Scott Mason: Gay Superhero (boyxboy)

Chapter 7

I hit the ground with a hard thump, my tattered costume doing little to shield me from the splintery wood that grated unrelentingly on my skin. I flopped defeatedly, letting my arms splay outwards. The laptop rested peacefully on my chest as if nothing happened.

I blinked. This time, I was surrounded by moonlight and rocks, and the sound of water lapping gently on a shoreline, wetly slapping along. I groaned, picking up the laptop and sitting upright. I looked at my arms and legs, which were not burnt themselves, but the terrible condition of the clothing made them look terrible. I pouted as I pulled the abused material off of my upper half. I examined my surroundings quickly, but saw nothing but grey mist. Great. It was nighttime and I was surrounded by water.

A silhouette appeared in the dim light and took form as it jogged closer. Pitch came out of the shadows, tossing a set of clothes at me.

"You know, you're kinda stupid." He blatantly started. I snorted, picking up a shirt and squinting at it in the crappy mist.

"Santa Monica Pier?" I asked exasperatedly, like this happened every day. I looked at the getup that he gave me. Flip-flops, shorts, a thin t-shirt. There was even a pair of Santa Monica sunglasses. Was I suppose to look like I just got pooped out by a billboard, meant to be a walking advertisement? Every bit of clothing had the words 'Santa Monica Pier' on it. Thinking about it, though, that would explain why I was on wood.

"Did you really expect that you could just prance in there like you owned the place and take whatever you want?" Pitch's shadow danced wildly and animatedly on the wood of the pier as I set the laptop down and started to get dressed up as a walking commercial. I slid the sunglasses in my pocket as a final gesture.

"Look," I stared at him menacingly, if he could even see my stare in this darkness. "It's not like I knew that Blanch would be there!"

"Well you should have!" He cried out.

"Well, you should have," I mimicked, slipping on the blue flip-flops. I knelt down next to the laptop and gingerly picked it up. It was sleek and black, extremely light, and very small. There was no brand, so it was either removed or the laptop was of someone else's making.

"And that," Pitch annoyingly whined, his voice cracking, "Is mine." He reached for it, and I slapped his hand away like a mother punishing her child for stealing.

"No." I chastised, pushing him to the side and walking down the pier. The boards creaked woodenly and noisily beneath my feet, the eyes in the wood staring unrelentingly.

So what if the Blanch guy was there? He was just...well...he was just a man, I had cool superpowers!

So does he, a small voice said.

I stopped abruptly when Pitch appeared in front of me and grabbed my shoulders. He shook me wildly, almost making me drop the laptop. "You," shake. "Could," shake. "Have," shake. "Died," shake.

"I. Don't. Care. Right. Now." I shook him off, walking faster off of the pier. I needed to get to dry land.

"Oh yeah, act all big and bad, will you?" Pitch shook his hands behind me.

"Whatever," I called out behind me. There was a poof, and then a searing heat by the back of my thighs. Mist swirled around me. I stopped, looking back at the charred pants.

"Did you seriously just shoot fire at my ass?" I asked, my anger flaring up like fire, crackling like electricity. I glared hard at his shadow, large in the darkness.

"Did that get your attention?" He scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Praise The Lord!" Man, he was frustrating!

"Quiet," I growled, the mist around me sizzling. I felt this burning in my chest, this fire catching and taking hold. It glowed hot in varying degrees, from sunny yellow to blood red to blinding white. Nothing was left; everything was overtaken by the all-consuming fire. I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes.