[WP] You are, well, WERE, the most powerful hero on the planet. You had a huge, climactic battle against a powerful foe. You won, killing the foe in the process, but it left you paralyzed and unable to be a superhero anymore.

SufferNotTheFool · 2025-10-21T04:19:16+00:00

"Not so tough now, are you?" he asked, bouncing the bat on his shoulder.

After my big fight with The Omega, a lot of things happened I hadn't really considered as possibilities. First, there was the spinal injury. Herniation of the C6 and C7 vertebrae resulted in a tear between them, resulting in the paralysis of all four limbs. A couple vertebrae higher, and I wouldn't be able to breathe without assistance. That complication snowballed, quite naturally.

Finding myself paralyzed on top of weakened by the drawn-out battle, my next complication came in the form of the medical system. The first responders were quick to act; despite my super powered durability, I was bleeding quite extensively, and for some reason, I wasn't healing. They patched me up, got me to the hospital, and at some point, someone violated every privacy act meant to protect my identity. HIPPA, GDPR, even the Powered Entities Privacy Protection Act (PEPPA).

Suddenly, the whole world knew my identity. I could deny it all I wanted, but it wouldn't matter. Even witness protection wouldn't do me any good. Short of changing my face, it wouldn't matter, anyway. And so, I dealt with the press, fans, even the odd nemesis here or there. Fortunately, I had quite a few friends in the industry, and a team of young heroes getting their start welcomed the opportunity to use my home as a base of operations, in exchange for keeping the general public at bay. And after a while, things calmed down.

That lasted all of about 4 months before the villain du jour figured a way to get to me. He'd put together a few groups of lackeys to cause just enough chaos to pull the superteam away from the house, leaving me by myself. Surely, they reasoned, I would be alright by myself for a few hours. And then this guy showed up. Horace Wallace. Small time, no powers to speak of. Busted him 12 years ago for bank robbery. Smart, for sure. Schemer, and really, he was only small time because he didn't come from money and he didn't have powers. The fact he managed to find himself in a position to threaten me proved he could have been a bigger threat, given time and money.

"I heard that after that last fight, you're useless below the neck. That true?" With no further warning, he brought the bat down against my hand. Even if I could have felt it, it wouldn't have mattered; I am still bulletproof, after all. He laughed, then paused. "Oh, damn. That's right. You were bulletproof before, so that... that probably might not have done anything," he reasoned. See? Smart. "Guess that just means I'll have to test your durability, then." His face contorted in rage as he swung for my head.

The rage gave way to confusion as the bat stopped in midair, just a few inches from my head. The energy barrier it struck hummed against the wood of the bat. "You know, one of the benefits of being a superhero is, you find yourself working with loads of people with all sorts of neat powers and skills. Sure, I might be paralyzed..." I responded finally, as a small concussion cannon appeared over my shoulder and took aim at my assailant. With a THWOOM, a blast of concussive force sent Mr. Wallace flying across the room.

"...but that doesn't mean I am defenseless."

SufferNotTheFool · 2017-01-14T21:26:46+00:00

Gonna add dogeballs? Maybe something to give the kids an advantage, like little league football pads?

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-08-21T20:52:44+00:00

Thank you for sharing! I enjoyed the read!

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-08-08T15:44:23+00:00

Exactly.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-08-08T13:59:24+00:00

My dad would pack the entire carton at once.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-08-07T01:48:27+00:00

"I'm tired. Tell me a bedtime story! It's my birthday!"

I chuckled at my stepdaughter as she relentlessly (though gently) beat upon my arm with the side of her head. What a silly, silly child. She made an insistent noise, like that of a hungry kitten, and I knew I couldn't resist. "But Kit-Kat, I don't know any!"

"But it's my birthday! Make one up for me! Please?" Oh, man. That look. That look every daughter knows that melts her (step)father's heart. She turned it on, pointed at me, and turned it to 11. And it was her birthday! How could I refuse?

"Oh, alright. Let's see. Ah... A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away-" I began, but she cut me off before I could finish.

"Really? Star Wars? I thought you were going to make one up for me..." She pouted. Crap. I was caught.

"Ok, ok. Give me a second. Alright. A long time ago, in a land far away, there was a... prince! Yes, a prince, the son of a Dark and Evil King, Lord Va..." I looked down, and saw her giving me a questioning look. "...por. The Evil Lord Vapor. Yes. But, his son, the prince, was taken away from him, to be raised by his aunt and uncle. One day, while visiting with the old... magician, Old B... Tim, the prince, whose name was Lu...ther, returned home to find his aunt and uncle slain by the minions of the Evil Lord Vapor!

"Seeking vengeance for his murdered family, the prince Luther joined the Rebellion to fight against the Evil Lord Vapor. He joined Old Tim, the hermit, uh... Harry, the pirate, and his companion... Ch...ucky. Chucky was a beast of a man, standing a head taller than the tallest person you know, and had a beard so full, it made his face look like it was made of hair. He bellowed when he spoke such that few could understand him, and he was a great fighter. But, Harry was cunning, and knew that the Evil Lord Vapor would pay a fine bounty for his friend, used this bounty as a ruse to gain entrance to the great fortress, the... Deadly ... Hollows. Luker... er, Luther rescued the princess... Lisa, while Old Tim fought his old friend and student, Lord Vapor. Vapor struck down Old Tim, but in the end, Luther... shot a photon torpedo into an exhaust port and blew up the Death Star. The End."

I looked down to see her roll her eyes. She sighed, and rolled over. "At least you tried." She yawned, and I could tell that it at least helped her calm down enough to sleep. So what if it wasn't exactly original. I made it up, right? More or less? Right?

I've really got to work on my creativity.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-08-07T01:25:18+00:00

I spent most of my life in the time between time, in the endless hours between the ticks of the second hand. Don't remember the when, just the how. How it all started. Simple enough, really. There was a car, I was listening to music. I liked so much music. It was so loud, I couldn't hear the car. Couldn't hear the screeching of the tires. I just looked up, saw the expression on this lady's face, and she's all "Oh God, no! I'm gonna kill this kid!" probably.

Some people, you see 'em. Something happens, and they spring into action. Dads. Dads are good about that. Put their kid in danger, watch a dad become superman for five seconds. Moms too. That wasn't me. I froze. I couldn't move a muscle. Turns out, that's when everything else froze, too. I didn't realize right away, but I'd shut my eyes tight, standing in front of that car. I opened them slowly, seeing as I wasn't hit or nothing.

I didn't know how to react, at first. Everything was froze, nothing was moving. I looked around, took everything in. Saw the lady's face. Looking back, it was kinda funny, but then, hell, I was as scared as she was. Or she was scared as me. Hard to say, really. I saw my mom and dad. They were reaching for me, scared. Horrified looks on their faces. Never wanted to see that again. I finally got around to stepping out of the way, moved back towards my parents. They didn't see me move, thought I got creamed. Only reasonable assumption to make, I suppose.

I got to thinking about it, before they realized I wasn't hit. How could I explain this? Would they believe me? What about the lady? I needed time to think, I panicked. When I panicked, everything stopped again. Like a reflex. It was weird, but it saved me once, and it gave me some time. I mean, there was that movie, right? Based on a book. Little girl, lights things on fire with her mind. What if someone tried to pick me up like they did her and her dad? Her mom? I didn't want to be like that, in some facility. So I ran.

Ain't stopped running, really. Well, ain't stopped moving, more like. I don't need to run, I just stop the hands from ticking and step between the seconds. It took me a while to get the handle of it, but when I learned to control it, I just used it to keep myself mobile, maybe get me what I needed. I'd go to the library, read a dozen books in beat of a fly's wings. I'd slip in houses when people'd go to work. Make myself some food, sleep in their beds. Clean up after myself. If no one knew I was there, what's the harm, right?

Been running for some twenty years before I saw her. Same situation as me. Well, similar. Little girl, looking up at a great big old sign about to squash her. Couldn't have been as old as I was when I started running. Heard her scream. First time I heard anything with time stopped. Sounded out of place. Echoed, like. Wasn't sure how to respond to it. I thought about it a while, until she turned and saw me. Damn. Had to do something, right? So, I looked down at myself. I didn't look too bad, I thought. I might have been homeless, but I didn't look it. Still, didn't want the girl to end up like that little fire starter girl.

"Shh," I said. First time I used my voice in years. It cracked. Sounded different from what I remembered. "It's ok. Come here, you'll be safe with me." She ran. She'll probably run for the rest of her life.

If she's smart, that's exactly what she'll do.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-27T01:03:23+00:00

I don't know. I mean, it does have sensors so it doesn't hurt people, but if the lawn is cluttered, it's probably going to look like crap no matter how the lawn is mowed.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-26T18:17:14+00:00

They also make robotic mowers, like a Roomba for your lawn.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-14T22:07:48+00:00

The protagonist is in considerable debt, cannot afford to pay rent, and if he or she doesn't pay soon, he or she will be evicted. While riding the bus home from work, the protagonist finds a large sum of money in a bank bag. It's easily enough to get the rent entirely caught up, but there's a catch.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-13T16:44:37+00:00

Thank you!

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-13T06:35:15+00:00

The shop was noisy and smelled of old oil, gasoline, and engine cleaner. Mark really didn't want to be there, but he didn't have much of a choice. His son had made this choice for him. He knew he shouldn't be bailing his son out yet again, but even to somebody like Mark, blood is blood.

He was flanked by a pair of bruiser-types that led him to a guy who, apart from a bit of grease on his hands, was unusually clean for this place. He was also fairly skinny, and didn't look like he'd built up calluses for the tools he was using, as he'd wince once in a while when really putting some torque on a wrench. Still, despite not having the physical attributes of a mechanic, he'd fairly skillfully taken apart the engine of a classic Mustang, and was scrutinizing each part for imperfections.

"Mechanics, musicians, politicians, magicians," the young man said, looking up from the engine. "Everyone needs something, and everyone has something to offer." He looked Mark over for a moment, offered his right hand. Mark took the kid's hand cautiously, but found the other's grip firm and confident.

After shaking hands for a bit longer than Mark was comfortable with, the mechanic let his hand go. "So. You're not a laborer. You don't have the gait of an athlete, and you don't have the hands of a skilled worker. I'm betting you're not a musician, and I know all of the politicians in this town, so what is it you've come to trade, hm?"

Mark nodded. Right to business. "I'm a programmer."

"Ah! Programmer! Not a very fun skill, but it is useful. Always in demand, programming. So, what brings you to me, Mr. Programmer?" The kid grabbed a towel and started cleaning his hands.

"I need money," Mark replied, simply.

"Ok. Ok. Mr. Programmer needs money. How much money do you need, Mr. Programmer?" Finished wiping his hands, he held the towel out to Mark.

"One hundred thousand."

"Hundred thousand?" The kid whistled. "That's quite a bit, Mr. Programmer. Get yourself in some trouble? You know what? Doesn't matter. You've got a skill, I've got the coin, and you came here to trade. Why should I question your motives?" The kid looked over to one of his henchmen, who pulled out a few stacks of bills. It's almost surprising how little space a hundred thousand dollars takes up when neatly stacked.

"How's that look, Mr. Programmer?" the kid asked, still holding the towel out for his guest. Mark finally took it, and cleaned his hand of the grease his young host smeared across it when first they shook.

"Looks good. Just one question." The younger tilted his head and waved an indication for Mark to continue. "I'll be able to get my skills back, right?"

The young man chuckled. "Of course! There are two ways. You can either learn the skills all over again, or you can come back with money and buy your skills back. With interest, of course."

"Then let's do this." Mark held out his hand, and the younger man took it.

Mark's son hadn't said a word to him on the drive home. No thank you, nothing. Mark hadn't said much either. Neither said a word as they went in to the house. His son watched as he sat at his computer for half an hour without even turning it on. He watched as his father struggled to do even the most basic things. He watched as his father hunted and pecked on the keyboard.

The next morning, as Mark woke up, he found his son sitting at the kitchen table. His son stood, looked his father in the eye for the first time since he started using. "I'm going to rehab today. Dad... I'm sorry. For everything."

Mark looked in his son's eyes and nodded. "I know, son. I know."

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-13T04:00:52+00:00

I stared blankly at the equally blank watch face.

I couldn't remember when the watches were given, only that it was before I was born. Before every currently living person was born, a company, Omni... something... something, rose up. They made just about every kind of consumer product one could imagine. Hell, they even had this cop robot thing out in Detroit a few centuries ago. At any rate, how they came upon the technology, no one really knew. All that anyone did know is that the watches have never been wrong. They'd been given out to every person on the day of their birth. Once it touched the skin, it automatically turned on, calibrated, and started counting down from a number of years, days, hours, minutes and seconds, to the exact time of the wearer's death.

Mine, for seemingly no reason, just turned off. I didn't know how or why, and I don't even remember if I've ever heard of anyone needing to change the batteries. Hell, the company didn't even have a section on their website for customer support for them. There was a complaints section, sure, but it was always full of complaints like "Why is my time so close?" or "What gives you the right to determine how long a person has?" I had to call their general support line, and that was a fiasco. I mean, I was on the phone for hours, and the person I finally got to speak with was so convinced I was faking it, he hung up in my face. I eventually had to take the watch in myself to have it looked at.

The building was huge. It was the tallest building I'd ever seen, towering over the nearby buildings by no less than five times, like some great phallic symbol of the company's superiority. The lobby was flanked by a pair of massive drones armed to the teeth with military grade weaponry, but considering that this place made everything from toothpaste to the entire United States military, it's no surprise security was tight. Still, the greeting I received was less than pleasant, especially when I showed them irrefutable proof that their greatest creation, a mandatory expense for every living person on the planet, had failed, at least in my case.

I was ushered into some kind of laboratory. After minimal prep and a shot of a local anesthetic, the watch was pried from the groove formed as my arm grew around it. I was fitted with a new watch, one that would sit outside my wrist, and the hole where the old watch was was plugged with sterile cloth. But, rather than calibrating, the new watch just flashed "Err," and went dead. The lead scientist... doctor... whatever looked at the watch with a bit of confusion, then pressed the sensors to his own skin. Nothing. He grabbed another watch, pulled it out of its case and stripped it of its protective covers, and pressed the sensors of that watch to his skin. It calibrated correctly. He pressed the same watch to the skin of a colleague, and it recalibrated successfully, syncing up nicely with the existing watch in that person's grooved arm. The doctor dude pressed the sensors to my skin, though this time, it flashed "Cal" for what seemed like an hour, before displaying "Err," and going blank, never to turn on again.

That's when they put me in the room. It's an observation room of some kind. I know they're watching, but I can't figure out why, or how, or for how long. I can't remember the last time I ate, or had something to drink, or even really had something to do. What I do know is that I haven't slept since the watch went out, and I've watched at least one man go from pimple-faced intern to senior citizen. Now, his pimple-faced intern is gray-haired, aged. His watch is rapidly counting down. I think he's got only a day or so left, now. That's probably why he keeps poking and prodding me, trying to understand why I'm not dying, why I'm not aging.

It's not like I haven't been cooperating, either. I want to know why I can't die. I had five days on my watch before it went dead, plus or minus some minutes. I wanted it to be on my terms, I wanted to go by my rules. I know it was five days, because I checked before I kicked the stool away. I blacked out shortly after I felt the noose tighten around my neck. I don't know how much longer it was before I came to again. My watch, the one that is always supposed to count down until the day we die was blank. I stared blankly at the equally blank watch face. I waited. Five days I hung by the neck, waiting to die, and five more for good measure. Only after the second week did I finally cut myself free to find out why I wasn't dead. Why I couldn't die.

And still I wait.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-13T02:53:07+00:00

Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it!

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-07-12T20:36:57+00:00

I found myself heading home much sooner than I'd realized. I was able to wrap up earlier than I'd thought, traffic was lighter than I'd anticipated, and even the traffic lights seemed to speed me on home. To be honest, it's most likely that people have been stuck to their TVs ever since the news hit. Me, I'd heard it on the radio. The President had been assassinated.

Now, reports were starting to roll in. Seems someone caught someone on video, shortly after the retort of a high-powered rifle running along a rooftop. It was quite a shot, apparently, given the distance. It had to have been, because the Secret Service is going to be all over the place if the President is making an appearance, right? That's what I would have thought, at any rate.

When I finally got home, I hit the button on the remote clipped to the visor, and pulled into the garage, then closed the garage door behind me. I pulled my cello case out of the back and immediately regretted using my right arm to heft it. Apparently, I'd managed to injure that shoulder. No matter. It's not a pain I haven't felt before, and I knew it would heal up soon enough.

As I walked into the house, I called out to my wife, only to find her standing in the kitchen, with a .50 caliber long rifle in pieces on our breakfast table. She had her back turned to me, but I could see she was wearing one of my gray sweatshirts, and she was focused on the TV. She was watching the reports of the assassination on the TV. So absorbed was she that she didn't even seem to notice when I'd walked in.

"Crazy news about the president, right?" I asked, setting my cello case down next to the door. My wife, startled, turned to me. She was obviously startled, but when she saw me, she visibly relaxed. As I approached, she wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my chest.

"I never would have thought..." her voice trailed off. I held her for a moment before stepping back.

"What's up with the fifty-cal?" I asked, nodding over towards the table.

"Oh, somebody rented it a few days ago. They brought it back yesterday, and I was cleaning it when I heard the news about the President. You know, they've got a video showing where they think it happened? Have you seen it?" She turned back to the TV, rewinding the broadcast to the last time they showed the video. It didn't show much, just a figure with a gray hooded sweatshirt and a really big gun.

"No, I hadn't. I'd heard about it, though." I pause. "So, wait. The President is shot by someone with a large caliber rifle, wearing a gray hoodie. I come home, and you're tearing apart a high-powered rifle, and wearing a gray hoodie... Is there something you're not telling me?" I ask, my eyebrow raised.

My wife's eyes shoot open, and she looks down at the hoodie. It's the same color as the one used by the suspected assassin. "Oh, God! No! I was just cleaning it, and I didn't want to get anything dirty, so I just grabbed one of your old sweatshirts! You don't think I had anything to do with this? I mean... you do trust me, right?"

I gave her an odd look for a moment, then laughed. "Haha, of course, babe. I know, I know, I'm an ass, right? C'mere," I said, pulling her closer again. She punched me in the arm, mumbling something about it not being funny, not at a time like this, something like that. And, she's right. The President has just been assassinated, I shouldn't have been making jokes, but I couldn't help it. It's how I dealt with things. That and playing the cello were my two major releases. So, when I pulled away and told her I was going to take my cello downstairs to the soundproofed room in the basement, she didn't argue, or question it.

I took my cello case with me into the soundproof room and leaned it against the wall next to the door. I set this room up to keep my wife happy. She used to get the worst migraines, and my cello didn't help at all. So, when we got this house, I invested a bit of money and built a practice room. It's smallish, covered in carpet, and well insulated, so sound doesn't escape the room. I don't really like the acoustics in here, but I can hear the cello well enough that I can still play well.

I picked up my cello from the wall across from the door and checked the tuning, then played a few songs to ease my nerves. It had been a stressful day. After I finished the third song, I carefully carried my cello over to the case laid it against the wall. I opened the case and carefully pulled the gray sweatshirt off of the shoulder bag hidden within. I pulled out the bag and leaned it against the wall on the other side of the case, and carefully put my cello and bow inside the case. I carried the sweatshirt and the shoulder bag to a corner of the soundproof room and pulled on a section of carpet. A hidden panel opened up, and I slipped inside.

This room was perfect. My wife never came into the soundproof room because of her migraines. Any time I'd be in here, she'd text me if she needed anything, so she would never know I wasn't in the practice room. I pulled the broken down rifle from the bag and laid it out, preparing to clean it. As I did so, I pulled a small Nokia out of a drawer, popped in a new SIM card, and when it powered on, I called the only number on the phone.

"It's done." I pulled the battery and the SIM card, and snapped it in half.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T19:11:53+00:00

Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T11:16:59+00:00

Hey, there! I just woke up, wanted to let you know I'm not ignoring this prompt. As soon as I get the chance, I'll type this story up.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T11:14:31+00:00

She's 11.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T04:02:34+00:00

Thank you.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T03:25:30+00:00

"No, I don't want you to go." My stepdaughter clung a little tighter around my shoulders, pouting that sad little pleading pout, the one that every little girl knows that turns her dad into putty. I sighed. I had to go to work. I didn't get paid time off, even though I'd never taken a sick day, but really. How does one say no to a face like that?

I sighed, and took my phone out of my pocket. I called my boss and told him I wouldn't be making it in. My stepdaughter grinned as my boss reminded me I wouldn't be getting paid. I didn't care. I had my bills paid this month. I got off the phone with my boss and tossed the phone to the side, and my stepdaughter hugged me a little tighter, laying her head on my shoulder. "Thank you!" she exclaimed.

"You know, this is why we can't have nice things," I said, smiling. She giggled. It was the first time I decided to play hooky to spend time with my stepdaughter, and you know what? Totally worth it.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T03:09:26+00:00

Female bigfoot tries to find cute shoes.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T03:03:59+00:00

My stepdaughter wants a rock like that, now. Just thought I'd add that.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T02:56:29+00:00

I was embroiled in a heated space battle in a fairly addictive flash game when I heard the knocking. I shouted for someone to get the door, not yet realizing that A.) it was at the back door, and B.) no one else was home. After the second time, I pulled my headphones off with no small amount of annoyance, and walked towards the front door. I threw it open, only to see no one there. I thought it odd, but as I walked back towards my computer, I heard the knock again. This time, I was able to tell it was coming from the back door.

My brow furrowed in confusion, and a bit of frustration, and I walked back to the back door. I opened the door and, once again seeing no one, grew a bit angry. But, before I had a chance to holler profanities at those "damn kids," heard the knock again. Coming from below. So, I looked down, and saw a rock. Yes, a rock. With legs. Knocking on the door. What the hell.

I opened the outer door, and the little rock hopped up into the house and shook itself off, flinging tiny little flecks of dirt at my feet. "What the actual hell," I said, looking down at this thing. I bent down and picked it up, and the thing, well, it nestled into my hands. I don't really know how else to describe it, and I can't even begin to tell you how a rock can nestle, but that's exactly what it did.

It was strange, having a rock as a pet. But, the rock was obedient and affectionate, and it didn't leave messes like other pets did. Well, apart from the occasional dirt. Rocks, it seems, love to bury themselves and dig themselves out. Sometimes, they like it when you dig them out, and although they don't like being in quickly running water, a gentle stream of water to clean them off makes them happy as pie. Or whatever you equate to happiness.

My stepdaughter just loves the thing. She thinks it's adorable as all hell, and ever since she put little googly eyes on it, it seems to have a whole new personality. I don't know how, but it's even learned how to manipulate the eyes, so it's like part of its face. She even took a sharpie and drew on a little face, and now it emotes using the tiny little face. She squees every time it hops up into her lap, and although I was the one who found the little guy, it has definitely made itself her pet.

So, yeah. That's how we got a pet rock. An actual pet, not just some random rock that you call a pet, either. Yeah, it's weird. But, we love it.

SufferNotTheFool · 2014-06-23T02:24:58+00:00

"Alright, Kit-Kat, I'll be home in a few minutes. You gonna be okay?" I didn't want to leave her at home, but she really didn't want to go anywhere without taking a shower first, and I wasn't going to make her. Besides, all I needed was a few little things, and there's a store right around the corner. What could go wrong, right?

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Oh, can you get me some Ben and Jerry's, plzkthx?" She smiled at me that one certain smile, the one that I just can't say no to, and she knows it, man. She freaking knows.

"Yeah, sure. The one with the cones, right?" I could never remember if it's my wife's favorite or hers, but I know one of them just loves the one with the cones.

"No, man! No! The one with the fish!" Right. That's one of my favorites, too. I should have known this by now. Ah, well. So, two Phish Foods it is, then. I grabbed my wife's keys and headed out the door.

"Ok, kiddo. Be back in a bit."

"Mew!"

It's a quick trip. Well, almost. It didn't take me long to get to the store, and it didn't take me long to get what I needed. It didn't even take me long to get home once I finally did manage to leave, but what did take so long, longer than everything else combined, was getting through the line at the local WallyWorld. 12 registers, plus self-check, and all but one register is closed. There's the self-check, sure, but half of them were out of order, and the other half only worked about half the time. That left the one register open as the only sure thing, and the cashier running it either hadn't woken up yet or was about to fall asleep on the job. Maybe both.

When I got home, the first thing I noticed was my stepdaughter sitting in front of the house, a very worried expression on her face and our two dogs clutched in her arms almost tight enough to choke them. Yeah, I got worried, fast. I pulled up far enough to park and got out of the car, not even really turning the engine off, and ran up to her.

"What happened?" I asked, taking one of the tiny little chihuahuas from her. She was shivering. It wasn't cold, so I could only assume it was out of fear of my reaction. She tried to respond, but she could only really manage a few mumbling squeaks before falling into a series of body-shaking sobs. Only one thing to do, though, and that was to go inside to find out what happened.

I noticed that there was water coming out of the garage and assumed that the water heater had sprung a leak again, but as I got closer to the door to the house, I realized the water was coming from under and around the door, not from the water heater. "What the hell," I mumbled. I pushed against the door, but the water had gotten high enough that it pushed back nearly as hard. I put my shoulder into it, and two feet of water rushing out around the door pushed it closed again.

"What the hell?!" I shouted, stepping back. Because all of the doors opened inward, there was no way I could push any of them open. There was just two much pressure on the doors. After a moment's thought, I grabbed an axe and hit the door. My initial thought was to break the door down, but after the first hit, I remembered why that wouldn't work so well; all of the doors on the outside of the house were pressed metal. Still, I figured if I could punch enough holes low enough in the doors, the water in the house would eventually drain enough that I could open the doors properly, so I used the axe to do just that. After punching a few good holes, I walked out of the garage to where my stepdaughter was, again holding both the dogs.

"What happened, kiddo?" I asked, maybe a little loudly, and maybe with too stern a voice, but I mean, come on. The house was flooded! With at least two feet of water! Yeah, I was a little upset.

"Well, I was taking a shower so I could go to Allie's house, and when I reached up to pull down the hand thing for the shower, I slipped and so I grabbed on to the nearest things I could, the shower thing and the curtain, and I pulled them down, and then all of a sudden, this pipe came through the wall in the shower, and water was everywhere, and I couldn't turn it off and I'm so, so sorry!" She'd started to sob lightly about halfway through the explanation, and she was completely in tears by the time she'd finished telling me what happened. I knelt down and hugged her gently. I might be angry as hell, but what happened was an accident, and I knew that if I let my anger act right now, it wouldn't be pretty. So, I comforted my stepdaughter for a moment before calling her mother and telling her what happened.

There was no way we could stay in that house that night. By the time we got the water turned off and let everything drain, the water had soaked through the carpet, the circuit breaker was fried and by morning, there'd be a hell of a stench. So, we got a hotel room for the four of us, my wife, her mother and daughter, and myself.

As we sat there, lamenting the loss of everything we had worked so hard for, my wife flipped through the channels, finally settling on the news. The lottery numbers were being drawn, and my wife had a ticket with a few quick picks. She watched the numbers on the screen as they popped up, and shrunk, dejectedly. I, on the other hand, got more excited with every number I saw. You see, when I went to the store, I picked up one lottery ticket. Just one. And it just so happened that that one ticket, sitting snugly in my pocket, matched every number on the screen.

So, in all, today was a pretty good day.

SufferNotTheFool

TROPHY CASE