Daniel Merton was lonely. He was eight years old and he lived with his mother in a little blue cottage down a winding lane on the outskirts of the town of Appledore.
He was a terrific kid. He was bright. And he was funny. With tee-shirts that were always a little too small and jeans that were just a little too long. His shoe laces were often untied as he ran around, tripping over corn rows in the fields beside his house.
But Daniel was lonely. No matter how he tried, no-one seemed to notice him. The other children ignored him, even when he joked, or zoomed through corridors pretending to fly, jumping and singing at the top of his lungs. "They think I'm weird," he thought.
Daniel wanted friends. He wanted to fit in. But he didn't know how. It made him sad.
Sometimes he would get so sad that he didn't feel like running or singing. He would sit alone in the field beside his house, staring at the sky and wondering how it felt to be special. As the clouds rolled by, he'd imagine he was flying, soaring up above the world, like Superman or The Human Torch.
Daniel had inherited a comic book collection from his father. A box full of treasure with plastic covers and the magic smell of inky paper. He took great care of it, always careful to put the books back in their covers, the way his dad had taught him. He loved the colours and the panels. And he loved the stories: the secret identities and assorted powers, the super villains and even the romance. But especially the powers. This was the world he dreamed of: invisibility and flight, super strength and x-ray vision, telepathy and telekinesis. It was the world he imagined as he sat staring sadly at the sky.
"If I could only be a Superhero," he thought. "Then people would notice me. Then I'd be special. I could save the world."
The thought had stayed with him. It haunted him on those lonely days when he sat alone in the field. It inspired him as he ran through the corn, arms outstretched and weaving, a discarded baby blanket tied around his neck, streaming behind him like a cape. But it was only playing.
At least until July.
It was Saturday and the sun was shining. Daniel was playing, beating up imaginary villains and rescuing imaginary people from the clutches of imaginary robots. When suddenly he stopped. "Why do I keep pretending," he thought. "It's dumb. Why do I keep pretending, when I want to be a real superhero?"
So, Daniel stopped pretending. He made a resolution. "I'm going to do it," he thought, "No more playing for me. I'm going to discover my super power."
It was easier said than done. For one thing, Daniel didn't really know what his power might be. He had a hunch it might be flying. He loved the thought of swooping and soaring high above people's heads. You could see so much from the sky, diving down to save the day at the first sign of trouble. And he'd practiced flying so often, imagining himself in the air and running around with his arms swept out in front of him. But how did you actually do it?
He spent a few days just contemplating, sitting quietly watching birds and clouds. He knew that super flying was different than this. The rules, the mechanics, didn't apply.
"Super flying isn't about rules," Daniel thought, "It's about believing."
And Daniel really did believe. He knew he did. He was going to believe himself off the ground.
Daniel stood in the middle of the field, facing out across the corn rows, an empty trail before him. He closed his eyes. "Fly," he thought. "Fly."
He started running.
"Fly," he thought, "Fly."
Faster.
"Fly."
Daniel jumped. His feet left the ground. He felt the breeze on his cheeks. The air wrapped around him.
And crash.
Daniel opened his eyes. He was lying in a dusty heap, surrounded by dirt and corn husks.
His knees were dirty and one of his shoes was buried in the corn. He stood up and dusted himself off. He had to reach deep into the corn to reclaim his shoe. He was covered in dirt again by the time he got it.
Daniel shrugged. "If at first you don't succeed," he thought.
And so Daniel tried again. He closed his eyes and he ran. He jumped and he fell. And then he tried again. Run. Jump. Fall. The result was the same.
For several days, Daniel tried. Running, jumping, falling. Again and again with no success. His knees were getting bruised and his hair and clothes were clotted with dirt.
But he didn't stop trying.
But, as failure followed failure, he started to get frustrated. "What am I doing wrong," he asked, "I know that I can do this. Why isn't it working?"
After a week of trying, he had to accept that he was doing something wrong. He stopped his running and jumping, and sat down and stared at the sky. "There must be a way to do this," he thought, "I know that I can fly."
Daniel stared and thought. He shook his head and closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do.
Back at home, in his bedroom, he picked up his box of comics. Perhaps he'd find inspiration there. Daniel started to read, turning pages and scanning through the panels, looking for something. It reminded him of times he'd spent with his father, the two of them reading together. His father would point things out to him, little details in the artwork or page layouts.
But now Daniel didn't know what he was looking for. All these images, the muscular bodies crashing through walls or lifting cars or melting steel doors with their minds, how would they help him to fly? And why was he convinced it was flying? Perhaps his power wasn't flying at all, it was something else. How did you discover a power when you didn't even know what it was? Daniel felt sad.
And something else occurred to him as he sat leafing through the pages: super powers were often discovered by accident. People in near death situations would suddenly stop time or find themselves hovering half a meter above the ground. Daniel found this idea frustrating. How could you force yourself to accidentally discover something?
The only thing he could do was double his efforts and broaden his search.
Daniel's next attempts were equally unsuccessful. He was a small and gangly kid, and while he loved to run around, he was always tripping over and getting tangled in his feet.
Not great for a superhero.
He tried super strength, pushing boxes in the garage and trying to lift his mother's car. His hands got greasy and sweat poured into his eyes. But nothing so much as moved.
He tried super running, chasing along beside the freight trains that rolled along the tracks at the end of the field. He got out of breath or tripped over his ankles. He couldn't keep pace for even a few seconds.
He returned to flying, climbing the tree in his garden and jumping off, hoping to trick his powers into action. He landed painfully, legs squashed up behind his body.
He thought about jumping off the roof but decided against it. His belief in flying powers was starting to waver.
His belief in anything was wavering.
And then the Summer was over and it was time to go back to school. As Daniel walked into town, backpack slung across his shoulder, a comic book placed carefully inside for luck, he felt sadder and lonelier than he had ever felt in his life. As he approached the school gate and saw the faces of the other children, laughing and happy, he didn't want to go in. He thought that he would cry.
Daniel sat alone at the back of the classroom. Head in his hands. Eyes cast downward.
He couldn't bring himself to look at anyone. He felt like hiding.
Some of the children in his class were laughing. They always seemed to have so much fun. Daniel looked up. He couldn't understand what they were laughing at. He never could.
He felt so alone.
"I hate this feeling," he thought. "What's wrong with me? Why do I feel so disconnected?"
From the back of the classroom, Daniel stared, his eyes focused on the backs of the heads of the children in front of him. He wanted to speak to them. He wanted to share their jokes.
"What are they laughing at," he asked. "I wish I could read their minds."
And then suddenly, Daniel knew what superpower he needed. It wasn't something physical. Not flying or running or super strength. Those powers wouldn't help him to understand people. They wouldn't make him feel connected. The power that he needed was telepathy.
With this thought, Daniel was filled with an immense sense of purpose. Telepathy made sense. He was a bright kid and this was a mental power. He could do this.
When Daniel went home that evening, he sat and read his comic books. He felt no urgency or desperation, just the pure joy of reading and remembering his time with his father. For the first time in ages he just enjoyed the stories. And he didn't dwell on thoughts of telepathy. He didn't worry. He just knew.
This time, Daniel didn't try to rush things. He didn't struggle or push. He was certain that it would come to him, even if it took a little time.
Each day he would come into class and he would sit at the back as he always had and he would look out across the room at the backs of the other children's heads. But somehow he was calmer.
He didn't hear anything except the sound of his own thoughts. But Daniel was confident.
And he felt happy.
And then one day he heard something.
A voice. Quiet and echoey.
"Daniel," it said, "Daniel? Is that really you?"
Daniel laughed. "It is," he thought, "It really is."
And then there was another voice. This one slightly louder and clearer in his head.
"Daniel! Hello!"
"Hello," thought Daniel. "Hello! Hello!"
A third voice joined in and forth and a fifth. More and more voices. And the voices spoke:
"Daniel," they chimed, "We're so glad to hear you! We've been waiting and waiting! We've wanted so much to speak to you, to have you share our jokes, share our telepathy. You seemed so lost and lonely."
"I was," thought Daniel, "I really was."
"It's okay now," the voices said.
Daniel smiled. He laughed and smiled. Suddenly he understood. "I was missing something," he thought. "I thought I was alone. I thought I needed to be special so you would notice me."
"You're not alone," the voices said. "We're here with you."
"I understand," thought Daniel.
"You're one of us."
The thought pleased Daniel. He felt so connected, for the first time in his life.
Sitting there at his desk, he smiled. He felt so happy. He laughed and laughed. And the other children laughed with him.
They all laughed together.
*********
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please remember to vote and I'd love to hear your comments, positive or negative. Happy to receive feedback on corrections or clarifications, too.
I hope you also enjoy the other stories in this collection.
And thank you to Salamander12 for the wonderful illustration!