Super

31 - pt 2 - My Knights In Shining Spandex

"We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."

― André Berthiaume

I probably shouldn't have been as surprised as I was. After all, I knew Ciaran had been bad the first time, but the second time? Really? When he'd taken me to Turkey and Iceland and now London, I had really thought things were looking up. I had really thought I was getting through to him... Guess not, because all of a sudden I had found myself dangling off of one of the tallest skyscrapers New York City had to boast: The Chrysler building. At 320 metres, death was guaranteed. How had we gotten here? Well the Invisible Hand had teleported us of course.

"WHY. DO. YOU. KEEP. GOING. BACK. AND. FORTH?!" I screamed, smacking him on the chest with each word. It was a little difficult seeing how I was dangling by one arm.

The Invisible Hand just threw his head back and laughed. "Oh Annie," he mused, his forget-me-not eyes sparkling with dark amusement, "it was never back and forth... just... forth," he smirked.

My eyes widened in shock before I let out a frustrated scream.

"UGH!"

"Well," he juggled me in his arms so he could pretend to look at his wristwatch, "this has been fun, but I really need to get going."

"What?"

"That's right, Annie. I'm going to drop you now."

"Wait– Ciaran!"

"Just shout my name a little louder, why don't you?" He hissed in my ear and then snorted, "just kidding. Nobody would hear you."

I let out a wailing scream. Ciaran's arms disappeared as he winked out of existence, but not before his hand had uncurled from my wrist.

And then I was falling...

What the hell was wrong with my life? Somehow I doubted there would be a Mr Incredible to tackle me through a window to save my apparent "suicide attempt". That's what it would look like, wouldn't it? With no super villain standing at the top of the building, people would think the stress had finally gotten to poor Annabelle Collins, just another kid trying to take on the world. What would happen to my friends? Something told me the public might turn on them, saying that teenagers weren't cut out for this crap. They'd have to go into hiding just like the supers in The Incredibles.

I remembered a conversation I once had with my cousin Hunter a few years ago. Aunt Teresa had enlisted me to walk him home from school one day because she was stuck at a board meeting and Uncle Clyde was away in Brazil on business. Upon seeing me, Hunter had gotten a little over-excited and sprinted straight into the road to get to me, narrowly avoiding getting run over. I had screamed and run to him, checking all over for any cuts or bruises. "Are you okay?" I had kept asking, over and over. But Hunter had other ideas.

"Why are you so afraid of dying?" He had asked me, tilting his head a little so that if I didn't know any better, I might have thought it was a serious question. "We all die one day."

"Well..." I breathed out, "I guess we always want more time than we have. When we're little, we're guaranteed a full life. You know? We're told that with modern medicine, we could live to be one hundred, and then here you are, about to get hit by a car when you haven't even lived past your childhood."

"Maybe people die for a reason," he suggested shyly.

I raised an eyebrow, "like what?"