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“How are you feeling?” a voice asked.
It sounded familiar – friendly and welcoming – a Yorkshire accent. I opened my eyes. A kind-looking nurse fuzzed into view. Where was I? My whole world was spinning…
“I’m fine, but where am I?” I answered weakly, holding a hand to my head.
“You’re in hospital. You’ve been in a coma. Do you remember what happened?”
I thought hard. I had banged my head on the football field and passed out. Surely not enough to trigger a coma? That was the last thing I remember. Samantha kicked me the ball and I tripped, banging my head on the tree. I nodded.
I looked around the room, familiarizing myself with the ward. It had white walls and purple plastic flooring, with a mirror facing directly at me. I saw myself – or what was left of myself – but I had ghostly pale white skin though I was boiling hot from fever. A cheap painting of an angel sat above my bed, and next to my bed was a bedside table scattered with get well soon cards. I looked to the nurse. The word ‘Kait’ was carved into her nametag.
“I have to take your blood, to check it’s healthy,” said Kait, taking out a syringe.
I nodded again as she pulled gloves over her hands and began the countdown. Three, two, one… The needle broke at my skin. Kait gasped; shocked. She tried again. The needle didn’t even break skin. What was wrong with me?
“Ummmm… Natasha, can you hold this for me?” Kait handed me a 1kg weight.
It felt as light as a feather – like I wasn’t holding anything. But I knew I was, because I could feel the cold metal on my palm. Kait handed me another – it didn’t feel any different. Shortly after, I had 10 weights sitting on my palm, but they didn’t feel like they were even there. Was I the incredible hulk? No, because I wasn’t green, but I felt strong. Really strong. Invincible! Yeah, invincible! The strongest girl in the world!
“Remarkable, simply remarkable! The child is stronger than anyone I have ever met,” said the newt in a suit, Micheal.
We were all having coffee in the hospital staff lounge. Micheal was a specialist, but even he couldn’t phantom my sudden incredible strength. Mum and Dad looked worried, and me? I was just too busy lifting stuff: chairs, tables, people… the vending machine! It was amazing – I was never that strong before, and now it was like I was a whole other person. I might bang my head more often…
“How do you feel, Natasha?” became a common question for me. It wasn’t long before the press found out, and later that day when I went home with Mum and Dad, we were greeted by a hoard of reporters camping by our house. Microphones were constantly being shoved into my face, reporters struggling through the crowd; desperate to get an answer from the teenage crane. That was my nickname. I didn’t really understand it, but the reporters urged me to speak.
Until one day, when all my questions were answered…
The street was surprisingly empty, but the promise of reporters hung in the air. I peeked through the window nervously; knowing the peace wouldn’t last.
“Natasha, could you get away from that window, the reporters will see you!” Dad growled.
I sighed and stomped up to the sofa to slam myself down. It was so unfair – I wasn’t allowed anywhere anymore! Just in case the press saw me and created another riot. Hmmph. Like it was my fault the BBC ruined our ford focus? I didn’t ask for any of this to happen.
Suddenly, a knock on the door…
Mum crept to the spy-hole to see if it was reporters. She opened the door.
“Er, come in…” she said, shocked, as a cloaked man hobbled into the house.
His cloak was red velvet, and covered his face. He sat down and started speaking.
“I understand Natasha has developed a mysterious strength, no?” he said, “Well I have the answer to it all,” he paused to clear his throat, and began again, “Natasha has a gift that was triggered by her head injury, and that gift could benefit our society so much that I insist she joins St.Clements School for Heroes in Training, as soon as the new term starts.”
Huh? Who was St.Clement, and why would he train heroes? I didn’t understand any of this – but I knew one thing was for sure! I did not want to go to this school of his.
“NO!” I screamed, and started punching the cloaked guy.
I was furious for him telling me this! I WANTED TO KILL HIM. But my Dad dragged me to my bedroom where I was to stay all night. I cried and begged, but he was determined to listen to the man. I sighed, exhausted, and fell onto my bed…
Was this the end? The end of my human life, I mean. My parents decided to send me to this St.Clements place. They told me the minute I came down for breakfast.
“Morning, sweetie,” Mum greeted me happily as I emerged from my bedroom.
Ignoring her, I walked over to the fridge and took out a packet of chocolate pop tarts.
“Did you have a nice sleep?” she asked.
I shook my head stubbornly and shoved my pop tarts into the toaster. How dare she act like nothing had happened? She could never say sorry enough times for betraying me like this! Hmphhh. She of course did not tell me in person – neither had Dad! I woke up to a note on my bedside table, as well as a long gone cold mug of hot chocolate. I had drank it anyway, as I read my letter.
“Dear Natasha,
We know you are against the idea of going to boarding school, but we believe you should trust in our decision to make you go for at least one term. You can make your decision after that.
Love Mum and Dad.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X”
Next to the letter sat a small red leather book with ‘Your Guide To St.Clements School For Hereos In Training’ printed on the bind in silver lettering. I flicked through the pages to see lots of pictures. One particular one caught my eye: two girls around my age were sitting on swings hanging from a willow tree, and they looked as if they belonged at St.Clements. They each wore a grey pleated skirt, a dark blue jumper, a white blouse, knee-length blue socks and black lace-ups. They looked ridiculous. How could my parents expect me to wear this junk? No way. NO WAY!
Out came my pop tarts from the toaster. I grabbed them and took them over to the table; not bothering with a plate.
“You’ll really enjoy it there, Natasha. I just know you will,” Mum began enthusiastically, “Imagine! You could learn how to pick up whole skyscrapers! You could learn what every other little girl your age wants to! Doesn’t that make you feel special?”
No, it didn’t. I munched my pop tarts; still giving Mum the silent treatment. And then, I finally spoke…
“Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s out buying you all sorts of wonderful things for you for St.Clements! Have you seen the uniform yet? It’s very appropriate. I love it! There’s nothing there to distract those young boys! We’re very pleased with it,” Mum laughed as she busied herself with cleaning up my pop tart crumbs.
“Oh, yes, it’s simply divine,” I added sarcastically and ran into the lounge to catch up on my tv watching, which lately I haven’t been dong nearly enough of.
Later, my father – as promised – came back with a whole trunk of junk, and it was all for me.
“Seems a lot of money spent for one whole term,” I spat bitterly as he sat me down and showed me it all.
“Calm down,” he said, “Everything is free for this term – then if you decide to stay, we can buy it all.”
Some of the junk was really quite cool, actually, but I wouldn’t be bribed into this by high-tech sunglasses that make you see through walls, or tiny cameras the size of full-stops… I was a tough nut to crack that day. I still am. I’m stubborn as a big stain – refusing to hop off a skirt when you want it too most desperately. But when I finally did go to St.Clements, I enjoyed it! The huge manor-house of a school grew on me. I began to love the whole ‘superhero’ thing. And so, that fateful day came. The day when I decided weather to stay, or to go. I chose to stay – and I eventually went on to save the world.
The End.
- Title: SUPERHEROES<3
- Artist: LydBABES
- Description: Well, I wanted to know what you think of my story and I wrote it for all the Gaian's in the world 'cos I love ya x x x x
- Date: 09/08/2008
- Tags: superhero
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Comments (1 Comments)
- Violet Raye - 03/04/2009
- Lol! I was too busy lifting stuff: chairs, tables, people... the vending machine. Great short story!
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