(no subject)

[seymoure]

10.

Today he was ready for anything.

With his sling on his arm, goggles on his face, jumpsuit looking sylish, there was little that could surprise Mickey when he and Chance went up.

As he hurried from his house he now had a plan. In his back pocket was a mini-scanner for police radio. He would get Chance to take him to someplace that needed a superhero. Then it would happen.

What he had waited his whole life for. What he was meant to do. He was going to fight crime and make a difference.

He found himself a bit paranoid, in the way only one with a secret identity could be paranoid.

He watched the movement of anyone and everything around him as he walked.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a black van that followed him for about half a block, but then he put away that thought as silly.

He shouldn’t have.

As he turned the corner, there was Chance. The canine was happy and ready to go.

It was hard to tell if he just wanted to see his friend, or if he knew that strange thing that happened before was going to happen again.

Either way the dog was exuberant.

Mickey petted the pup for a minute, then changed the chain for the leash. He then attached his sling to the collar.

Both partners were feeling the excitement growing.

Finally Mickey felt it was time to go, and willed the power into the dog.

He stood and waited for Chance to take flight, and pull him along.

But, nothing happened.

Mickey tried again.

Still nothing.

He began to panic.

Had he lost the ability?

Was it all over before he even had a chance to really explore it?

That was just not fair.

He began to feel what actors call “flop sweat’ as his repeated attempts fell flat. The dog continued to be patient. More patient than his pal.

“Dang it,” slipped from under Mickey’s breath.

After a while he had to admit it. Nothing was going to happen.

Chance looked up at him quizzically.

For a second Mickey felt sorry for the dog as well as himself. Then he felt guilty because he had only thought of himself.

He unhitched the sling, and let Chance go.

For a minute he let himself feel defeated.

Then he looked around and saw the dog had bolted.

A glance at the fence revealed that, in his hast, he had left the gate open.

He rushed to catch the dog before he got into trouble.

With a dozen quick steps he found himself past the fence, looking a Chance in the middle of the street.

A car horn honked and Mickey saw a sportscar of some kind (his brother was more likely than he to know what kind than he) barreling down on the dog.

“Oh no!” He yelped outloud.

Without conscious focus he thought about invulnerability, and his hand shot out in the direction of the dog.

The sportscar smashed into the dog like hitting the concrete support for a highway. It wrapped around him, as he watched with what appeared to be some amusement.

It worked.

He couldn’t fly twice, but he could have other powers.

Mickey hadn’t lost it, it just wouldn’t work on the same recipient in the same way twice!

Before the boy could go check the driver, something else, more dire than anything expected happened.

That black van pulled up, stopped, and three men in lab coats got out.

They sprayed something in the dog’s face that made Chance fall over to the ground.

Then the three lifted him up (with a little trouble at first, then with relative ease only a moment later) and put him in the back of the van.

Then, like deprogrammers in the midst of a kidnapping, the van and its contents roared, with tires squealing, around the corner and out of site.

Before Mickey could do anything else, the sirens started.

Police followed soon after by an ambulance, arrived and took control of the scene.

The boy eased his was out of the area and went home.

Before he knew it he found himself curled up in his bed, with the lights turned out.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

(c) 2005 by C. Wayne Owens