The ducks strayed from my path and the flowers withered under my feet as I walked through the park. Behind me I left a trail of gray dead grass. I was looking up towards the storm clouds which always accompanied my travels when a flash of light momentarily blew away the clouds. A patch of blue stayed just long enough for *him* to descend.

Well, I had been putting it off for weeks. I had been actively avoiding him- our usual face to face clashes were replaced by me sending my minions to be slaughtered by his hand.

He walked towards me, his white luminescent jumpsuit torn in places, but the skin underneath untouched- of course. He spoke in his resounding voice, the one that won over crowds effortlessly. He said, "I just destroyed a swarm of building sized spiders, are you not out of creatures yet?"

He walked towards me and I turned away. He walked into step alongside me. "Where have you been? I would ask if you've been plotting something, but you are always plotting something."

He had not noticed the dead plants.

I replied, "I've finally found something that I am afraid of."

"Oh? The sage of all fear is afraid?"

A bird died in midair and fell to the ground behind us with a crunch. He did not notice. For what would he ever have to worry about?

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, what are you afraid of?"

I walked for awhile longer before replying, "I am afraid of change, I suppose. I have fallen into a routine. I try to harvest all of humanity for the energy their fear provides me- you stop me. I do it again, you stop me again. Over and over, I know what the next day will hold."

"Are you saying that you are ready to call it quits?"

I sit down on a park bench looking over a lake, he sits next to me. The two oak trees behind us shrivel and wither into black crisps, but he only looks out over the lake. As dead fish begin to float to the surface of the lake, and the hole which *he* left in my storm clouds starts to fill I reply, "Yes, I am going to bring an end to the cycle."

"That's... good to hear," He replied, but there was hesitation. He stood up. He'd noticed the fish. The trees. The grass and death that followed in my path.

"Well," I replied and I stood up as well. "I don't know yet if it will be a good thing. Change is always hard to manage. And believe me, I am genuinely sorry to say this, but I have finally found a way to win."

He stared me in the eyes for a split second before turning to launch himself off at super speed. However, he was too slow.

All it took was for me to grab him by the wrist. Then, just like that, the insurmountable obstacle which had prevented my plans from ever coming to realization... was dead.

I looked to the horizon with a sigh. And there- crawling up one of the skyscrapers- was one of my mega tarantulas. That was a comfort at least, there was still an entire planet of humans to make afraid...

So.

It was time to settle into a new routine.

It was a rainy autumn day like any other - one where I lamented my inferiority to others, where I took a walk in the quiet, cold park, let the wind caress my face, feed the pigeons on the bench, making sure the smaller or hurt looking ones got their share of the meal. Ungifted with power in a world of supers, I never could have imagined that my fascinations with mechanisms and physics would put me at odds with them. It was always about aiding the ones they perceived as crippled, handicapped, inferior, but what they saw in my technology was always a threat. A threat not only to their superiority, to their ego, but also a threat to the invincible who were not used to having so many beings capable of harming them, even if only in self defence. The narratives they've spread and the laws they passed made me an outlaw. I'd like to say I didn't get into the villain business, the hatred of supers, the illegal trades out of selfish reasons, if you could believe that. But oh well, time flies, days go on and we all clash with something or someone on a daily basis, changing and growing and becoming our better selves. Sometimes literally.

I sighed. These thoughts haunt me all the time - perhaps I should seek therapy if any therapist could be in the same room and not run. I raise my right arm - a hunk of metal, wires, servos and sensors, made in the image of the one that got ripped of by Hunko-man, may he rest in peace, and brush back my overgrown, brown hair. How long since I've last had it cut I wonder? I let my arm slide down my weary face, over my sunken face and tap the metallic frame of my cyber-eye, a tender gift from Armadillo-woman. I feel my fingertips around the scars the blows my very normal, very fragile face has received from the powerful. Who would have thought that after having suffered so much violence and hatred from the lesser folk, after defeating them abd slowly growing my technological empire, I would be afraid of what comes tommorow. There is so much at stake, so much I have yet to do, there's still this conflict inside me that compels me to run. A few raindrops fall on my head and the nape of my neck. It tears me out of my head a little, but there's still so much planning, so much commitment, so much professional help I'm going to need to do my best - failing at this seemingly trivial task seems foolish yet I cannot resist this fear.

Clack! My right arm responds to a subtle discharge of static electricity, clenching into a fist befole relenting again. A soft caress of the wind playfully brushes my hair yet again. I cannot deny it any longer - it has become unbearable. "What is it, Ms. Thunder?" I turn around and set my gaze onto a woman in a tattered and torn robe, at least 27 years of age and years of fighting weighting down her face and body. Her white hair all messy and her lightning-blue eyes sparkling playfully, as they do. She chuckles and walks over to me - she seems years younger just when she makes that face We've fought day after day for a good half a decade and she was always mocking me, like right now. Controlling weather must get into your head. "Well actually!" she carefully and softly retors "It's going to be Mrs, soon. But I've a lot of my mind, and we've both come to our same spot - it's no good to ignore each other just because we've got nerves on our mind! Cheer up and let me tag along!", berating me for the doom and gloom I carry.

"You had it easy, flying way over here. I had to take a cab and deal with the traffic!" I mockingly accuse her, to which she gives me the meanest look she can produce suppressing laughter. "Well, I'll have you know flying is very difficult! And whatever, you can't gatekeep walking no matter how hard you try, you horrible tyrannical fiend." is her response, punctuating each of the last three words by poking her pointing finger into my chest. I freeze up a little - a touch of a hero - especially in their suit - still makes me shake. Oh so much pain and suffering and risks of death they used to cause me with a mere touch exactly like this. I must remind myself this is different. I sigh, genuinely surprised she'd call me that. "So what's with the outfit?" I ask, pointing to her wizard-like garments. "Nostalgia. Memories. I wanted to wear it one last time. Since they made your technology legal, I have less and less reasons to arrest you." she offers.

Arrest. A word I have mixed memories for. Some of my best ideas and moments came after being arrested, but also only later in life, when Speedguy and Bardbarian stopped crossing me and arrests became somewhat civil or even pleasant. "Ah, yes - memories... I do remember those arrests as fondly as I remember abducting you to build a weather control machine. It was somewhat funny when you later volunteered to help me build one." the memory makes me chuckle. She was so sheepish when she realised it was meant to ease natural disasters, not melt everyone on the surface of Earth or something simmilarly horrible.

"Well, look who's talking, Doctor creep-orgo! Arrests are not supposed to be fond memories, you dunce! This is why you need therapy!" she responds, smacking my shoulder gently, yet to me, it feels like a truck just ran through me. I remind myself there is no malice and no harm hidden in this playful violence, but I do freeze up for a moment. This time, she notices and apologetically hangs her head "Sorry... I want you to get better, not worse. Really." speaking softly and with a certain sadness to her voice. She seems to want to say more, to get stuck in the apologetic spiral her goodypants mind tends to visit, so I cut her off "No! No. I'm sorry, I still associate the more aggressive forms of touch with danger - it's a trigger I am still learning to cope with. I'm fine, though, really."

She looks up, then, and looks unto my eyes with a gaze that seeks truth, not comfort. It is a strict, yet soft gaze - one you give someone you've known for a really, really long time. Even when you know it, you can't defend yourself from its completely un-super power. You can't lie to the face she makes. "Really?" she asks. "Really." I answer. She then reaches out with her hand once more, this time caressing my unkept hair and sliding it off my face. "You have this, because you're overworked. How long until your barber appointment?" these words are accompanied with a melancholic, warm smile, stuck in thought. "Exactly two hours, fifty-three minutes and 40 seconds when I finish this sentence." I answer while she gets ever so closer to me, tiny step by tiny step. "Did you pick up the cake?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows jokingly. "Yep." I grin and bend over slightly so our eyes get on the same level.

"Well, then we can take this walk and talk a little longer. Without the gloom - tommorow's a big, happy, carefree day, you big dummy."

"Indeed. I'll do my best, so shall we go look at the location of your first arrest of me, soon to be Mrs Cyborgo?"

He crashed down in front of me, his clothes torn and his hair a mess. It looked like he had just had the worst fight of his life. But with who? I had been his enemy for 4 years, I put every ounce of my energy into plotting to destroy this man and he couldn't even recognize me. We stared at each other, I put one foot back in case he attacked but I got nothing but a blank stare in return, he was at ease. Surely if I attacked fast enough I could destroy him but I couldn't bring myself to pounce. He kept staring at me as I reached out a hand. he took it and I helped him to his feet. "Walk with me," he said, in a calming voice. We wandered down the path in silence for what felt like hours, "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"I do," I replied. I hesitate, "I see you on the news all the time." Could he see through my lie? Does he know who I am? Could he really not? A million questions bounce through my head but not a single one leaves my mouth.

"Why did you give me your hand?" he asked,

"Why did you take it?" I reply,

"I hadn't thought of that," he said with a slight laugh. Once again we walked in silence for a few moments before he said, "Well it's been nice to see you again," I stop in shock.

"You know who I am?" I ask,

"Of course, and I'm glad to finally have a moment of peace with you. Goodbye Jay," he says fondly, "Politely, I do hope I don't see you again." I stare at the trees for just a moment and turn back to him. But he's gone.

​

(Editors Note: I haven't done much writing like this before, if you have any tips to improve please let me know.)

Vincent sighed miserably, watching the rain pouring down on the city park. At least the storm meant he had the place to himself. Ever since being woken from centuries of enchanted sleep, the punishment for his crimes of necromancy oh so long ago, the elements didn't bother him too much, the cold barely able to get to him. He supposed that some parts of him had just stayed dead. Even so, a skeleton trailed behind him, holding an umbrella over his head while he flipped through the spellbook in his hands, every so often ripping out a page and throwing it to the wind, the aged pages crumpled into little balls as they were flung into puddles and grass. "Useless... uninspired... undignified..." He muttered as he continued to tear the book apart. This one was once his prized possession. It had been given to him by the very man who would come to betray him, all those years ago.

Then, an aura of searing heat coming up behind him. "Sunspot." He greeted coldly, not bothering to look back at the hero.

"Necromancer. Might I ask what you're doing out here?"

"Out for a stroll. No evildoing today, if that's what you're worried about."

"Of course, of course..." He muttered. "Mind if I walk with you?"

"Be my guest." He drawled. They walked in silence for a while, Vincent tearing out pages as he went before the hero spoke up again.

"What are you doing with that book? Some kind of ritual?"

"No, I just hate it. It still has... some use. But mostly it's just a cluster of unwanted memories and useless spells."

"Oh. I see. Why do you hate it?"

"That is a long story, sunshine, and I don't particularly feel like telling it at the moment."

"Oh. Okay." Sunspot sounded a little sad at that.

"...someone I once loved very dearly gave it to me. It was naught but a trick, though. He betrayed me, using this very tome to bind me to his curse." He hissed, closing the book with a snap and holding it up for him to see.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Necromancer."

He sighed. "Vincent. My name is Vincent. None of that Necromancer stuff today."

"Thomas."

"What?" Vincent asked, now finally stopping to look at him. He looked awful. His mask was scuffed and torn and his costume covered in scorch marks.

"That's my name. It's Thomas. You told me your name, so..."

"Here is where we differ, Sunspot. You have a secret identity, a life to protect. I am no one. If I were you, that would be the last time you give your name to an enemy."

"Okay..." He mumbled dejectedly.

"So what happened to you?" Vincent started, changing the subject. "You look rough."

"Oh, just the usual. Fighting villains, defeating villains. I guess I just wasn't all in it today."

"Why not? I would be sorely disappointed if you were to die at anyone's hand but mine, you know." He replied, half jokingly.

"It just gets tiring. Way deep in your bones, you know? Like not knowing if it's worth it to continue."

"Continue with what?"

"I don't know. Life, I guess."

"That's awfully depressing, sunshine."

"I know. I know..." He sighed deeply, eyes downcast.

"I was dead for 500 years, you see. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that, because there's nothing for me here. But then I think of you."

"Me?" He asked in surprise. If Vincent was seeing things correctly, it even looked like beneath his mask his cheeks were a little pink.

"If I were to go back to my eternal sleep, the only person who would miss me is you. I live for you, Thomas. I live for this rivalry we have, I live for being your nemesis. I don't expect you to feel the same, just that if you took a look around I'm sure you'd find something you would live for. If not for yourself then keep going for those that depend on you. If you can do that, then you will find your own reasons for continuing on in your own time." He stopped in his tracks then, looking down at the book. "If you can live for something then you'll realize someday that there is everything to live for."

"That's... rather wise of you, Vincent."

He shrugged, staring at the book for one moment longer before tossing it over his shoulder and not looking back. "Come under the umbrella, sunshine. You're positively drenched."

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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