Diary of a Teenage Superhero (The Teenage Superhero Series Book One)

This is what people have had to say about my novels:

…an entertaining read that flies by, filled with action and intrigue.

Mena Grazie

I loved this book! The author has created engaging characters and the pace of this adventure is spot on. I could not stop reading…

Anonymous

Without a doubt this was the best dollar I have ever spent! I could not put it down and was starting to get behind on things I should have been doing. Thank you for the wonderful adventure.

Curtis McCully

I thoroughly enjoyed your book and I hope there are more adventures to follow. I could not stop reading! It was extremely engaging and the characters well fleshed out so I hope there is more ahead for this wonderful duo.

Laura Golston

I’m also the author of two other young adult novels:

The Steampunk Detective:

www.amazon.com/The-Steampunk-Detective-ebook/dp/B006TLZRDY/

The Last Days of Earth:

www.amazon.com/Last-Days-Earth-ebook/dp/B006TM2Y20/

This is the first book in The Teenage Superhero Series. The entire book is available at:

Amazon: www.amazon.com/Diary-Teenage-Superhero-ebook/dp/B0070ZN80M/

 Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/diary-of-a-teenage-superhero-darrell-pitt/1108647824

Chapter One

My name is -.

Wait.

Scrub that thought. I don’t know my name. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I came to be here.

I don’t know anything.

I’m lying flat on my back looking up at a ceiling coated in peeling mustard yellow paint. Light is streaming in through a window, casting long rectangles across the floor and the bed. A white curtain, fading to brown, covers the window. To its left hangs a small white hand basin. It’s leaning badly, clinging grimly to the wall by only one bracket. A single square mirror sits directly above it. A plain round clock to its left counts the minutes.

3.07pm

This place has all the trappings of a seedy motel room. It even smells like it. Stale. Unkempt. Even the mattress smells bad, covered by a grimy gray sheet.

I stagger to the hand basin. My head feels heavy. Everything seems to be vibrating from side to side. I feel like I’ve been drugged. I look into the mirror.

The face staring back is completely unfamiliar.

But this is me. Male. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Short cropped brown hair. Brown eyes. A small scar on the left side of my chin. I’m wearing a blue and white striped t-shirt. Gray jacket. Faded blue jeans. My shoes are clean, though worn.

Then I examine my hands. Not working hands. Not someone who’s used to outdoor labor. I’m probably still at school.

Wherever that is.

But I still have one overriding question.

Who am I?

I turn around to survey the room and discover something so unexpected I fall back in surprise and almost dislodge the hand basin completely from the wall.

A man is lying on the floor.

As I was a few minutes earlier, he is face up and staring at the ceiling. Unlike me, he has a wound in his side, possibly a bullet wound. Blood seeps from it. His eyes are open and staring. More blood stains his mouth.

He is lying so close to the bed, I can see why I didn’t notice him earlier. Did I do this? Did I harm this man? I don’t see a weapon. Regardless, I have to help him in whatever way I can. Kneeling beside him, I gently pull his shirt apart to examine the wound. I don’t know wounds – no medical training springs to mind – but it looks bad. I reach into my pocket and find a handkerchief. Pushing it hard against the injury, the man’s eyes shift to me.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m going to get help.”

He shakes his head. Tries to speak. Fails.

“I’ll get an ambulance,” I say.

“No,” he responds. “My…”