Superheroes are Stupid

04

They say time heals all scars, but that's a lie. No matter how much time passes, you never get used to the absence of someone who was always by your side.

My dad was the best father in the world. I might be biased, but it's true. He was a civil litigation lawyer, and a pretty darn good one too. At least, that's what I gathered from the occasional fruit basket or homemade pie he would bring home from his grateful clients.

He always had the biggest smile on his face when he came home and saw me waiting for him on the porch. Even though he worked long hours and was always tired by the time he got back, he would run to me, pick me up and kiss me on both cheeks while I laughed in his arms. It was the simple moments that I loved the most, like waking him up in the morning with kisses while he pretended to still be asleep so he could get more.

I was lucky to have ten years with him. Ten amazing, blissful years before he was cruelly snatched away from me, right in front of my eyes. Not by a supervillain or anyone of the sort, but by a superhero—one who was celebrated for his victory, and who never had to face the consequences for breaking up my family.

People seem to think that superheroes can only do good—that they're always good just because they have the right intentions, but intentions aren't everything. Intentions can't bring a person back to life.

If only they could, right?

My melancholic thoughts fade once I spot the florist shop I regularly go to come into view. Best not to look grim and upset when Rick's around, or he'll get worried. Rick is the owner of the florist shop, and I'd be lying if I said getting to see him isn't one of the reasons I come here so frequently.

I open the gate, and the bell attached to the door chimes when it swings close behind me. The familiar scent of fresh leaves and flowers greets me as I walk through the rows of open, wooden shelves lined with various plants. The place looks a little busier today, and I look around, hoping to spot the man.

Thankfully, it's not difficult to find him. Two young girls are speaking to him, each holding a different plant and presumably asking him for advice on which one to get. Although, from the way they're staring at him, eyes filled with stardust, I gather they're not really listening to what he's saying. I don't blame them. It's hard to not get drawn in by his silky, deep voice, his wavy jet black locks, or his gorgeous smile.

Not wanting to disturb them, I take some interest in looking at the potted plants near me. Might as well search for the next child I want to adopt. I've been thinking of getting one to hang from the ceiling, so a plant with longer tendrils would be ideal. I spot some ivy a few steps away, and go over to take a look. Not that I'm really interested in getting one though—I already have two pots of those at home.

"English ivy again?" I hear footsteps to my right and my head snaps up, my eyes finding bright yellow irises.

As always, my brain manages to short-circuit every single time I speak to Rick. Beautiful men always trip me up like that somehow. Fortunately, I've seen Rick enough times that I can recover my speech and rational thinking within two seconds. "And get teased by you a second time? I don't think so."

He laughs, the sound as refreshing as the afternoon summer breeze that caresses my cheeks. "Good call. I can show you many better alternatives."

"Maybe another day," I tell him. "I just came here to collect the white lilies I ordered."

His smile falters when he remembers. "Ah, right. Sorry, I forgot. That would explain the black dress. It looks good on you, by the way."

"Thanks," I say, feeling warmth creeping up my neck. I had just picked out a plain black sleeveless dress from my closet today, and a pair of black pointed flats to match. Not really an outfit I'd expect a compliment for, especially when I didn't really bother with much makeup today.