Drew Hayes: Superpowereds and No More Ramen

Nicholas was waiting for a fresh drink when he spotted a familiar figure practically stomping through the casino below. A thin smile touched his lips as he charted the figure’s path while watching from his balcony. The figure was male, and he was a few days later than Nicholas had expected, though he was certainly moving with haste now that he was here. Nicholas briefly entertained the idea of letting security deal with the clearly irate man, then thought better of it.

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Sarah Eklemoore would have been a respected journalist, had she been born in an era when they still existed. Unfortunately she was spawned during the dawn of the internet days, and by the time she’d grown-up and passed through college the media had dissolved into little more than a constant, inane chatter of idiocy. Still, she pursued her career anyway, doggedly believing that with enough hard work she could restore a shred of credibility to her once prestigious field. Sadly her editors had little inclination for further Sarah’s dreams, nor tolerating her high-minded ideals.

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The hospital used a disinfectant that lightly stung the nostrils of all who smelled it for too long. Nine years later they would switch to a different one after discovering that two of the interacting chemicals could do long term damage to the sinuses of those who were exposed for long periods of time. The young man sitting in the waiting room could have told them that just from a quick sniff, saving them countless headaches, both literal and metaphorical, along with a couple of lawsuits.

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Owen sat one of the waiting room’s many reinforced chairs and flipped through an old Capes & Cowls magazine. It detailed the rise of one of the latest crops of heroes, fresh off their internships and making quite a splash in the world. Their costumes were crisp, their dialogue concise, their images squeaky clean. These were the kind of Heroes the world needed more of, or at least that’s the idea the reported lauded. These were the kind of wholesome, homespun, moral warriors that would take the lead in creating a new world, free of immorality.

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Owen sat one of the waiting room’s many reinforced chairs and flipped through an old Capes & Cowls magazine. It detailed the rise of one of the latest crops of heroes, fresh off their internships and making quite a splash in the world. Their costumes were crisp, their dialogue concise, their images squeaky clean. These were the kind of Heroes the world needed more of, or at least that’s the idea the reported lauded. These were the kind of wholesome, homespun, moral warriors that would take the lead in creating a new world, free of immorality.

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Brent tried not to fidget as the broad shouldered man scanned over the papers before him, turning the page every so often without so much as glancing at the nervous young man across the table.

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Brent tried not to fidget as the broad shouldered man scanned over the papers before him, turning the page every so often without so much as glancing at the nervous young man across the table.

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The knock on Professor Stone’s door was soft but firm. She glanced up from her paperwork to see Professor Baker standing in the doorway. She’d changed out of her teaching garments, effectively a more stylized version of the student’s uniforms, and was instead clad in a modest blouse with cream colored pants. Some professors chose to wear their own clothes all the time, this was their prerogative, but Professor Baker’s class could get a bit messy, so she opted to stick to the uniform when educating and keep her clothing costs minimal.

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Nicholas Campbell walked through the opulent lobby of the casino and tossed a set of car keys to a man in a red vest.

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The day of departure for the sophomores of Melbrook arrived to find a strained, gloomy atmosphere has settled over the dorm. Nick’s last message had left Alice and Vince with a lot to think about, both had retired that night without saying much to their fellow dorm mates. Come morning they’d all had breakfast together, however the affair had largely been silent one. Once eating was accomplished they’d all turned their attention to finishing the last bit of packing.

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Okay folks, so in my ongoing effort to become a better author, I often read blogs and talk to other self-publishing folks for tips and advice. Recently I got given an idea that seemed very practical and worth trying.

Come on then you cryptic mother fucker, tell us what it is already.

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Okay folks, so in my ongoing effort to become a better author, I often read blogs and talk to other self-publishing folks for tips and advice. Recently I got given an idea that seemed very practical and worth trying.

Come on then you cryptic mother fucker, tell us what it is already.

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Esme Stone sat with a damp cloth in her lap. It had previously contained ice to soothe a headache, now all that remained was a slightly-wet forehead and a well-soaked cloth. Memory alterations didn’t usually take so much out of her, but for all his insistence that the procedure occur, Nick Campbell’s brain had fought her tenaciously. She sipped a glass of ice water as Dean Blaine entered his office and took a seat. He was anxious to hear her report, but he’d still allowed her time to recover before interviewing her.

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Nick was sitting in the computer chair in his room, back to the window which showed just a hint of the dark sky outside. His sunglasses were still on his face, which made sense since this must have been done before everything happened. He wore his usual easy-going grin as he paused for effect, letting everyone adjust to the sight of him suddenly on the television screen. After a few seconds, he continued.

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There was a light knock on the door of Rich Weaver’s dorm. He pulled himself from his bed without much enthusiasm. After the day he’d had all he wanted to do was go to fucking sleep. The only silver lining was that his roommate had already left town, since he was not obligated to stick around for questioning on today’s fiasco. The official stance on who passed and who failed was that if you weren’t spoken to then you should assume you had a place to come back to next year.

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Mr. Numbers stepped carefully around the workers diligently packing away Nick Campbell’s belongings. They’d just arrived, but from the speed with which they were moving it wouldn’t be long until they were finished. It made sense, the HCP booted a lot of students in their freshman year. Having a competent moving staff would be an absolute necessity. Mr. Transport had agreed to teleport the cargo to Vegas once it was ready, at least they could save Nick the trouble of hauling it in his small car.

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“How’d it go?” Professor Pendleton asked as Nick emerged from the infirmary. The visit had been quicker than he anticipated, though Nick seemed considerably more upbeat leaving than he had going in. Certainly he was happier than he should have been, or than Professor Pendleton was feeling. In the year he’d been teaching he’d come to care about many of his pupils, however Nick was something special. It galled him to see his prized student being flung out the door, but there was nothing to do for it.

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Vince heard the door to the infirmary open softly, then close quickly. He didn’t bother opening his eyes or getting up from the bed where he was laying. It was time for another round of questioning. They’d been coming at irregular intervals to ask what had happened, what he had seen, why he’d done the things he’d done. No one really seemed to like his answers. It wasn’t his fault that the details were fuzzy though, it had been a hectic battle.

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Vince heard the door to the infirmary open softly, then close quickly. He didn’t bother opening his eyes or getting up from the bed where he was laying. It was time for another round of questioning. They’d been coming at irregular intervals to ask what had happened, what he had seen, why he’d done the things he’d done. No one really seemed to like his answers. It wasn’t his fault that the details were fuzzy though, it had been a hectic battle.

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“If I didn’t know better I would swear your real ability is creating giant shitstorms,” Dean Blaine said as he walked in the door. He was worn and weary, the last few hours had taken a toll equivalent to several days’ worth of work. Professor Pendleton was hot on his heels, shutting the door behind them as they entered. To his credit, Nick sat calmly at the table where he’d been restrained since the climax of the match.

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