SUPERWORLD

François II

Grand-père! Look, I've done it!" François cried to his grandfather through the massive, expensive cigar that he held in his teeth. The old man rushed into the room.

"What is it, François?" The old man asked, out of breath.

"I won the lotto!" François said, jumping about the living room like a child on Christmas morning and pointing to the tv where the winning numbers were displayed. "Fourteen, twenty-six, thirty-one, eight, and seventy. Look at my ticket, they're all there!" François shouted, handing the winning ticket to his grandfather with excitement. The old man took the time to put on his reading glasses and François watched as his grandfather's face went from confusion and concern to surprise and joy.

"Mon dieu! You won, my boy, you really won!" He cried, meeting François' embrace.

"We will never have to worry about money again, grand-père. Two Hundred Million Euros was the prize and it's all ours!" François was crying now, the smoke from the foul cigar didn't help.

This is the end of heartache for me. Mon petite Françoise, mon chérie Élisabeth, they will have to take me back now. I am a failure no more!

That night, François and his grandfather drank the night away with wine and songs. In the morning, François's grandfather drove him to collect his prize. The two were as giddy as schoolgirls on the drive over.

"I will pay off your home, and get one of my own! Father always said I would live with you forever, but now, I will live in a home grander than any he had seen in his life!" François exclaimed out of the passenger seat window of his grandfather's ancient Renault, the wind smoking his Gitane for him.

François had switched back to cigarettes after his unpleasant experience with cigars. François looked over at his grandfather, expecting the withered man who was more a father to him than his biological one to join him in his exuberance. Instead, the old man's face was stern and solemn, he pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car.

"Grand-père, are you ok? Is it your heart?" François asked, his joy melted into concern for the one man in his entire life that had treated him with dignity and respect.

"No, no, my dear boy. It's just...you must tell me the truth." The old man wasn't looking at François, instead he focused on the dashboard, his face growing ever more grim.

"Anything, papa, ask away." François replied. The old man sighed and adjusted himself in his seat, preparing to say something that François could see he did not want to say.

"Did you use your power to win? Did you look into the future to see the winning numbers?" Grandfather's lips were pursed and he wore the same look he wore when a teenage François had told him that he impregnated Élisabeth. François scoffed.

"Of course! I've never been able to do anything right in my life, this gift was God balancing out order in the world. My whole life I've been good at nothing: never strong, never smart, never athletic, hell, I couldn't even hold down a steady job! And so the lord took pity on me and gave me this gift!" François was confused, seeing his grandfather's concern as a puzzle. The artist flicked his cigarette out of the window and lit another.

Why does he care? I've never been good at anything, so why doesn't he see how this is fair. Not only that, but it's good for both of us!

"If you truly believe that, then I made a mistake somewhere in raising you. This power, this shouldn't be used for yourself. You should be using it to help people." The old man explained. François felt a twinge of irritation.

"What do you mean? I already did! I stopped the bank robbers didn't I? You're telling me I shouldn't use it for myself ever?" François had switched from jubilant about his winnings to incensed about his grandfather's disapproval of his methods in mere moments, jabbing towards the old man with his lit cigarette.