[Writing] "Trapped in Static" a short story

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figmentPez

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For the first time in quite a while, inspiration struck. This is quick work, but I'm eager to share, even if I'm not sure how finished it is:
Trapped in Static
by​
figmentPez​
For what seems like the thousandth time, I look in the mirror and don't recognize the face before me. I look into my own eyes and the color is the same as I remember, but not the light. The lines around them are different as well but, then, I didn't get those in quite the normal way. Small wrinkles and creases, the marks of years I never lived. I don't know what to make of my face, not quite a man, but not a boy either.

The mix of ages is matched by a mix of emotion. The world is still the good place I was trying to make it, but I don't feel a part of it anymore. Friends stop by to talk, but most don't know what to say. Those who tell me about their work are the ones who cheer me up the most. I miss making a difference, and it's good to know that they are out there making things right. It's good to hear those stories, the same kind that inspired me when I was a kid.

Heh, “when I was a kid”. It seems like yesterday. Young and full of enthusiasm, the world was filled with hopes and dreams. I had the greatest to look up to. There were heroes in the world, and I could become one of them. I even did, for a while. I worked alongside the world's finest, was one of those who protected the helpless. I was young, but I had the respect of those I admired most.

Should I try again today? Sometimes I'm not sure what it is that keeps me going. I keep making the attempt, though. Each time it takes me longer to build up the courage. At this point, I try because I've been trying; I'm not supposed to give up, but I'm not sure I have any hope left. I want to be brave, but inside I'm just a scared little boy. It feels like a lifetime since I've done anything worthy of the man I once was; the man I fear I can never be again.

As I get dressed, my hand lingers on a red shirt for a moment, but my heart aches too much to choose it. I didn't buy this wardrobe. It was waiting for me after I got out of the hospital. None of my old clothes would have fit. I try not to feel any anger at whoever picked out that shirt. Red is a color I'd look good in, but it just has too many memories. Heroes wear red, and I'm not a hero anymore.

Jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. I get dressed slowly and the pain makes me fumble as I'm tying my shoes. I eat a big bowl of cold cereal, despite it being past midnight. I know I should keep a better schedule, but the world is easier to face when there aren't as many people around. As I walk around my apartment, my right leg drags a little on the carpet, and a spark jumps from my fingertip as I turn off the light. That moment of static, the jolt of electricity, mixes memories of hope with the present sadness.

I've taken to walking through the city at night. It's a safe place, the streets practically roll up not long after ten. I used to work hard to make sure of that safety. It's someone else's job now. Someone I know, someone I trust, but I haven't had the nerve to ask them how it's going. I guess they know not to talk about it, either. I'm supposed to be a role model, the valiant Boy Scout, but I still feel jealous of my friend for being able to do what I no longer can. I feel guilty for the extra burden put on their shoulders. I used to carry the load with ease, but now I lack the stamina to carry any life buy my own.

The streets are quiet and empty. Leaves flutter past my feet, and I realize it's fall. Maybe it's been fall for a while, I don't know. Days used to blend one into another because I was so busy. It was hard work, punctuated by victories and celebration. It seemed like it could go on forever. Now it's a monotonous blur, hard work punctuated by sadness and quiet loneliness. It seems like it's gone on forever.

I'm not supposed to walk so far, but I push my limits because I want to be strong again. With each step I think about what my life has become. It's been months since I woke up in a hospital bed, and all that time has been spent in recovery. Something bad happened, and I got the worst of it. I never asked how long I was in a coma. If I was told, I blocked it out. I avoid looking at dates or trying to figure out how much time I lost. What's gone can't be measured in years anyway.

I've thought about getting a job. They tell me I don't have to work, everything is taken care of. I should just focus on getting better, build up my body and adjust to the changes I'm facing. No one can tell me how long it will take; I don't think anyone really knows what happened to me. The other victims recovered; their lives went back to normal, but for some reason mine didn't. My place in the world is gone, and I don't know how to carve out a new one.

My legs ache and tremble, but I keep walking. My pace is slow and deliberate. I used to be fast. I could keep up with the swiftest. I ran with the wind. I ran with the legends. I ran without tiring. I didn't just run, I flew. This city was small but it mattered to me as much as the vastness of the world. Now my city seems vast, larger than a continent, and it matters all the more.

I've come to the edge of town, away from most of the lights. It's quiet, the stars are shining bright and there is a pleasant breeze. Fawcett used to be known for thunder from a clear sky like this. As I look at the skyline of the city I love, I whisper...

shazam

But the lightning doesn't come.


Lately I've been thinking a lot about how old I am. I'm 32 years old, but my illness has kept me from getting the life experience that most people my age have. Most of the last 8 years for me have been spent in a state more like a coma than actually living. The average college student has more experience at life than I do at a decade older.

Anyway, that led me to compare myself to Captain Marvel. Body of an adult, the emotional maturity of a teenager. I'm not quite that exaggerated; I'm not as wise as Solomon but I'm not as young as Billy. So, I decided to write a story about what it would be like for Billy to find himself trapped between the two as well. Some magical accident leaves him in a half-way state, neither hero nor child. Aged by a decade or more, but without powers or experience to go with those added years and recovering from the physical toll of the change as well.

To compliment my idea to leave the reveal for the end, I tried to incorporate the five elements of Captain Marvel's power in the story: wisdom, strength, power, endurance and speed. I think that worked out well.
 

figmentPez

Staff member
Oh, and I didn't mention, but I would like some feedback. Especially how the reveal at the end works if you're not very familiar with DC comics.
 
I picked up towards the beginning that it was a former super hero, though my immediate thought was of a time traveler who had aged himself, similar to the time traveling boy in the defunct Marvelous Bob. I don't know anything about Captain Marvel other than the basics, so I didn't really pick up the aspects of him during the story, but "Shazam" was enough at the end for me to realize who it was.

Overall I enjoyed it, despite never having read a single issue of shazam.
 
I read it, but it wasn't compelling (I had to work to read it), and knowing nothing of the character or series the ending was merely confusing.

I'm obviously not the right audience...
 
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