Intergalactic Fly-Fishing

The Super-Hero

There is this young man who lives in the flats. He wishes that he were a super hero. When he was young he always played the hero. Now he wanders through his flat, unaware of his surroundings and the empty, mouldering pizza boxes. He falls onto the sofa and dozes. This is usual. There is not much else to do.

   He had been shocked to see Lucy; he hadn't seen her for years. She was going to avoid them until she recognised him. He had seen the shock in her eyes – like she couldn't believe it was him – like it was someone else she was looking at. He did not like the way she looked at him. She used to fancy him, he was sure of that. Not anymore though, he was sure of that too. So he started to think of when he was a kid and she did fancy him. He started to think of the way she had looked at him back then, and the way he had looked: healthy and fit, not bloated on alcohol. He started to think of the time he played the hero. He dozed on the sofa and remembered being a super hero. Like in the cartoons.

   He preferred Spiderman for the humour and Batman for the cape; he didn't like Superman: was too good, too unreal. The others all had something that you could believe in: Batman didn't even have a power, just a large bank account, and Spiderman was a geek. Then there were the X-men. If he were an X-man he'd be Wolverine – now there's one cool guy. He has the side burns, the motorbike and he's a hundred years old, but his power of healing makes him stay young looking. Now that's one cool side effect – staying young looking. But then Wolverine is obvious. Everyone wants to be Wolverine... he'd be Gambit instead, yeah Gambit. He's cool too. He's from New Orleans and he can play cards and he's smoooooth with the ladies. And he's in love with Rogue but he can't touch her. If he did, he might die. That's her mutation. She sucks the power out of other mutants. Not such a good side effect. But that really would be dying for love. Yeah – Gambit, with the cards and the accent. He smiled as he lay on the sofa – I bet Lucy fancies Gambit.

   He sat up – he had heard a scream. He looked around the flat, it was dark now. He began to feel foolish. Probably just a dream. He stood up and tripped his way through the room to the light switch. Half-way across he heard it again, only this time he realised that it wasn't human. Just some cat. He reached the switch and – let there be light. He stood for a moment, blinking, not sure what to do, and then he heard the cat again. It was close, or just really loud. He opened the door to the flat and stood on the threshold to the corridor for a moment. He tried to think – who had a cat? Animals weren't allowed but no one paid any attention to that. The next scream propelled him out to the hall and before he realised what he was doing the door clicked shut. And shit – his keys were inside. He lingered in the hallway until the next cat wail urged him towards it. If he was locked out of his flat the owner of the cat could at least make it shut up.

   The cat wailed again, it sounded like it was hooked up to a megaphone and he was surprised that more people weren't investigating the noise. But then it was Saturday night and people were out, or else they just turned up the TV. He turned a corner in the corridor and another call assailed him. This must be it. He stood outside the door and lifted his hand to knock. Just then he looked down and that was when he saw the smoke. Just a little, puffing from the bottom of the door. His hand unclenched and he extended his fingers. The door was warm.

   "Oh shit," he said. He stepped back, fully alert at last and looked around the empty corridor. "Somebody," he called out, "help..." He ran up and down the corridor, banging on doors – no answer, no answer and then:

   "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" A teenage mum, TV on full blast, snotty child in arm.

   "Call the fire service, quick," he said.

   "What?"

   He pointed to the burning flat, "The fire service," he said, "now." More smoke spilled out of the door cracks and the girl looked as if she would panic for a moment. She moved to the phone in her flat and dialled.

   She looked at him, "That's Marie's flat," she said.

   "Is she in?"

   "She's always in."

   He looked down the corridor at the little puffs of smoke and he thought of that song, the one about the dragon.

   The girl was speaking to the emergency services now, they were on their way. She put the phone down, and when she looked up, he had gone. She picked up her baby and ran for the exit. She passed Marie's flat; the door had been knocked down and she heard the man calling for Marie.

   The fire brigade arrived just as the girl ran out of the building with her baby. Marie's cat was with them. It must have escaped when the man knocked down the door. The girl looked up and saw the fire in the flat. She bit her lip.

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