playing: The Faint - Desperate Guys
The one thing he couldn’t forgive was that she killed Superman.
She had every comic book thrown out of the house. It was either him or me, she had pronounced with her hands on her hips. Without much say in the matter (Superman could not offer as many romantic endeavours as her, for obvious reasons), every issue, every beloved well-preserved issue was given away to avid fans; college students, little pimply boys, silent greying men, all reduced to Internet aliases of letters & numbers.
With a sudden fit, he angrily gulped his coffee, forgetting it was still hot. Okay, scalding. The burn down his throat was like the burn her memories made as he set them on fire. He thought of the annoying way her nose held up her spectacles; lazy & insincere. He thought of her snores, how she insisted on proper meals together, accelerating their relationship to the kind that usually required a kid or two, an affair & long awkward silences. How dare she replace his youth with family-man practice. The noisy way she ate, the sound the air made as it was sucked through her teeth & capped with her tongue. How she left her underwear around the room in pretzel knots, & bits of toothpaste lying around the sink. Her kisses were like throwing chicken nuggets to a lion. Her whine, increasingly nasal with time, turned from cute to qualifying for murder.
Fuck, just skimming the surface was enough. The loss of his Superman had awakened a clumsy version of the caped hero within himself. Sure, it was an inept & hastily arranged reincarnation, but it was there nonetheless, it became him.
He was torching her with his laser eyes as he flew higher & higher above and away from his kitchen into a world of reminisced hatred. He was beating her memory to a pulp with his infinite strength, fueled by bitter rage over the girl who butchered what little he had & loved then left him for dead. Why, he was even clad in his underwear.
Suddenly the phone on the table rang.
It called him back down, back from the sky into the kitchen into the chair. It rattled his coffee.
The burn on his throat was stubborn & still there.
“I take it back. Please. Come to Ireland with me. I don’t think I can go without you. For me. For us. You & me & no one else.”
Superman died again.
“… Okay.”



May 11th, 2007 |
I was surfing your haphazard archives and came across this post… love it! Funny idea.
August 27th, 2006 |
this was a five word challenge by my friend.
I think the words she gave were comic, Ireland, spectacles, college, and i forgot what else.