Writing Prompt #12 — A Superhero’s Lament

Prompt: You are a superhero. Unfortunately, there are no super villains, so you just kinda use your powers to make your life easier.

Up at 7 A.M. once again. At the speed of light, I move from the bed, go into the bathroom, shower, shave and shit; I speed over to the dresser, grab my clothes and put them on; practically teleport to the kitchen and cook steaks and eggs, devouring them within seconds; then I’m outside, in the air, flying towards some random location overseas I’ve picked out for myself just to bid my time with.

Every day is the same, without a challenge, without a real purpose. Even with them being done within milliseconds, every day chores are still chores. I have the powers of a god but don’t have a demon to slay or battle. Life seems endless, which it might be — I’m not sure how long I have to live, maybe thousands, if not millions of years. I’m the sole proprietor of my species, the rest chose not to travel from Planet QX to Earth. I vividly remember the day I told them I was going to fly across the milky way and the solar system to planet Earth. They all looked at me like I was an idiot, in hindsight they were right.

My Creators tried to convince me to stay, ensuring me that there was nothing there for me but never-ending boredom. At first I would be excited and busy with a place entirely new, from the grass to the ocean, to the sky to the sun, but soon I would grow stagnant. There weren’t monsters to fight in the sand valleys, there weren’t atrocities dwelling deep underneath the ground waiting to be vanquished in the catacombs of our ancestors, there weren’t challenges or diversities to face and grow from. There was utterly nothing worthwhile.

Well… I didn’t listen and shot across the span of space and arrived on Earth a few minutes later. It was wonderful. The sights of the mountains, the deep blue of the oceans, the inventions of vehicles and planes and technology. Most humans were attractive and beautiful, so nice to look at it and be among. But after a week of traveling from one city to the next, to one country to another, everything started blurring together. People were essentially the same around the world, maybe different colored or had different body shapes, but when broken down, the same.

So I took to fighting crime in random parts of the world. But runaway robbers were no match, mass shooters trembled underneath the sheer weight of my fist, even terrorists with threats of catastrophic destruction were wiped out with a flick of the wrist. The world soon dulled into peace and there were hardly any crimes or wars happening. The leaders of each country thanked me, praised me for my work, and throughout each ceremony as I idly stood, staring off into space, I wanted to scream into the roaring crowd: “I only did this because I was bored!”

I land somewhere in Asia, on top of a mountain that hides behind a layer of clouds. It’s snowing but thanks to my adaptive blood, I don’t feel the frigid temperature. I find a rock jutting out of the whiteness and sit. I rest my head on my hand and stare out into the foggy landscape before me. After a couple of hours, some hikers trek up the mountainside with pulleys and ropes and large bags filled with gear.

They ask for an autograph. Before they come close enough with a crumpled piece of paper and pen in their shaking hands, I take flight and go to another random location.

“Ugh,” I murmured. “Maybe I’ll return home…”


Read the previous prompt, “The Red Eye.”

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