Leaf, probably…

The 44 bus was late again.

The old man next to him seemed to be trying to get his attention discreetly, but Wilbert wasn’t falling for that again. Last time he’d struck up a conversation with a pensioner she’d forced him to carry eight bags of groceries five blocks and up three sets of stairs while she prattled on about her grandchildren. Wilbert was not going to be tricked into that again.

The old man seemed to tire of clearing his throat and pointed stares, instead he had progressed to tapping Wilbert on the shin with his walking stick.

“Psst!”

Wilbert remained facing forwards.

“Hey kid…” The man stage whispered towards him.

“Hey kid, want to hear a secret?”

Wilbert’s patience ran out. He turned to face the older man. “I’m not a kid. I’m 32 this year, you know. And my name is Wilbert.”

“Exactly.” Said the old man in what he hoped was a mysterious sort of a voice. “I’m Edgar. So do you want to hear a secret?”

“Does it have anything to do with carrying your groceries?”

“No, I don’t need help because..” Edgar lowered his voice to a stage whisper again “I’m a superhero.”

After giving him a few moments to digest this revelation Edgar told Wilbert the whole story.

It seemed that Edgar after 10 years of walking with the aid of a walking stick had recently begun walking without a stick.

He had woken up that morning, and walked halfway down his hallway before he realised that he was doing so without his trusty stick. Naturally the first thing he did was put on a pair of running shoes and come down to the bus stop to tell the first person he saw.

“That doesn’t make you a super hero.” Wilbert said dismissively. “You’re too old. And you still have your stick with you.”

” I’m only 92″ Edgar retorted “That’s not too old. And I have to keep my stick with me otherwise the bad guys would know who my alter ego is.”

Edgar shook his head. Clearly the boy was an idiot. Everyone knew about bad guys and alter egos.

Wilbert digested that for a moment before he thought of something very clever indeed.

“If you truly are a superhero then prove it. You can’t expect me to just believe you because you said so.”

With a sigh, and a covert glance down the street, Edgar stood up and shuffled a few steps forward without the aid of the walking stick. After a pause Edgar lurched into a slow jog. He only managed three paces before he had to turn around and head back to the bench, but clearly that was enough to win Wilbert over.

“Wow. So you really are a superhero? And you just woke up this morning like that?”

“Yup” Edgar replied proudly. “One day I was ordinary old Edgar, and today I’m the Silver Foot Fox.”

Wilbert stared out at the road for a few moments. “So anyone can be a superhero then?”

Edgar nodded. He was pretty sure that’s how it worked anyway.

“You know… The other week I woke up and I didn’t need my glasses anymore. All my life I’ve needed them for reading, and Monday last week *poof* I didn’t.”

“Exactly!” Edgar crowed. He knew he had picked the right bus stop to sit in.

“But my eyesight isn’t super or anything, it’s just like a normal persons’. I just don’t need glasses anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s new for you isn’t it?” Edgar asked

Wilbert nodded.

“So it’s a super power. It’s just well hidden is all.”

The 44 bus came and went. Wilbert stayed where he was chatting with Edgar.

At some point one or the other decided they needed a secret headquarters. Edgar decided that the bus shelter would probably be the best spot - after all no one would guess that they were standing in a secret headquarters making it safe from all sorts of bad guys.

Finally Edgar realised it was afternoon tea time, and he had a lot of superhero stuff to do. He shuffled back up the road to his house leaving Wilbert to his thoughts.

“The Longsighted Lasso? Vision Man?… Oh, I know, The 20/20 Kid!”

It was perfect. That night the 20/20 Kid made himself a swishy cape out of a ripped bed sheet and called in sick to work the next day. He had a lot of crime fighting to catch up on.

This is part of my ongoing experiment in wasting time on Curiously Dull Fiction.

The begining of this story can be found here. 

Captain Harold Steel was having a shit-awful day.

That morning his divorce papers had arrived, bearing Mavis’s signature and a small ticking package from her mad Russian Scientist boyfriend. A quick call to the people at the bomb disposal unit revealed that the package was as he suspected -a ticking alarm clock set to go off every morning at 2am and a framed photo.

Harold suspected that Mavis was trying to rub his nose in her new relationship, as the photo was of her boyfriend posing nude with nothing but a see-through test tube to preserve his dignity.

Harold was a little miffed that she had found a man with both a natural head of hair, and abs.

Harold put the alarm clock and the picture on his mantel piece and made himself a coffee with the lumpy milk he found in the refrigerator. After all, a gift was a gift, and he hadn’t quite figured out how to keep the lumps out of his coffee. He supposed Mavis used to strain it or something, but having never had to make his own coffee before, he wasn’t quite sure.

Being a superhero wasn’t quite what it had cracked up to be. It’s not like Superman ever had to call the bomb disposal unit. Or see pictures of a nude Russian scientists’ penis. Superman probably had someone to take the lumps out of his coffee for him too.

Sure, like superman, Harold could fly - but when has floating in a corner and yelling rude words ever prevented a burglary or a jewel heist?

Harold supposed that he could have always gotten a little closer to the action, but burglars generally seemed to be well armed. Although his body could float like a butterfly, it most definitely could not stop bullets. Or a hefty crow bar.

What Harold needed was a sidekick. Or even a whole team of sidekicks. With that in mind he adjusted his hairpiece and pulled on his pantyhose and red underpants along with a tight red top. For a mask he wore a red tartan tea towel with a couple of large eye holes. As soon as the house sold he’d have some money to buy a proper uniform, but for now it was important to appear as professional as possible. Especially if he was to be conducting interviews.

He quickly scrawled an advertisement:

Superhero sidekick or sidekicks wanted.
Small pay to begin with, but opportunities to move higher in
rank as your superhero powers develop.
Applicants MUST have experience and ability to demonstrate
powers to a small panel of interviewers. 
Auditions will be held 4pm at the corner bar
by Captain Harold Steel.

****

At 5pm Harold was slumped on one of the bar-stools at the Mermaid. No one had shown up for his interview, and a persistent pole dancer was shaking her nipple tassels at him.

“Uh, listen” Harold ventured. “I’m not really interested, I’m here to conduct an interview. Thanks all the same though.”

“Oh.” The dancer was only put off for a moment, before deciding to try a new tack. “Since the person you’re looking to interview hasn’t shown up yet could I interview?”

“You don’t even know what the job is, and I’m not sure you’d be qualified.” Harold said staring into his beer.

He wasn’t used to conversations with topless women. Mavis wouldn’t have ever let him interview her without her blouse on.

The dancer slid into the stool next to him and offered her hand. “I’m Bon-Bon, or Stacey if you prefer. What’s the job?”

Harold shook her hand and reluctantly slid one of the copies of his advertisement in front of her.

“I’m looking for a sidekick.”

Stacey frowned for a moment reading the paper in the dim bar lighting.

“Oh superhero work. I’m qualified for that, would you like a demo?”

Harold was taken aback. Silently he nodded.

“Hey Mig!” she yelled, attracting the attention of the bartender.

Stacey stood, gyrating her hips and twirling her nipple tassels. Both Harold and Mig were transfixed.

“Get me and my friend a beer.” she demanded.

The bartenders eyes remained fixed on the tassels as he slammed a couple of beers in front of her. Stacey grinned and slid back onto the bar chair. It took Harold and Mig a moment to snap out of their tassel induced fixation.

“Um that’s not exactly a superpower though is it?” Harold ventured.

“Sure it is. People will do anything if I wave these things around.”

“She’s right” Mig chimed in from behind the bar “she once stopped a robber from taking our till, AND got him to give her a tip and lock the front door on his way out.”

After a short hesitation Harold offered Stacey/ Bon-bon the job as sidekick. Mig also managed to win a place on Harold’s team, by claiming to be able to make things invisible and offering his lounge as the teams secret base.

Harold hadn’t been convinced by the invisibility claim, considering Mig’s idea of invisible was hiding things behind his back, but he was won over by the prospect of a secret base.

Finally he was becoming a real hero. He had the hair, and the name, the ability to fly, a secret base, and two  sidekicks.

Harold wasn’t sure if Superman had a secret base but he definitely didn’t have two sidekicks.

Wanda Seacrest was a plump 30 something baker who lived on the posh side of town with her perfect long-term boyfriend Bill. Wanda’s house was a white Edwardian style cottage trimmed with dark green, and surrounded by jasmine. It was her dream house.

The white and green house reflected Wanda, as she favoured green clothing with white accents, and often used jasmine based perfume. Wanda thought herself very fortunate to have found it - always fortunate, but NEVER lucky. She didn’t believe in luck and coincidences.

Wanda’s favorite word was perfect, and she was sure to invent as many reasons as possible to say it during the course of her day. Wanda was a big believer in making situations, rather than sitting back and allowing them to come to her. She could often be overheard advising her muffin and cake batters that: “In this world you have to go out and get what you want. Don’t sit back and let it come to you.”

Indeed this was what Wanda was doing Tuesday morning while coaxing together the mixture for her world famous Gooey Chocolate Caramel Cake.

“After all,” she told the bowl of ingredients “going out in search of what I wanted got me my darling house and my gorgeous boyfriend Bill, and they’re both simply perfect. By the way, did I tell you it’s our 4th anniversary tonight? Well it is, and I’ve planned the most perfect meal for him.”

Wanda tactfully left out that the cake itself was to be the main feature. Deserts were always Wanda’s main feature.

After popping her cake in the oven Wanda moved on to preparing the meal, all the while imagining the pleased look that Bill would give her when he learned that she had made his favorite - rabbit stew.

Not that Bill ever said that it was his favorite, he had made a sound a bit like ‘Mm’ though. Bill hardly ever commented on the meals Wanda cooked him. He preferred to save his voice for the important things, and that was one of the things Wanda liked about him.

With her meal safely set to cook in her slow cooker, Wanda pulled her cake from the oven. it was flat and slightly undercooked in the centre. She must have forgotten that third cup of flour again.

Wanda closed her eyes and pictured what the cake should have looked like. When she opened her eyes the cake looked perfect - exactly as she had pictured it. She must have not seen it correctly when pulling it from the oven. Wanda never got the mixtures of her cakes wrong.

“Just perfect” She said with a cat-like quirk of her lips.

**

Bill wandered into the small white and green cottage late, at around 7pm that night. Wanda met him in the hall with an expectant smile.

“How was your day honey?” She asked while trying to help him with his coat.

Bill twisted himself away and took the coat off himself. After dumping it in the corner next to the coat rack he grunted and headed for the dining room where Wanda had presented the prefect romantic dinner.

Wanda paused at the doorway clearing the small frown from her face and replacing it with a seductive smile. “It’s rabbit stew, I know how much you enjoyed it last time I made it.”

Bill didn’t look up from the bread roll he was devouring.

Wanda took a seat and served the stew waiting for Bill to realise his lapse in memory and wish her a happy anniversary.

“Erm darling, Happy anniversary.” She ventured.

Bill scowled and said “Shit, forgot babe. This stew tastes funky. I hate rabbit.”

“Oh. Well never mind, I have a lovely cake for afterwards if you’d like.” Wanda said, feeling a tad bit disappointed that Bill had forgotten the big day. She had made a point of reminding him earlier in the week too, knowing how forgetful he could be.

Bill finished his stew quickly and slid his feet up onto the table. The heel of his shoe scuffed the wood a little and very nearly upset his water glass.

“Darling I’ve asked you not to do that it does terrible things to the table, and it’s very rude.” Wanda said.

Bill sneered at her across the table. “I paid for this table because I’m the breadwinner in this house Wanda. I’ll do as I please with the table. Go get me some cake.”

Bill still hadn’t realised that Wanda had a very successful phone order bakery business that she operated from her kitchen. She had gone to tell him so many times, but he really did seem to take a lot of pride in being the breadwinner.

She retrieved her perfect cake and slid back into her chair. Bill was smirking at her as he rubbed his shoe across the tables surface again. He thought he’d won and had her under his thumb - as any good woman should be.

Wanda took a good look at the man across from her and began to wonder if Bill wasn’t perhaps just little bit insensitive and rude. He didn’t act very much like the perfect boyfriend she thought him to be.  

Wanda closed her eyes and imagined Bill gone. She thought about how nice and cosy her little house would be without him, and how much more time she would have for herself if he wasn’t around constantly making messes in her house and eating her baking. She finally decided that she wouldn’t miss him in the least if he were to disappear.

When Wanda opened her eyes again she was alone in the dining room. The scuff marks from Bill’s shoes were gone from the table, along with all the crumbs he had made and his dirty bowl.

Wanda settled back into her chair like a bantam hen ruffling its feathers. She cut herself a large wedge of cake and took a small sip of wine from the glass that had appeared by her side - seemingly from thin air.

“See what did I tell you?” She addressed her cake conspiratorially.

“In this world if you want something you have to make it happen yourself. Look how well it’s worked out for me. I have my beautiful house, and my wonderful baking. My life is just perfect.”

If you liked this you might like the story of Harold Winterbottom that I wrote a little while ago.

This story seeks to provide an accurate account of the events immediately following Harold’s discovery of his ability to fly.

Harold Winterbottom was a bored, balding accountant who worked in a big brick building with the dimensions of a particularly boring cube. He lived in a smaller brick cube with his wife Mavis Winterbottom.

One sunny afternoon whilst clipping the hedges enclosing his front yard he found himself floating several inches above the ground. Leaving the hedges for another afternoon he instead rolly-pollied about in mid air until Mavis arrived home.

She quickly ordered him down with a scandalized “Honestly, Harold!”

Unbeknownst to either of them Harold’s mid-air antics had been recorded by the local newspaper. The next morning Harold’s unexpected abilities were splashed across the front page in the most unbecoming of ways.

Mavis spent her week fielding unpleasant calls from her friends, while Harold spent his floating discreetly above his ergonomically correct chair at work.

It all came to a head when Friday night Mavis informed Harold that he was to immediately cease loafing about on the roof, and that the corned beef was getting cold.

“Harold” she said, aiming her sternest look at her husband “I will not be made a laughing stock. You will stop using that foul magic. You must stick to walking on the ground, heel to toe, just like everybody else.”

Harold contemplated his wife for a moment before floating to a lower vantage point.

“Mavis, I don’t like Corned Beef. And I don’t want to be like everyone else. I’m going to float about whenever I want to, drat what your friends and the papers say.”

Mavis went red in the face. Harold insulting her Corned Beef?! That was the last straw.

“You WILL do as I say, or you can bugger off and find some other house to put dirty sock marks on the ceiling of.” Mavis shrieked.

Harold agreed absolutely with her sentiments. After bidding her a fond farewell he levitated eagerly out the window.

This was not the last time Mavis and Harold saw each other, but it was the last time they had been moderately pleasant with each other. The divorce papers arrived a week later, via air post from Hawaii.

Mavis found herself a Russian Scientist, eager to take over the world, and promptly moved in with him. She changed her image, wearing black and green leather outfits, and became prone to dramatic bouts of laughter.

Harold changed his name to Captain Harold Steel by deed poll, and obtained a very natural looking hair piece. In later life he was rumored to have had a series of adventures with a small group of other moderately gifted people.