged.
The girl, a weak-looking tiny thing in her late teens, with bones nearly poking out of her skin lay in a disorderly tangle on the bed, sweating despite the cold.
She looked more dead than alive and the only signs of life were the slight heaving of her chest and incoherent mumbling from time to time.
She seemed completely oblivious to my presence with eyes staring vacantly at the blank wall in front of her.
This changed as soon as I took out from my pocket my book of incantations, a small, worn book with a plain black cover, which had seen better days.
The girl looked at me and gave a strange unsettling smile.
I gave a nod in her direction - it was time.
I opened the book and started reading.
And all hell broke loose.
* * * * * *
At the end of two hours her room was in tatters.
I myself nearly had my eyes scratched out and some buttons were missing from my shirt.
But the job was done.
The girl was sleeping peacefully, exhausted.
I stayed around for two more hours as a precaution but it was clear that the demon that had possessed her was gone.
The mother was sobbing - only this time it was tears of relief and gratitude.
As I left, the father threw his hands around me and thrust an envelope in my hand.
I protested, knowing that it was way more than my charge, but they were adamant.
They had their little girl back and for them no price was too high for their daughter.
As for me, I had just completed my first sole exorcism; I was officially an exorcist.
* * * * * *
It was the first of many exorcisms.
Over a decade, I did hundreds of exorcisms - mostly successful, some less so.
If all goes well, it’s red carpet treatment from the family of the possessed.
If not, it’s about managing to get out of the window and making a break for it before cops come banging on the door, trying to find out how a man can slash both wrists and stab his own eyes out, before bleeding to death.
At night, when all is quiet, I still hear the shrill screams of those I couldn’t save.
In my nightmares I again feel the blood spraying across my face or the dredded sound of the crack of a neck bent beyond its limit.
But unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it.
* * * * * *
In my first year as an exorcist, on my bedroom walls I started hanging photos, cards and letters sent by my successful 'patients' and their families.
When shit hits the ceiling, it helps to have some perspective; to see the good you’ve done, to see what you have achieved and the people you’ve managed to save.
The most visible spot was always for photos sent by the parents of Lisa, the teenage girl I saved through my first exorcism.
Her parents used to send me a big Christmas card every year, for five years.
Right until Lisa got addicted to drugs and ultimately died from a drug overdose.
The story was more or less the same for most of my other ‘success’ cases.
You see, I can dispel demons and corrupted souls from people, at least most of the time.
But in the end that’s not enough.
I am an exorcist, I can only chase back to hell demons and corrupted souls who find shelter within people.
But it’s not demons from hell that corrode people. It’s the demons within themselves.
And I have no cure against them.
I can't save people from themselves.
At night when the nightmares come, I wake up and look at my empty bedroom wall and think about demons, the ones that I can do nothing about.
The ones that matter.
#fantasy #demons #shorstory #dark #prose
Switcheroo.
‘‘Next.’’
I sat on the chair and handed the Lady my resume. She scanned it and asked me what my superpower was?
Should I tell her what it really is? I had a better idea. Why not go ahead and show her.
I asked her to give me a minute to get ready. She looked at me with a serious and puzzled expression.
While she waited, I snapped my fingers. That’s all it took for my superpower to come to effect.
I smiled and took a bow. She asked me what my superpower was- again. I sighed and spinned around.
Ah, it finally worked. This superpower likes to play tricks on me. She got up from her seat and clapped.
I chuckled and told her ‘‘it was nothing.’’ She then noticed that I was wearing a sunflower pattern dress. The one that she had on when I stepped into her office.
She stopped to check what she had on. I smiled. She looked great in a silver suit.
samedi, 7 septembre, 2019. ©
#Switcheroo.
Doubt
A feeing so vague yet so familiar.
LAME can’t begin to describe having dreams to dance among the stars, but being held back by the FEAR of choking on the clouds.
Knowing what keeps you fulfilled, but deciding to settle for the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe because it’s RELIABLE and SAFE.
Yep, definitely the LAMEST superpower ever...but at least I’m a superhero
Blink and You’ll Miss Me...
″...at the speed of sound.”
Typically, any words that preceed that usually make the sentence awesome, but I’m gonna tell you, I have the lamest superpower ever.
No. I can’t fly at the speed of sound, or run at the speed of sound, or even read at the speed of sound, or talk at the speed of sound. I can’t clap at the speed of sound, or eat at the speed of sound.
The only thing I can do is...
....wait for it....
blink.
That’s right.
I can blink at the speed of sound.
My mom keeps telling me that it’ll come in handy one day. Sorry, mum. I’m not convinced. She has super eyesight, dad has super speed. Why’d I have to turn out so average? It took two years of investigation for the Super Hero Committee to even determine that I actually had a power and what exactly it was. At first, they thought that my power was the ability to keep my eyes open forever; never needing to blink. That honestly would have been way cooler. But, nooooo. My eyes had the nerve to need to blink anyway, and my lids had the nerve to be the only thing on my body that posessed super speed. Doctor Gunthrey made a joke about super eyes plus super speed equals super blink. That didn’t make me feel any better.
The only time my superpower actually helped me to accomplish something was back in first grade when Yoko bet five cents I couldn’t beat him at a staring contest. I even felt bad about it afterwards because he was right all along. I couln’t even hold my eyes open longer than his ten second “all time record”.
ability to see ghosts but..............
The bus begins to pull off when a tap is heard on the door. It's a woman boarding.
Her face crinkle's into a smile and she winks at me.
“You can see me?”
“I'm blind, you know.”
how can she see me?
How can she hear me?
Omg, she's the one!
“I can sense your presence almost like a body but much lighter a vibration you haven't found the light yet have you?”
“I've been stuck on this bus for eternity I’m trying to get a message across I've been waiting for you a blind woman who can see dead people —no offense, can you help me?”
She stands there her eyes hushed.
“Yes” she says.
“Omg thank you I just want him to know I love him and the answer is yes he’ll understand when you tell him.”
“Thank you!”
Over
Overthinking is my lame-ass superpower and I would give my left eyebrow to trade it in for any other superpower. Not only is overthinking exhausting it rarely solves any problem or crisis in my life. Overthinking causes me to overlove, overcare, overhate, overeat, oversleep, overdrink and overgrieve. If only I could turn the power off to get some peace and quiet - now that would be super!
Captain Chuckle Nuts
The super power of making peanuts laugh uncontrollably. You would never know the tasty protein packed goodness was anything but a peanut treat. Captain Chuckle Nuts possesses the power to bring any peanut alive for the purpose of making them laugh hysterically. Apart of the peanut gallery some would speculate .
Captain Chuckle Nuts was born with the great power of crazy nut laughter. “An with great power comes great responsibility”. Since a child he has been secretly bringing peanuts to life just to allow them to laugh up a peanut storm. Who says jiffy was ever a laughing matter?! Well Captain Chuckle Nuts that’s who!!!! Everything form beer nuts to chunky peanut butter he has the uncanny ability to have them dying on the floor laughing like anaphylactic shock.
Captain Chuckle Nuts strikes again!!!
*Punch*line
I think one of lamest, but perhaps one of the best, superpowers would be to say a joke or a pun at the end of every sentence no matter what. It could be one of the most awkward conversations ever, like talking to your doctor about how many times a week you have sex and, almost like a compelling force, you point to the anatomical skeleton model in the corner and say,
"Well, I get boned at least three times a day, five days a week. Weekends are my die-t days. Cause you can really bust a rib if you go at it hard enough."
Or at a funeral, when you're trying to give a speech about your beloved friends,
"She died doing what she loved....choking on a donut watching Supernatural on Netflix. Guess she got out of paying rent money though, am I right?"
Worst thing is that the joke doesn't necessarily have to be funny. Not everyone is gonna laugh, including yourself, but hey if you actually like jokes it might tickle your funny bone. Otherwise, throwing out puns at the end of every sentence might end up in disaster and get a few phalanges or a carpal broken. At least I don't think you'll end up like the skeleton model in the doctor's office, that would be straight up rude to the skeleton.