5. Self-Control
As it turns out, self-control is not in the slightest bit "easy."
I guess the trouble originates with the fact that I can't tell if my hands are giving off electricity. Well, kinda. If they are giving off a large amount, they spark, tingle and do other highly noticeable things. However, I when I can see or feel nothing they could still be giving off enough electricity to do damage.
It sucks.
Then, I have a brilliant idea. I climb up upon my bed and carefully unscrew my bedroom's light bulb from its socket. I then relax back on my pillow and hold the bulb by its metal screw. It lights up, of course.
"Gah!" I exclaim, shielding my eyes. Damn it's bright. I uncover my eyes and look to the side, trying not to stare directly into the light. Too bright. I need to turn it off. When I find out how, of course.
I take a deep breath and try to force myself to be as calm as possible. From the countless movies that I have watched, I have noticed that most superpowers are fuelled by anger, emotion or general excitement. My power and I would most likely not be an exception to this rule.
Calming doesn't help, so I decide to try out some good old fashioned willpower. Turn off light, turn off, turn off... But the light still shines as bright as a second sun in my hand. Damn, it's not working. Turn off, turn off... I chant this in my head for several minutes straight before giving up and realising that it's gonna take more than repeated words to get this under control.
So, it's time for the next trick. Visualisation. But there's only one problem. I don't know what to visualise.
After about five minutes of trying to visualise tendons and veins and stuff, achieving nothing, I let my mind wander back to my earlier fight with that villain. The finishing move I did on him, shooting electricity outta my hands was reflexive – which means I did it without meaning to or knowing what I was doing, just the other two times I had done as such. I still have no idea how I managed to do this. Besides, that's not what I am trying to attempt right now, anyway. Quite the opposite, actually, when you think about it.
But, at the start of the fight I did manage some form of visualisation. I did grab his leg and imagine a lot of electricity flowing into it, which ended up working. But, my hands were already sparking like crazy before I grabbed his leg, so I'm not sure if it counts. And, once again, it's the opposite of what I want to achieve.
The opposite, huh? I grin, suddenly realising that I have an idea.
I try to imagine the opposite of electricity flowing into something, if that makes any sense. I try to imagine the energy flowing through my hand and into the light bulb as a river, one with its floodgates not wide open, but about a quarter of the way. I imagine that opening them would cause more electricity to flow out, like a river, but I don't actually do this, because I imagine that doing so would overload the light bulb and have disastrous consequences, like, say, making it explode.
Bad idea.
So, instead, I imagine the gates slowly closing, damming up the river. The flow slows to a trickle and the light from the bulb starts to fade and flicker. Trying to contain my excitement and keep my control I continue, until the gates fully close. The bulb stops shining.
"Yeah!" I say, pumping my freehand in the air, but during my lapse of concentration the bulb glows bright with light again. Damn. I focus again, and the light slowly disappears.
I sigh, and sneak a glance at the clock. Is it ten already? I moan and place the bulb carefully on the bed beside me, before standing up and deciding to put it back in its socket. I suppose I better sleep now. As it is with every weekday, there will be school in the morning. And maybe, if I'm lucky, there might even be some ass whooping. Then I laugh. Haven't I whooped enough ass this week already?
The next morning I'm loitering around on the school grounds with Josh, waiting for class to start, when I decide to show him some of my self-control. I ask him for his hand, and naturally, he refuses.
"Nuh-uh! You're just gonna shock me again," he exclaims, with a firm headshake.
"Seriously, dude, last night, I taught myself self-control. Well, sorta." I smile at him reassuringly, but he just steps back a little bit.
"What! Can't you find some other way of showing me that doesn't put my life in danger?"
"What! It's not that dangerous." I cringe. "I'm not going to accidently kill you!"
He looks at me suspiciously. "Are you sure?"
"Dude, if I wanted to accidently kill you," I layer a bucketful of sarcasm on the word accidently, "I would have already done so."
"Well," Josh snorts. "That's reassuring." He scratches his chin for a second. "Okay, how about this. I'll let you prove to me how you can touch me without shocking me, if you let me do some tests on you, to try and find out what your other powers are, if you have any."
"Can I be promised that these tests don't involve pushing me in front of a car or off a building?"
He sighs and holds out his hand to shake on it. "Fine. Whatever." I grab it and he lets go and jumps back immediately. "Hey! I thought you weren't gonna shock my hand!"
"That," I grin mischievously, "doesn't count."
The bell rings loud in our ears at the volume of jet engines, and he grins at me. "Ha! Saved by the bell!"
"No fair." I moan at him and he gives me a wicked smile in return.
"Race to class?" He grins like a maniac, and then, before even bothering to wait for my answer, he takes off. I sigh.
Neither of us are Olympic speed runners. But, in the athletic school sprints, Josh manages to always rank in the top three, where my highest placing has been a steady twelve. With his generally greater running speed and his head start, I know the chances of me overtaking him and beating him to class are pretty slim. But I leap off the ground and bound after him anyway.
He reaches a set of heavy wooden doors and roughly shoves them open. This slows him down and I have the advantage, managing to slip through the gap as they close. Still a few metres behind, I bound on, ignoring the weird glances being shot at me from the other students as they hastily jumps outta the way of me and Josh. We sprint by a group of giggling girls as they gossip and sort through their lockers and they drop their books in surprise as Josh sneaks in a flirtatious wink as he passes, and I sneak in a much less flirtatious but no less daring, eye roll.
We run on, fully ignoring the one of the golden rules of school, the one that outlaws running in the hallways. So it was a twistedly ironic sense of fate/karma when Josh manages to bound around a corner, and right into the over-stretched pot belly of our stern, discipline-keen and above all, overweight headmaster.
"Stop right there boys!" he yells. But it's not like he needs to, as his oversized gut does the job for us as we skid right into it. His foul breath scorches our faces as we look up and only find ourselves inches from his nostrils. "Detention!" He bellows, with the same fury that one would command a war party. We groan. "You boys know better than to run in the hallways! For that, I'll be taking your lunch breaks." We groan again. Lunch breaks are the only breaks, and as any student does, we pride ourselves in valuing them. "Now get to class!" he orders. We groan again and slump our way down the last few metres of corridor.
"He's such a dick." Josh mutters.
"We were running in the hallway." I counter. Josh looks at me and sighs.
"Whose side are you on, anyway?"
That's a good question. A very good question.
Later that afternoon, I find myself outside a costume shop, sheepishly looking in the window. It's a commonly accepted rule that all supers wear a suit – whether they be villains or heroes. As I have no intention of sitting around on my ass and continuing to live a normal and danger free life of boredom, I figure that I may as well get some kind of outfit.
In lots of superhero movies, there will be a scene at about this point in the plot where the hero, using some random spandex material that appeared outta thin air and his rather manly sewing skills, makes his own suit. I think it's kind of an emotional part of the plot. The hero makes his own suit, he becomes one with the fabric in a way that can only be felt by the more mundane after a heavy round of illegal substances. Well, okay. Maybe I'm kidding with the last bit.
But because I find myself to be a rather an un-emotional guy, and because I have no desire to show off my manly sewing skills by stabbing myself in the face with a needle, I find myself walking into a costume shop on a warm and sunny afternoon in March.
And also, consequently, find myself walking out several seconds later, upon remembering a very important fact: I didn't bring any money.
Delaying the several block walk home, I find myself loitering around the area, feeling fate ready and action ready, but mostly feeling like an idiot for forgetting to bring any money.
Ah. Life is fun.
After a few more minutes of pointlessly staring at the sky, I turn towards the west and start wandering towards home. I only get about a block before fate, once again, finds me. Or rather, I find it.
The sound of commotion alerts me, and I turn and walk in the direction of the noise. Which, just so happens to be, a shady and creepy alley. Honestly. Can't the petty thieves and other gutless bad guys find somewhere less cliché to do their dirty work? Get some much needed creativity, please.
Down the alley, I find the source of all the noise: Two shadowed figures, facing each other in the muted light, neither aware of my presence.
The one closest to me is tightly clenching a hand gun, the nozzle pointing right into the aged face of the other. The gun wielder's yelling, and I think it's safe to assume that, whatever he's asking for, he's not doing it nicely.
I suppose it's time to be a hero again.
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