The Author | Backstories #1

The Author | Part 1

Inspired By a Good Friend

"Okay so, hypothetically, if you were driven to your breaking point, to the point where you just snap and...become a supervillain, what would your power be? And what about your supervillain name?" Brock asked Jessica this simple question thinking her answer would be just as hypothetical...but he could not have been more wrong. Jessica was lost deep in thought; so deep, in fact, she barely even bothered to hear what his question even was. Her mind was wandering throughout the universe, thinking of its mysteries, it's hollowness, and even how something so vast and intricate could only have one planet with intelligent (or lack thereof) life. Her fingers tapped the arm of the lounge chair she was seated in, the tips of each of them pelting the material in a pattern so intricate most people wouldn't be able to keep it up for more than a few seconds.

"Jessica!" Brock snapped his fingers repeatedly in front of her face, the sound barely breaking her trance-like state. She shifted her gaze towards him and shook her head, shaking the feeling off. "I'm sorry Brock, you were saying?" She blinked multiple times, breaking the quick glaze that seemed to have formed over her eyes. He just stared at her for a moment, examining, pondering. "Where were you?" he asked. "What? I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. Brock and Jessica were exceedingly close friends; some would go as far as to say the best of friends. And they used to be. They told each other everything, and always had the strangest, most in-depth conversations. But lately this is what their friendship had been reduced to. In fact, that's exactly what Brock was thinking that very moment. No more telling each other everything, now avoiding questions and drifting off into contemplation. He couldn't help but get the feeling she was keeping something from him. And he knew it would be best not to push, but it was only a matter of time...only a matter of time before he couldn't hold back any longer. He had to know what she was hiding.

"What was the question again?" she asked. Brock rolled his eyes at her in an over-exaggerated way. The library they frequented, in fact the one they were in now, was unusually quiet. Besides them, only an employee and one customer, who most likely looking to obtain a new soul-capturing novel, were there. "The question," Brock began, pausing for dramatics, "was if you were to become a supervillain, what would your power, as well as your name be?" He was always so obsessed with superheroes, and villains, and anything that related to the two. "Hmm," Jessica pretended to ponder, acting like she had never given it any thought herself. Although, the fact of the matter is, what she was about to answer with, even if he didn't know it yet, was not as hypothetical as his question. It was reality. "It started on stage," she began.

~~~~~

Jessica was always making jokes, she herself thought they were downright hilarious, and almost always had a comical, witty comeback prepared for when needed. One day, after weeks of practically begging, she was invited to the local Comedy Club to do a guest stand-up show on stage for the audience. However, when she arrived, she saw that there were many more people there than she had previously anticipated. There had to be least a hundred, including the founders of the Club, who were well-known around the world for their comedy tours. Both of them sat behind a long rectangular table in the front, making it seem as though they were going to be official judges for a mere show. Nervousness began to take over, and her hands began to shake. There was a single bead of sweat streaming it's way down her forehead. "You can do this," she whispered to herself under her breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm herself. She pulled out her notebook, rehearsing all of her material to herself as the person on stage finished up. Once they did and she was sure she was prepared enough, she dropped her small purple satchel onto the nearest chair and walked up to the owners. The first one to speak was a large, dark man whom everyone referred to as 'Pak.'

"Hey there, Jessica," he said, his deep, booming voice echoing throughout the whole room. It sent shivers down her spine. "Ready for your segment?" he asked, arching his brow. She nodded nervously in response, and he directed her towards the stage. "When you're ready." She walked up towards the black platform, red silk curtains draped across as the backdrop. Stepping up and grabbing the microphone, she shakily exhaled, observing the audience, taking in the fact that all eyes were now on her.

After a few cheesy opening jokes, she slowly forgot about her nervousness and began to actually enjoy herself. She loved humor. She loved making people laugh. She believed that if you could make just one person laugh, you'll have made their day, even their lives, just a little bit better. But during her segment at the Comedy Club, there was no laughter. Not even one chuckle. But she was determined. Guess it's time to pull the rabbit out of the hat, she thought.

She had one particular joke that she had been working on for months. One that she was sure would kickstart her entire career as a comedian, one that would be known by all around the world as the single joke that can always brighten a person's mood, no matter how drowsy their day. In her mind, she had created the perfect joke. But once she made the decision to release her metaphorical child into the world, once it escaped her lips...there was nothing. A few sniffles were the only responses that could be heard...and her arms fell to her sides.

There were a few minutes of absolute dead silence as she stared out at the crowd, all of which stared back piercingly into her very soul. Nobody out of the hundred or so people in the room even cared to give her a pity laugh. The microphone slipped from her fingers, falling down and slamming right into the stage, the impact causing a resiliently high-frequency screech to cry out. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Running off of the stage, she grabbed her satchel and threw open the door, leaving the Comedy Club and forcing herself not to look back.