Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 2)
By: Ann Nonymous
Kevin grunted as he rolled over, the rustle of paper causing his eyes to open. The sun streaming in through the partially closed blinds bathed his messy apartment in light, causing his hands to fly up and shield his eyes. The pleasant haze of sleep remained in place as he allowed his eyes to adjust, his mind wandering back to some of the dreams that he had had over the course of the night. He knew that in one of them he had been a gangster, well dressed yet tough, hanging out with guys named Vito and Vinnie. In another, he had been a millionaire, living the high life in his fabulous 100 room mansion with a very blonde wife. There seemed to be a recurring theme among these dreams, he thought, wondering when the last time he had dreamt about his own life was. It wasn’t a cause for concern – the two or three psych classes he had taken told him that mental illness generally involved more than dreams of another life. If anything, it was the American way. Imagine what his dreams would be like when he got out into the real, monotonous world of the 8-5 working stiff. He’d probably dream he was a different member of the royal family every night, that’s what. And that wasn’t an entirely unpleasant prospect.
Satisfied that his eyes were properly adjusted, Kevin removed his hand from in front of his face, looking around to see what it was that had awoken him. It only took a second to locate the small stack of comic books lying on the floor next to the couch, the top few of which were open and overturned. A hazy memory from the night before popped into his mind, and he realized that he fell asleep on the couch reading comics. The exploits of Spider-Man and the X-Men had lulled him right into a state of security and, finally, to sleep. It was no wonder, he thought as he reached over to straighten up the pile, the characters in those books felt like family. Whenever something bad happened, they were always there for him. Some men turned to girlfriends, he had his Super friends. Which was probably why he didn’t have a girlfriend.
Once he was sure that the stack was in good shape, he flopped back onto the couch, grabbing at the remote control as he did. Flipping the TV on, he decided that he wasn’t in any hurry to get up. He absently scrolled through the channels, frowning as something seemed to not be right. Yes, it was Sunday, and yes, there were an over abundance of pro football pregame shows on at the moment, but that wasn’t it. Settling on a station at last, he wrinkled his eyebrows together, the odd feeling growing stronger. It was strange, he thought, but the picture seemed unusually jumbled today. The crispness that he always enjoyed was gone. It almost seemed as if the picture was pixilated somehow..... His eyebrows raised in surprise as he realized that what he was seeing were the individual colors, the blue, yellow, and cyan that made up all color television screens. A quick glance toward the end table told him that he didn’t have his glasses on, either. Personal experience told him that he should just barely be able to make out shapes on that screen as far away as it was, but he was apparently seeing things in such fine detail that it was distracting.
His eyes going wide, Kevin suddenly sat up on the couch, turning his gaze toward the large container of comic books in the corner of the room. This was very familiar. Deliberately, he turned his gaze toward his arms, his hand dutifully pulling the short arms of his t-shirt to his shoulder, revealing a very nice bicep underneath that hadn’t been there the day before.
“I’m Peter Parker,” he whispered, a million thoughts running through his head. Slowly, deliberately, he got up and walked toward the window, feeling like nothing so much as a coiled spring ready to pop at any moment. Looking out at the street, he could see the people outside, just as clear as could be. Changing his focus, he looked up above the roofs of the buildings across from his apartment to the tall dorms on the edge of campus. He could see things that he never could before, he realized. If he concentrated, he could see through the window and into the room – he could even tell what people were watching on television. That had to be half a mile away, but as incredible as it was, he could see it. Taking a quick step to the side of the window, he looked at the wall, and then down at his hands. Being bitten by a radioactive spider gave Peter Parker the powers of a spider. Kevin had been struck by lightning, and now....
It all fit. Inexplicably, he had felt great after that bolt hit him, and even now he felt healthier than he could remember. Somehow that lightning had done something to him, he just had to figure out what it was. Going on the standard superhero model, that you are what you get mutated from, whatever powers he had probably had something to do with lightning. So what could lightning do? Apparently it had very good eyesight, he thought with a chuckle and a shake of the head. It also must work out, he thought as he flexed his newly acquired muscles. Who knew that lightning was in such great health? Kevin snorted once, hysterical laughter threatening to burst through his normally steely exterior. He didn’t know if the laughter was because of the somewhat amusing thoughts he was having, the enormity of what had probably happened to him, or a combination of both. Either way, he needed to get it under control. Maybe he needed to be more analytical about the whole situation. Yeah, he thought, the hysterical tide ebbing, analytical. Logical. Straightforward. Focused.
Okay, lightning was always supposed to be fast. The phrase ‘done in a flash’ didn’t come from just anywhere, after all. The world’s fastest comic book superhero, The Flash, used lightning as his symbol, so it was probably safe to assume that Kevin would likely be fast, too. That was the first possibility. Looking around the room, he bit his lip and wondered how he could try and be fast inside his somewhat cramped apartment. It was probably better left for the out of doors, especially considering how clumsy he had a tendency to be. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly at the thought of having to wait to use one of his newly acquired toys, but the sensible part of him told him it was for the best.
Okay, speed was the obvious first choice, but what else might he be able to do? Lightning was hot, just ask his poor nametag. Maybe he could make stuff hot, too. But how? Staring sightlessly toward the floor, his mind began to put forth all sorts of possibilities. Maybe he just had to touch something, or maybe it was a frictional thing, or maybe all he had to do was...think.... The thought no sooner popped into his mind when a wisp of smoke began to rise from the very spot he was looking at, a dark circle forming around it as a flame began to grow. With a yelp, he stomped it out, cursing under his breath as he pondered the loss in deposit that would cause. The heat thing definitely worked, he thought as he took some deep breaths, calming himself. And to think, he didn’t even have to go out of the house to find that out. He might want to wait until he was someplace safer to fine tune it, though.
That new power now out in the open, Kevin began to get giddy as he pondered the possibility of having even more lightning related powers. Since lightning came from clouds, maybe he could cause rain showers, or maybe he could float. Or maybe he was prone to static charge, and if he rubbed his feet on the carpet long enough, he could get little lightning bolts to shoot out of his fingers like that guy in the bad sci-fi movie he watched last weekend. His mind wandering back to the burnt spot in the carpet under his foot, images of a flooded kitchen and lightning scorched furniture filled his mind, and he realized that this might be a good time to get cleaned up so that he could do some more pondering in a safer place. It would be hard to keep his mind from wandering, especially since it was all just so exciting. For years he had read the comics and dreamt of doing what they could do, knowing full well that it was all fiction, but now he could conceivably live that life. How wonderful that would be, and how frustrating to have to wait to find out what exactly it was that he could do.
*~*~*
Watching the run rise over the Kansas wheat field was an incredibly calming and spiritual thing, Clark thought. The dew from the grass dampened his shoes, soaking through to his socks and tickling his skin, but he hardly paid any attention to it. In the crisp morning, the sweet smells of the hay and the yellowed wheat reached his nose, making him recall similar times spent during his childhood so very long ago. Back then, he had only been allowed a few moments to watch the birth of the morning before having to resume his chores, but even then the sight had touched him. Back then, unlike now, he had at least had someone at his side, someone who he knew would provide him with all the help that he needed. Now he had just the memories of that loving support, but sometimes that was enough.
He pulled his jacket tighter across his chest, his eyes wandering away from the ball of yellow fire in the eastern sky and toward the lonely farm house that stood in the distance. At one time, the paint had been kept immaculate, the porch covered with potted flowers and handmade wooden furniture. The barn across the yard had stood proud, its red paint somewhat faded, but not overly so. The fences in the surrounding fields had been taught, lovingly maintained by a man who had had a passion for doing what he did, maintaining the land. That had been a long time ago, though, and times had changed. A new family lived in the house where Clark had passed so many happy days, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the pride they felt for their home wasn’t as strong. The barn leaned dangerously to one side; the house had begun to gray and was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. Weeds sprouted up in the lawn, growing tall and proud as if they didn’t know that they weren’t supposed to be there.
With a sigh, Clark forced himself to look away. Immaculate or not, this farm was that family’s home, and he envied them for that. Just being near it was as close to heaven as he could get with his feet still on the ground. In the small thicket where he stood, far out of sight of the inhabitants of the house, he could find some peace, make everything right with the world. As his gaze turned toward the swaying expanse of crops, he let his mind open up.
Yesterday had not been the release that he had expected. Something about watching the violence of football always let him channel his anger and fear away, but that healing time had been cut short, and it could’ve resulted in tragedy. In normal circumstances, Clark could outrun a bolt of lightning – he should know, he’d done it before. But that security guard just happened to be there at that very moment in time, and Clark’s inability to get himself and the guard away from the oncoming danger had resulted in the strike.
Shaking his head, Clark amended his previous thought. It wasn’t that he was unable to get them out of the way, it was that he couldn’t do so without unmasking himself and the secret he held. Fortunately the other man hadn’t been injured, but there had been other times where his inaction had caused harm to come to others. Accidents on the road that he had seen happen, accidents that had seemed to take an eternity, even though he knew it had only been a fraction of a second. When the twisted and battered bodies were pulled out of the wreckage, he always felt physically ill with guilt. He had seen fires hold victims in their midst and had done nothing; he had seen terrible violence between men and just watched as they injured themselves and those around them. Every time he saw something that he knew he could prevent if given a choice, a part of his heart shattered.
Looking back at the house, Clark felt the shadow of a tear begin to form in the corner of his eye. His parents didn’t raise him to be passive, they taught him to care for his fellow man. If someone was in trouble, he needed to give them all the help he could, and whenever possible, he did that. At the same time, though, they had known what would happen if someone ever found out about him. By doing what was right, he would be sacrificing his whole life, and in the end, he just couldn’t do that. All the powers he had, all the things he could do, they all served to torture him, and he was sure there was a small place in hell for someone so selfish as he.
Harshly wiping the moisture away, Clark tore his gaze away from the house and back toward the sun. If there were just some way to help out, he would do it in a second. But he didn’t know what that way could possibly be. All the times he had come back here to the comfort of this small patch of Kansas countryside and sought solace in his memories, he had still yet to find his solution. Sometimes it felt as if no answer would ever come, but the optimist deep inside of him told him that some day, somehow, he would see his destiny. If only the wait weren’t so frustrating.
With a sigh, Clark began to lift off the ground, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. No answer had come today, but there would be other days. Until then, he had homework to get back to.
*~*~*
The area deep inside Memorial Park, once consisting of several acres of pristine forest crawling with happy woodland creatures, now looked like a scene from a disaster movie. The smoke still rose from some of the shattered trees, while others just sat forlornly on top of the trampled undergrowth. A circular area the size of a baseball diamond was now completely devoid of any forms of life, leaving only a patch of dirt and the remnants of a pair of shoes. Kevin Jones leaned against a tree stump at the edge of the decimated area, staring wide-eyed at the destruction he had caused.
It had been established that, like lightning, he moved very fast. It had also been confirmed that he could set things on fire by looking at them, and that he was impervious to harm. His day of discovery had started as he ran through the forest at ever increasing speeds, the trees flying by at an alarming pace. When he inexplicably found out that he could see right through things, he forgot to pay attention to the objects he was seeing through and managed to mow trees down in astonishing numbers. From that point on, the forest was doomed. Before too long, he decided that it might be better to try and confine his destruction to one place, just to try and minimize the damage. The park was fairly secluded, but he suspected the campers and hikers that frequented it would stumble across his handiwork and get suspicious. With any luck, none of them would be around today, but on a Sunday during the fall, he wouldn’t hold his breath. The smaller the area he confined himself to, the less likely he’d be to have unwanted visitors, and the more freely he could play.
It was certainly true that most of the damage had been accidental, but Kevin had to claim responsibility for the bare circle. The lush undergrowth of the forest floor had met its demise as he had tested for static charge. Either rubbing his feet against dirt and plants just didn’t work as well as using carpet, or he really couldn’t build up a charge and shoot lightning bolts from his fingers. Either way, the underbrush and his shoes had paid the ultimate price for that experiment, although one positive did come from it. While unleashing his frustrations, he had discovered the power of flight, and suddenly the rest of his discoveries didn’t seem as important.
Hovering in the air, his bare feet dangling inches off the ground, he had finally decided that, while certainly fun, maybe these powers he had served some larger purpose. Maybe he had some sort of greater calling in store for him. Heat vision was neat, being able to run really fast was the dream of every procrastinator on Earth, but flying, THAT was truly something special. That was the thing that dreams were made of, the thing that comic illustrators used to inspire brilliant images. But no real, non-fictional man could fly on his own, at least not until today. It had to be a sign, he had decided as he lifted gently into the air, willing himself high enough to see above the remaining leafy canopy. Just playing with his powers wouldn’t be enough. He needed to follow the examples set by his fictional heroes – he needed to BE a hero.
The thought had caused him to land at the edge of the clearing and lean against the rugged stump, his mind churning. Kevin Jones, a superhero? He’d read enough about them that he probably knew what to do. Zip in, put his hands on his hips and look stern and disinterested as bad guys shoot all manner of weaponry at him without any luck. How hard could that be? Of course, to be a true superhero, he needed a colorful spandex outfit and equally colorful and awe-inspiring name. No hero worth his salt would go out without a secret identity, although, he thought as he squirmed ever so slightly, secret identities always seemed to come with their own sets of problems. But what else could he do? If his family saw him on TV doing daring feats, there was no saying what would happen, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. The two or three friends he did have would go crazy, and when the campus found out that one of their own was that guy flying around fighting crime, well, it would be mass hysteria. The media and groupies and bad guys would be following him everywhere, chaos would ensue, and....Kevin Jones would no longer be.
So, okay, a secret identity it was. But what would he call himself? And what would he look like? He’d always had a great fear of spandex, but that was before he got his new physique. Still, even the most respectable pro wrestlers wouldn’t be caught dead in bright spandex suits anymore. It’s not like he could just go to the store and get one, either, and there was no way he was going to pick up a needle and thread to make his own. The world would certainly forgive him if he went for something a little more mundane, and the more he thought about it, the more a certain costume idea began to appeal to him. Something that would let everyone know that he held the awesome power of the lightning bolt within him.
At that thought, his head snapped up and a wide grin broke out on his face. As he stared at the blue sky, the newspaper headlines began to flash through his mind, proclaiming the glorious exploits of the world’s first and only real live superhero, a man who would simply call himself Bolt. And that sky would be his home, at least it would be between classes until he got bored with the whole hero scene. With one last look around the clearing, Kevin willed himself up into the air ever so slightly, then shot through the sky faster than anyone could see. All he needed was to buy his costume, then watch out world. Bolt would soon be on the job.
