Lightning without Thunder

Seven of Swords

I am lying on my back on the motel bed, staring at the ceiling. The mattress is so old that I can feel the metal frame and springs inside. I follow the cracks in the ceiling with my eyes. I wonder if the ceiling was painted at some point. There appear to still be smudges of white paint on the concrete. I shudder to think of what else the smudges could be, if not paint. Best not to think too hard about it.

I roll over on my side and look at the mess I created on my nightstand. An open suitcase lies on the surface, with clothes haphazardly tossed inside of them.

Next to the nightstand stand two chairs that I connected with some string in an attempt to turn them into a clothes drying line. My soaking wet pyjamas and hoodies are draped over the lines, slowly leaking water on the concrete floor below them.

I grab my blanket and try to pull it over me. To my annoyance, the flimsy fabric rips if I pull on it, spilling the feather filling all over the bed. I really should have bought a new blanket too.

I carefully sit up and grab the remaining stack of money from the nightstand. Even after paying for the motel room and buying new clothes and a suitcase, there is quite a bit left. I absentmindedly start to count it. Not that I need to. I know exactly how much money I have left. Nine hundred and six pounds.

"Okay, Marissa," I think. "You are on your own now. You need to find a way to make money. You are on your own now. But you are a supervillain now. Making money should be easy."

I take a deep breath, and the disgusting air from the room fills my nostrils. Despite its problems, I still love this room. Because unlike my bedroom at home, this place is miles away from Mom.

I sit up, grab my phone, and decide to open X. Perhaps that will give me ideas for how to make money.

The top post today is a clip from a talk show featuring a musician I have never heard of before. Then again, I haven't listened to music in a while, so I might not be up to date with the latest trends.

The clip looks like the most basic talk show ever. The host ---I've seen him before but can't remember his name--- sits behind a wooden desk on stage, next to an empty leather chair.

I double tap the video and turn on closed captions.

The host smiles at the camera. "Tonight, I have a famous guest here. A week ago, nobody knew who he was, but today, people are fighting to get tickets to his concert. It is the one and only, Dragon!"

I scoff. "Really? I am trying to improve the world, and nobody bats an eye. But a random guy can become a musician and get famous overnight. Life isn't fair!"

I continue watching as a man rolls onto the stage in an electric wheelchair. He is wearing a bright green vest, pants, and shining golden shoes. His long blond hair is tied into a ponytail, and he has an equally long beard. His arms are covered in tattoos of many different animals. I immediately spot a dragon, an eagle, and a turtle.

He parks his wheelchair in front of the leather chairs and smiles at the audience.

"Hello, Dragon," the host tells him. "Thank you for joining us on such short notice."

Dragon laughs. "No, thank you for inviting me."

"Tomorrow, you give your first concert ever; am I correct?" the host asks.

Dragon nods. "I have played in front of an audience before, but never alone. And never for an audience this big. I honestly didn't expect so many people to buy tickets. My jaw hit the floor when I saw the sales figures."

"If you have no experience as a professional musician, why did you suddenly decide you wanted to perform on stage? And not only that, decide to rent a venue, equipment, and everything else using your own money. That must have been a huge risk."