Bolt

1| Some Days Are Worse Than Others.

It was ten years to the day since I stopped being a superhero.

Instead of going out to celebrate like a normal person, I stayed at home and drowned myself in prescription pills—they were the only friends I had. They kept my powers at bay and offered me an escape I never thought I'd get.

I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling while the TV's brightness lit the living room. The news was on, and a female reporter talked about a group of criminals who had escaped GATORS after killing fifteen guards.

Good for them. I stared at the fan's rotating blades as they picked up speed, leaving my drug-fueled mind bewildered. This is some magic shit.

Today was also the fifth anniversary of my mother's death. She died in a grocery store when she went to buy fruit. The cops said it was a robbery gone wrong.

A victim of circumstance, they had labeled it.

I knew it was a lie.

I stole the footage from the store's security cameras and checked to see what had happened. None of them had shown any sign of a robbery.

The cops had assured me the clerk was in on it too; that he had deleted the footage before they checked it.

I couldn't ask the clerk if what they said was true.

He was also dead.

The cause of death? Two bullets to the head.

By whom? The cops, of course.

The reason for his death? Apparently, he tried to flee the scene. When the cops caught up to him, he shot at them. In retaliation, they killed him.

How convenient for them, as always.

A knock on my apartment's door took me out of my thoughts. I ignored it at first. A few neighborhood kids recently learned I used to be a superhero and started bugging me for selfies.

They said, "Selfies with ancient heroes got them a lot of likes."

Likes, that was what mattered to kids nowadays.

When the knocking persisted, I realized it wasn't them. The kids usually cursed at me after a few knocks before leaving.

I wasn't expecting anyone; it was midnight. My neighbors knew not to bother me, and my coworker didn't know where I lived.

With a sigh and grunt, I got up and headed for the door. My legs wobbled from the pills' effects, and my joints cracked with each step. I unlocked the door.

Officer Diana Lopez of Tombstone Police: Peculiar Division stood in front of me, her sharp green eyes staring into my soul. A small rainbow with unicorns running on it floated above her head. The drugs were in full effect tonight. This should be fun.

"What do you want?" I asked.

She wasn't in her red and gold uniform that highlighted her hourglass figure, instead, wearing a white tee-shirt and blue jeans. Her long dark hair—usually tied in a ponytail—rested on her shoulders as if she came from shooting a hair commercial. She held a coffee cup in one hand, and a brown paper bag in the other. My stomach groaned, and my tongue salivated from the smell coming.

"Can I come in?" she asked with a grin, as if that would convince me. "I brought food." She raised the cup and shook the bag—the fries inside rustling.

Alright, now that was the best way to convince me.

I stepped aside, letting her enter.

"What's that foul smell?" Her brows knitted and lip curled in disgust when she saw the mess in my living room. Kha! Someone wore their judgy pants tonight. Judgy Diana.