“How did that make you feel?” The woman’s hands were crossed underneath her chin and had been for the past 20 minutes, without any movement whatsoever. The man in the seat in front of her shifted uncomfortably under her intense gaze.
“Guilty. Guilty as fuck,” he said, absently staring at the spinning contraption on her desk. It spun and spun and spun, no push needed after the initial one to get it going. He wanted to ask her to stop it or perhaps gently do it himself, but his gut instinct told him that would be a wrong move. He couldn’t shake off this feeling of dread that was dragging his body down as if he were in the middle of a pit of quicksand, each clawing movement bringing him deeper down.
“Why do you think you feel guilty?” she responded with a voice as smooth as butter. “We both agree that there was nothing more you could do, right?”
“Maybe that’s exactly it, though. The fact that I had gained these—these powers and I still couldn’t do anything more to help save them, it haunts me. Maybe if I were just a regular guy I could move on like everybody else would.”
He had recently somehow acquired these amazing powers; freakish strength and the ability to hover off the ground a few feet (combined with his strength, he could use this to fly in a sense by launching himself off the ground with his new freak legs and then begin to hover as he fell to soften the landing). They felt more like a curse though.
“How did that make you feel?” The woman asked, a slight edge in her voice.
“I—“ he broke off, “I’m sorry?”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I already told you, guilty.”
The woman continued to repeat her question, each time her voice getting louder and more distorted until it was so violent that he had to cover his ears with his hands. She continued to stare him down, her eyes as blank as ever and the only movement on her face being her mouth as it settled into a rhythm of assaulting him with the same question.
He felt a warm trickle down his hands. Upon closer inspection, it was blood, his blood, his ear’s blood and now they were leaking a steady stream of blood and he realized he couldn’t hear anymore outside of a dull ringing noise. He let out a shriek of terror and looked back up to the woman, only to find her standing right in front of him, staring down at him. He jerked back in his seat and tipped over, falling back and now he was sinking, clawing at everything, anything around him, but his hands only came away with handfuls of sand rather than the wooden floor he was expecting.
He woke up with a start. His left ear was ringing slightly, but he was sitting on a bus instead of sinking into sand and there was no therapist standing in front of him, shouting at him, so that was a start.
“Sorry about that bump, everyone,” a voice rang out throughout the bus, “This construction around the mall can sure make the roads a rough ride. We’ve arrived at our last stop.” The bus came to a standstill and everyone around him began to shuffle off the bus. He stood up with a groan and followed.
He didn’t remember getting on a bus. He didn’t seem to remember most things these days. Kept things exciting, he supposed. He looked around, desperately racked his mind trying to pick up the reason why he was here, failed, and so decided to head toward the mall.
A chilling scream traveling through the wind stopped him in his tracks. He whipped around. The scream seemed to have come from the local bank across the street. He took a step toward the bank, and then stopped. This wasn’t his duty. He wasn’t obligated to try and use his powers every time he heard something go wrong.
“Hey, aren’t you that super strong guy?” a voice chimed from his right. He turned to see a short, middle aged man staring right at him expectantly. “I think that bank’s getting robbed. Aren’t you going to do something about it?”
“No, I think you’ve got the wrong guy” he said, ducking and walking away quickly. The man followed him.
“I don’t think so. I remember seeing your face all over the newspaper.”
Another voice chipped in from his left, “Yeah, that is that guy! What are the odds of him being here to help out that bank?”
He turned around, facing the short man, who almost collided with him. “I would love to help, but I’ve got…” he said, trying to think of something to excuse himself with. The man’s eyes bored into him, as if already calling his lie without even hearing it. “I have an appointment with my therapist,” he blurted out.
“Well, just go in quick and help out and then you can be on your way.”
He was about to refuse when he realized that he was now surrounded by people, all looking at him with expectant gazes.
He let out a deep sigh and crossed the street.
Not finished!