In the morning, he sat motionless, staring at the ceiling. Looking at the blankness, total emptiness, he wondered about his life.
Useless….
Useless…
Useless…
Useless…
What had he done to deserve a paper job, God? God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Why? Why him?
It echoed through his mind. He tried to think about it further. He tried to think of solutions. But, after a while, he got up and went to Buddy’s
Buddy’s was a wonderful place, where he would go in the morning on Sundays, eat a couple of pancakes, and wash it down with syrup. In the diner, Bob relished a world free of work and jobs, and money.
He savored the pancakes. The smell of them reminded him of memories of swinging as a child. Fall leaves formed interesting shapes. Grainy VHS tapes, old technology, and school. He remembered the soft morning air waking him up. The pancakes lay on a plate. The note from his mother. He was alone in the house. His father had gone to work.
They were gone now, as was the house, as was the place. His family, the Christmas mornings, the breaks, the homework, the pencils, the desks, the chairs, the people. Gone from his memory. The friends, the people, the schools. His life. He had forgotten most of it.
While he sat, he leaned against the icy windowsill, wondering about pancakes. How had they made them? Why were they as happy, delicious, savory, as they were?
The waiter tapped his shoulder and gave him a plate of pancakes covered in syrup. He smiled at her, but she walked away. He was alone.
He wrenched a plastic fork free from a dispenser and attempted to eat a juicy pancake. But when he held his hand, a warm rush of feeling bloomed through him, and then he felt the fork grow lighter in his hand.
He turned gray, he felt sick, lightheaded, and woozy. Oh god! Oh god! Not a nosebleed again.
No…
No… Not… No…. It wasn’t… No blood from his nose like the last time… But something different.
The process, he remembered. They had all been taught this in school, but he didn’t remember its name. But he remembered the letter… S… S for something… S for sickened? No… But something… Something...
He stood up to head to the bathroom, holding the fork in his right hand. The dishes on his table jumped into the air, one split open, letting loose a sludge of soup onto a man wearing a monocle nearby.
“You mother-h. I hate - going to ki- go- God-, son of a b-”, said something muffled behind the soup, stuttering the threats toward him.
Bob tried to find a word to say but rushed away instead.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he said, stepping a bit faster than he was supposed to.
He tripped, he fell, and he crashed to the ground, slowly, as his head bounced against the solid concrete.
He groaned, wept in shock and embarrassment, and grimaced at the sight of the people surrounding him.
“I’m fine!...”, he cried, “I’m f… Fine! fine!”
He could still speak and felt no pain at all, on the outside. On the inside, shame burnt through his chest. He tried to look away from the people around him and began to back away, crawling into the forest of shoes and socks.
He screamed!
A crack echoed from the iron door, he dropped the fork and felt a rush of pain enter his head and eyes until he fell into whirling darkness.
As he fell unconscious, he saw that the people were not looking at him, they only saw a crumbling crater the size of a middle-aged man’s skull.
“I’m fine!”, Bob shouted, “I’m awake, I’m fine, I’m awake! I’m fine!”
He looked around in a dark hospital room.
Bob stopped, then quietly bowed his head in silence.
The nervousness faded away. He felt numb, he was cold, and there was nobody in the hospital, except for the faint beeps of the heart-rate monitor.
Beside him, a remote control lay dully against the moonlight. He tried to turn on the television, but it was static.
He saw a tray of food laying near his bed on a separate table. Hunger drove him to drag it off onto the bed, and he ate slowly with a fork and then felt a rush of warmth flow through him again. He felt lighter than the morning air.
Something starting with an S...
His memory had been foggy. His head had felt funny. He felt lighter as he held the fork. But then… It was ….
The Strontium Process… That was it...
Rays of warmth, he remembered, and that was the Strontium Process. Sudden, random, rare.
Perhaps, he could be better than UltraMan. Better than SpoonMan, Lawnmower Man, or Explosion Man. Finally, after all those years, he was one of them.
A nervous laugh, part excitement, part questioning, burst deep from inside him.
Ha? Ha! Ha?.... Eh…
But, Paper and Superheroes didn’t mix well. His job. His life…
He thought about it, turned, and twisted in his bed. His eyes were red and raw with his restless wake.
Perhaps, he could. Perhaps, there was a way...
And, as he thought about powers and superheroes, he fell asleep.
He dreamt about forks.
“Morning.”
“Yes?”, he said, with a little jitter in his legs, “I’m awake”
“He awake?”, said a voice from outside.
“He is, sir”, said someone else, who he couldn’t see.
A bearded man walked inside. Big, gruff, with thin legs and a casual smile.
“Hahahahaha! You're awake, that’s good”, the man put up a wide smile, “Address me as sir, but I’m Almost-Captain Gregory Sr.”
“Good morning sir!”, Bob returned the greeting with a nonchalant smile.
He squeezed Bob’s hands, “Hahahaha! I’m part of the Police Database.”
“Hahahaha! Yes, yessir”, he nodded.
“Don’t laugh. Here, let me finish”
“Ha-. Yes, yessir”
“Don’t interrupt-”, the bearded man sighed and then nodded, “Okay, let’s cut to the chase, get to the point, Strontium Process, entered into Database, wish you a farewell.”
“Yes, yessir. But wouldn’t you rather know about my powers? Perhaps maybe-”
“Don’t interrupt. First off, do you often splurge on your money? How is your bank?”
“Your bank account”, said the nurse that had randomly appeared.
“Yes, yes, he knows”, the man said, nodding.
“What?”
“Your bank account”, said the nurse again.
“Your money, your moolah, your millions, your bucks”
“No, I don’t… spend much… But I don’t have much… What does this have to do with-?”
“No, no, we’ve already done that! Let me and the nurse talk for God’s sake!”
“But I don’t-”
“We’ve seen your credit score, Mr. Bob”, the nurse quietly explained, shaking her head, “Have you seen how low it is?”
“No, I don’t spend on my-. But what? I was wondering if we could talk about-.”
“You’re being discharged from the hospital. Your hospital bills mean that you are currently in debt by over two thousand dollars”, said the nurse.
“No, no, no. But I have the money. And I usually spend on my debit, not on credit. Why do I have to p-? But the powers, I can punch through walls if I hold a fork. I don’t understand!”
“What do forks have to do with debt?”, asked the man
“I can use my powers through forks”, Bob held up a fork in front of them, “See, If I hold it-”
“That’s okay, that’s fine. But we’re going to have to discharge you”
“Don’t you need my information? My powers, the fork, isn’t that-?”
“Well, we’re going to need to contact your credit card provider first.”
“Credit Card Providers? But I-”
The bearded man sighed, the nurse kept quiet, and Bob shifted awkwardly around in the bed.
“I thought we talked about this Bob...”, the bearded man sighed.
“We’ll see you out on the desk today at 9:00 AM”, the nurse gave him a slip of paper, “Remember to pay this when you get home.”
Then, the bearded man walked away, drowsy, unkept, unshaved, like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep because he had been looking at his own bank account for the whole night.
Randy hid from the police in his ragged clothes, breathing heavily as he rested against the cool bricks.
“Come back! Come back!”, the police officer said, “Where the hell are you Randy? Randy! Randy!? Randy!”
The police were everywhere. While he was hiding in that alleyway, minding his own business, they had come.
“Goddamn them…”, Randy muttered to himself, leaning extremely against the wall to blend into the shadows, “Damn them...”
Nearby, there was a nice subway. Full of hot nice food, but nobody would let him in. The police would beat him up if they ever saw him.
He sighed and listened for footsteps, sirens, or tires screaming out onto the street, potshots, or anything. But he was fine, for now, they were getting nets, and more police perhaps.
He could ask Frank to give him some shelter at his place. But he lived in Boulevard CT, in the alleyway, where it was depressing because all those shelter-less people gathered in groups, flocks, just moving around in a circle on the street until someone called the cops. And then, he’d never get any sleep. With that, recently, the raids had made it a dangerous street.
Hrmmm….
No, no.
Maybe Kriya, but the police had also raided their area. Nowhere left to run for him...
The whine of the siren echoed blasted through the air. He jumped a little and landed on the ground dazed.
Wait... what the hell was it?... He heard the raid siren again. Heavy boots crunching against the soft pavement. They were coming!
“Goddamn it”
No, not him, not him, not him, not them, not her, not anyone. Who was it? Who? Who?!.
There was a siren, approaching soon… Quick… Quick...
George’s place, but that was in a rich neighborhood, where they had tents and families, and that would seem too strange… No raids yet, though, not that he’d heard.
As he thought to himself in the miserable rain, a downpour of mist rained upon his ragged cap, and he shrieked as the water hit his skin.
“George, F-”, the shriek of a siren hit his ears and he ran out of the alley, hating the police, wishing that, one way or another, they would all die to someone like Tankman.
Bob exited the hospital at 9:00 AM and paid half of the fee with most of the remaining money that he had stashed for his retirement.
But, he smiled. The clean air, he sighed in, letting the burdens of money drop from his shoulders. Finally, after all these years, with no hope, nothing to wish for. Finally, finally, finally.
Forkman, a new pseudonym, a new name for him to fight with. Perhaps, something like Prophylaxis, or The Righteous One, but he liked Forkman.
Bob rested his feet upon the park bench, rested his head on the metal bars, and napped in the soft sun. No more worries about money. The hospital was gone. They were all gone. The years of studying business and economy. The years of worrying about money and income.
All gone. All gone. All gone. He was to survive and walk as a new person. Forkman. Forkman. Forkman…
After a while, he woke up to a family of four staring at him and a sun eclipsed by a cloud.
He stood up, tired, woozy, drunk in peace, and calm. He sighed and walked home. He felt a bit funny, a bit empty, a bit guilty, but very content. Happy with his place in the world. His freedom. He had no worries because he had no job. Strange how that’d happened.
Comments (0)
See all