The Incubus

Chapter 7, Scene 8

He was right. Simon hated admitting it, but Justin was right. What good was Superman's flying ability if he couldn't control it? What good were any super hero's abilities without the means of controlling it? But Simon was no super hero. He was just an average Joe trying to get by each day, which brought him to his next question.

'Why me?'

The only answer to his question was the persistent howling of the dogs in the neighbourhood. Simon wished that he had the ability to make them stop. But he didn't. Not that he was aware of, anyway. He took off his shirt and placed a damp cloth on his face. The heat wave was slowly driving everyone out of their minds. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing, considering that no one could remember that it was he who raised Timmy from the dead. He wondered how much he actually had to do with any of it; both the resurrection and the people's convenient memory loss.

'Why am I so different?' Simon asked out loud. 'Why can I heal one person, and not another? Why do I have to know certain things about certain people?'

Simon took the cloth from his face and walked over to the mirror where he stared deeply into his own eyes. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'Why can you do these things?'

The mirror merely mimicked the same question, awaiting the same answers. Answers that didn't come.