Unsuperman - 6th Draft

Unsuperman

‘So, what’s in the box?’

Norman tensed and tightened his grip on the small package on his lap, immediately fretting even more that he had damaged the contents by squeezing too tightly. He was forced to remind himself that he wasn’t some lumbering hulk absentmindedly crushing things without realising. The box was perfectly fine.

The interviewer’s sunglasses slipped down from their perch above the ridge of his nose and he casually, but precisely, pushed them back up to their exact resting spot. Norman could make out the vague outline of himself in the reflective lenses. His bright orange tie looked even more crooked in the warped mirrors, though it still felt a tight noose around his neck. A stark contrast to his interrogator, who seemed to breathe easily enough despite the elaborate knot at his throat and a rigid grey pin-stripe suit.

From behind his desk, he looked as if he belonged amongst the furniture of the room - the tall steel filing cabinets, the chrome printer. Even his stapler shared a similar palate and disposition. The only non-metallic item in the room seemed to be the small wooden nameplate at the front of his desk - etched in sunken golden lettering upon it were the words Dr. Charles Lylak. Norman wondered just what kind of doctor he was.

‘What’s in the box, Norman?’ he pressed ‘I’m not psychic, you know’

“I.. well … you see …” spat Norman, choking on his words.

‘Norman, do you know why you’re here?’ The question was asked innocently enough, but the bluntness of the statement made Norman uneasy. There would be no dancing around it today.

‘Because I don’t have a position and a worker needs a position.’ Norman recited.

‘That’s right, Norman. Each cog has its part to play. Your role is just a little more difficult to unmask, given your … shall we say, faculty deficiency.'

‘I have no powers’ said Norman bluntly. ‘It’s okay to say it, you know. It is true.’

‘I’m afraid not’ said Dr. Lylak with a look of genuine sympathy, despite the straight-forward approach. ‘You are a most unique case, I must admit.’ He took off his aviators and rubbed his eyes. They shone a bright purple and Norman was hard pressed not to squint. ‘And how do we fit in someone like you?’

How do I fit in? It was a question Norman had asked himself many times before.

‘Open the box, Norman. Tell me what you see?’ the doctor asked, redirecting the conversation. The violet shine from his eyes saturated his face in an eerie glow.

Norman looked down nervously at the heavy cardboard box on his lap. He gingerly pulled off the lid and peeked inside. He reached in and fished out a small cylindrical object. It fit snugly into the palm of his hand, with a large nozzle protruding from the top of the can like the bill of some strange water bird.

‘What is it?’ asked Dr. Lylak.

Norman twisted the small, steel canister in his fingers, gingerly turning the plastic nozzle away from the pair of them. ‘Pepper spray’ said Norman ‘My mother gave it to me when I moved out’

‘What colour is it Norman?’ probed the doctor.

‘Purple. No, wait .. it’s black. Government issue. My father ordered is specially’ Norman inspected the canister more closely. Though quite sturdy, he was still reluctant to place his fingers near the trigger, afraid of some imaginary scenario where the pin suddenly falls out and it sprays right into his eyes. 

‘Do your parents worry about you, Norman?’

‘Sometimes’ said Norman, glancing down at the pepper spray. It wasn’t much of a deterrent against the super-powered individuals in his midst. His roommate Bill had even gone so far as to spray it into his own mouth, just to see what it tasted like. ‘South of the Border’ he had japed. What use was Norman with a can of pepper spray against someone like that?

Sometimes, I wish they’d just leave me alone.’ lamented Norman.

It was true, Norman’s parents were worrisome, but it had not always been the case. When he was born, they may have shown some slight apprehension about his lack of abilities - no strength, nor speed, nor laser beams. Not even a tail. But the doctors had reassured them that everything was fine and that many children don’t discover their powers until later years. So they brought him home and examined him like a Christmas present, trying to guess what lay beneath the wrapping. Would he be a Hydro like his father, Nathan Neptune, who could summon huge tempests with a flick of the wrist? Maybe more subtle powers like his mother, who could tell when somebody was lying or perhaps that was just a power all mothers have.

They grew concerned once Norman started attending school and was placed in the NVP (No Visible Powers) Class, with all the other children who had yet to find out who they really were. There was Harry Heartbeat whose organs began to function at an extraordinary rate. He was soon moved to a special class for speedsters. He went on to become an Emergency Responder, Norman recalled. Ellen Everlast realised she was immortal when a bookcase collapsed on her in the 3rd Grade. And there was Chloe Contiage, Norman’s childhood crush, who discovered she was a living bio-weapon when she accidentally infected Norman with Cholera through their first kiss. Norman had spent three weeks in the hospital, which he deemed to have been worth it. She too was gone upon his return to school. And so it went on, all the way through middle school, high school and university. His parents tried to mask their feelings, but as Norman aged the more he could see their growing anxiety over when he would develop his powers, until eventually Norman graduated from university with a Degree in Art - NVP. It didn’t bother Norman that much. He had always gotten by without any powers and he was sure he could continue to do so, but he hated seeing that look of disappointment in his mother’s eyes. So much so, he had moved out and found his own apartment, away from Cloud Quarter, the affluent begrudgers and government cronies. Away from all the nagging and pestering and disappointment. Somewhere where he was free to do what he wanted and not as he was told.

‘So you made your way out into the world on your own’ spoke Dr. Lylak, snapping Norman back to reality ‘How did you find it?’

‘Cold’ said Norman ‘And dark’

‘Mmmhmm’ agreed Dr. Lylak ‘Not everywhere is Cloud Quarter, you know’

‘Nowhere was like Cloud Quarter’ thought Norman, a vibrant mix of buzzing technology and staunch traditionalism. A blend of age-old culture and the dawn of a new millennium. Hover rails carried people through the cobbled streets and brick walls to museums, galleries and trendy bars.

It was a far cry from his new home. The run-down neighbourhood full of dilapidated buildings and foreclosed factories was like a beehive of illegal activity –drugs, theft, power battles, you name it. The area wasn’t safe but it was cheap and, for Norman, it was all he could afford without an official government occupation. A worker needs a position.

A glimmer of lavender shone out from behind Dr. Lylak’s sunglasses and a glass of water bobbed its way across the room. Norman pressed his precious box first to the side and then behind his back, away from the ebbing water as it traversed around his seat to the man in the grey suit, who caught it nonchalantly and took a small sip. ‘Here, have some water’ said the doctor. Norman turned to see another glass was resting by his shoulder, bobbing up and down like a piece of flotsam. Norman took the glass and drank deeply. He was quite parched.

‘Norman, do you know what my powers are?’ spoke Dr. Lylak before Norman had finished swallowing.

“You can tell when people are thirsty?’

‘Not quite’ he chuckled. Norman didn’t realise that men in suits could laugh. They always seemed so dreary. Well, those from the government anyways.

‘Norman, I can sense a person’s needs, their … desires, for want of a better word. I help them discover who they are and how they can be a benefit to our society. How can you benefit our society Norman?’

‘Well .. I’m a pretty good swimmer.’ offered Norman weakly.

“Hahum. I’m sure you are’ the doctor said gently ‘but unless you can swim faster than a man with a dorsal fin, then I’m not sure that Lifeguard is the best fit for you. No, no, no. Tell me Norman. Who are the people in your life? How are you of benefit to them?’

The room started to darken and take on a violet hue. Purple light shone off the chrome surfaces and refracted around the walls, covering everything in a plum haze. Norman pondered for a while. The people in his life? He had only ever seemed to disappoint his parents. He couldn’t even play underwater sports with his dad. Instead, he liked to sit in his room and read books or draw pictures. He remembered seeing the pain in his dad’s eyes as they were forced to move away from their house at the Lagoon and into a more suitable apartment in Starlight City. A swamp was no place for a growing boy with no powers. Was he really of benefit to anyone at all?

‘Look into the box again’ commanded the Doctor.

Norman again reached into the small cardboard box on his lap. He took out another shiny metal object and held it flat in the palm of his hand. The shining silver badge matched well with the metallic theme of the room, and it too reflected that same purple hue in the doctor’s office. Loyalty and Servitude was embossed upon the badge, the words bisected by a glimmering sword with a hilt shaped into a star.

‘That’s a Badge of Enforcement’ croaked the doctor, a little uneasily.

‘It’s my roommate’s’ Norman replied, a little sheepishly.

Norman remembered his first encounter with Bill, moving into his apartment down by the hover rail to the Quays. These weren’t the same glamourous golden hover rails of Cloud Quarter. No. They were the harsh, unyielding iron of the industrial rails, made for practicality, not aesthetics. Norman had found the apartment in a real estate app. The only match in his price range in the whole of Starlight City. He had followed the garbled description and directions to the apartment with great difficulty. There were numerous mistakes in the text and was quite out of breath when he finally arrived on Bill’s doorstep.

‘Welcome’ said Bill, with a big broad grin, ushering Norman into the apartment with firm hand on his shoulder.  ‘You’re a little late. I was just brushing up on my Spanish’ A daytime soap opera blared high pitched Spanish and dramatic background music echoed around the four walls of the room. Norman re-adjusted his eyes and scanned the living room as if it were a potential home. Like most apartments in the city, it was fairly sparse. Not many people in the area opted for well-furnished living quarters, where at a moment’s notice a neighbour’s sneeze could blow a hole in your bedroom. His eyes peeled over the cracking plastic veneer of the living room floor, failing poorly in masquerading as genuine wood, past the TV, with all its tangled wires and even more tangled Spanish love triangles, to a small desk in the far corner. On the desk lay a single object shimming in the sunlight shining through the window. Bill’s badge.

‘Oh, I see you’re an Enforcer’ said Norman. ‘That will come in handy when talking to the landlord.’

‘Yep’ said Bill, grinning ‘I like to be where the action is. Youngest Enforcer of Justice in twenty years. Younger than my Dad was even. You look beat. Here take a rest.’

Norman thanked him and sat down on the cream-coloured couch. It looked surprisingly clean and unused amidst the backdrop of the rickety apartment. Only the off-colouring from the sun’s rays as the shone through the window hinted that the couch had lain there for quite some time. Norman gazed out the large rectangular window. The view of the docks from this vantage was quite good and Norman could make out the silhouettes of the giant shipping containers, setting off into the sunset. It would make a fine painting and Norman envisaged himself standing there in the evening with his easel by his side, looking out into the expanse of the sea and forgetting about all the troubles in life.  It was a nice thought as Norman eased himself onto the couch. It was quite comfortable as he sank into it.

‘There were some mistakes in the directions’ wheezed Norman.

‘Really?’ said Bill ‘Sorry about that. Dyslexia. My only weakness!’ he chuckled’ Also, the keys on them damn phones are so small you just wanna laser blast the whole thing sometimes, you know?’

‘Not really’ said Norman truthfully ‘You could just use voice to text? Speak into the phone rather than type.’

‘Never thought of that before’ said Bill sheepishly. ‘I can already tell it’s gonna be fun having you around’

Norman relaxed and eased himself into the groove of the purple couch. He could tell he had found his new home. The violet rays of the sun shone brightly through the window and all of a sudden he was lucid and awake and back in the doctor’s office.

‘More water?’ asked Dr. Lylak coolly, pouring another glass for himself.

‘No, thank you’ said Norman, a little perplexed and still unsure of his surroundings. He grasped the seat of his chair firmly in a vain attempt to determine what was real and what was a figment of his imagination.

‘Calm down, Norman. Deep breaths’ instructed the doctor, placing the sunglasses back over his eyes. ‘Everything is perfectly normal. The process can be a bit intense for those of a .. delicate nature’

‘I’m not delicate’ stated Norman ‘Please continue’

Dr. Lylak smiled ‘It is most interesting’ he said.

‘What is?’ inquired Norman.

‘Well, most people see objects belonging to themselves. You have viewed an object belonging to another.'

‘What does that mean?’ Norman inquired, eager to find out his place in this world.

‘Well, it could mean a lot of things.’ Replied Dr. Lylak, disappointingly vaguely for Norman. ‘Do you wish you were an Enforcer? To help people’ The Doctor removed the spectacles once more and stared deep into Norman’s eyes. The bright purple orbs of his eyes flickered flashes of bright light blurred Norman’s vision.

‘No. I mean, yes, but not like that.’

Norman thought back to the one time where he actually needed an Enforcer’s assistance. They hadn’t been much use then. He had been working as a dishwasher in a local Italian restaurant. Illegal work. Everybody had to have an assigned government position and this wasn’t Norman’s. Due to his lack of powers, they were yet to find him a suitable one. Naturally, the pay was quite poor, but Norman was desperate to make it on his own. He didn’t want to go grovelling back to his parents for yet another loan.

The restaurant was particularly busy that evening. The owner, Mr. Acerbi, had a new promotional offer -  50% off spaghetti dinners. The restaurant was stuffed to capacity and Norman was backed up trying to scrub the greasy pasta residue from the plates. It was tedious, laborious work and he was straining to keep the mountain of dishes from pilling higher and higher as the evening pressed on ‘Curse this damn spaghetti’ he lamented to himself.

Just then, a pair of hands reached out and grabbed the plate right out of Norman’s hand and the dishtowel from the belt at his waist. ‘Move it or lose it, short stuff’ squeaked Johnny Forearms in his high-pitched voice, that always made it sound as if he was complaining  ‘Bossman says I’m to take over here’ bumping Norman aside. Johnny was relatively new to the restaurant, having been fired from his government position just a few weeks before. ‘What can I say’ he would often joke ‘I have sticky fingers. And lots of ‘em. Herr herr herr!’

He was certainly faster than Norman, his four arms working in unison, like a dish washing Rube Goldberg machine, washing and drying all at the same time.

 ‘Go make yourself useful, N’ he barked  ‘and go catch a rat or something. Herr Herr Herr!'

‘You sure we don’t have some kind of cat-lady to do that?’ retorted Norman dryly. At least he was free from the impeding avalanche of cheap china plates mounting up next to the sink.

‘Norman! Get your ass over here!’ bellowed Mr. Acerbi. Even above the raucous of a kitchen in full swing, his booming voice resonated above it all. Norman sprinted over to his boss, waiting impatiently by the two large swinging doors between the frantic hustle and bustle of the kitchen and the relaxing smooth jazz on repeat in the restaurant. He was a large man, as wide as he was tall, with a fast receding hairline shaping a Widow’s Peak atop his head. The lack of hair on his head was made up for with a bushy barrel chest, proudly showing through a halfway fastened salmon shirt. Norman often wondered if his power was the ability to grow hair where no man should have any.

‘You’re working the tills now, Norman. Tammy’s gone home sick. That’s what you get for eating at a competitor’s restaurant!’

So Norman set about settling bills with the customers, charging them credits and wishing them a lovely evening.

It was a lot nicer this side of the restaurant. Candles were lit in every booth, nestled on dark red tablecloths, matching the upholstery sewn and studded to the large wooden booths. Cool air from the air conditioner flowed through the room, dissipating the heat from the kitchen and the body heat from the throngs of people gathered together for their weekend soirees.

All was going smoothly until about 9pm. Though the restaurant was still full, less people were ordering food and had settled down to their desserts and evening drinks. 

Suddenly, a large man charged into the restaurant. He wore a black leather jacket and a poorly stitched balaclava over his head, as if he had cut holes in an old tea cosy and placed it over his head.

 ‘Hands in the air! Hands in the air!’ he screamed, brandishing a large white weapon. It was a government issue stun gun, strong enough even to take down a Level 1 powered being. The long grip of the gun extended out into two forked prongs like the jaws of a rattlesnake. Clacking sparks of electricity jumped between the prongs, hissing at the audience to heed their warning. Everyone in the room went still and arms bolted in the air. Johnny Forearms, who had been carrying a tray of pots back to the kitchen, yelped and thrust his four limbs as high as they could reach, sending the pots and pans crashing to the ground in a clanging symphony of  jarring metal.

‘The cash, now! In the bag’ He kicked over an old black sports utility bag to Norman. It smelled as if it had recently been used to launder dirty socks, and not money. ‘NOW!’ roared the thief impatiently.

Norman began emptying the register, waiting for a chance to press the silent alarm under the til. When the armed robber turned his sights on the customer’s wallets and jewellery, he had his chance. As discreetly as he could, Norman pressed the little white button firmly. Being a silent alarm, he had no idea if it had worked or not, but if it had, it shouldn’t be long before the Enforcers would arrive. He imagined his roommate Bill swooping in wearing his pristine black uniform and apprehending the perpetrator in a matter of seconds with a wisecrack and a cheeky grin on his face. Bill was Level 0, with multiple abilities and formidable power – super strength, super speed, he could even fly. The stun gun or the brandisher would be no match for him, Norman knew. It was just a matter of waiting it out.

Each second seemed like an eternity waiting for help. As the time ticked away, Norman grew more and more worried that no one was coming to their aid.  He looked on at the rows of customers, glued to their seats and petrified of their assaulter. All of them had powers, Norman knew. All of them could do something, but they’re all just too afraid.  That was the job for an Enforcer of Justice. It was not their position.

As the robber seemed to be collecting the last of the loot, Norman made his move. He reached for one of the largest frying pans dropped by Johnny Forearms and stuck round the booth the in an attempt to ambush the thief, thinking in vain of the canister of pepper spray left behind on the living room table.

As the robber rounded the booth, Norman pounced, the pan raised high above his head, ready to crack the assailant right on the head.

But the robber was too quick. The long forked arm of the stun gun shot out at a tremendous speed and caught Norman round the neck. His whole body spasmed as the electric shock took control of his limbs and sent him sprawling to the ground. His vision swam and he could see flashes of bright white light pouring into his eyes.

The bright lights changed a violet hue and suddenly Norman was back in the Doctor’s Office.

‘So was the thief apprehended?’ inquired the Doctor.

‘No, he … he got away’ said Norman, shaking his head, still with remnants of flashing lights in his eyes.

After the encounter with the robber, Norman had awoken sometime later to find the thief had made off with the goods and no one else had tried to stop him. The Enforcers were nowhere to be seen. Later Bill informed him that most of the Enforcers had been up in Cloud Quarter, where the Major was overseeing a Gala Event to raise funds for the CQU Museum of Art. They wouldn’t be following up the investigation. ‘Sorry, Norm. We’ve got more important things to do. Don’t have the time to pursue every petty theft down by the Docks’

‘Funny. You told me you wanted to be where the action was’ said Norman coldly.

Bill turned his head away. ‘You know how it is Norm. Gotta stick to my position’

‘Every worker has a position’ recited Norman once more.

‘You feel let down’ remarked Dr. Lylak, snapping Norman back to the conversation at hand. ‘by a system that has failed you somewhat’

‘I think the system has let everyone down’ Norman replied ‘People are just following orders, being told who they are and what they should be.’

‘And you hope to rectify this, Norman?’

‘I .. I don’t know’ Norman stammered. ‘Maybe’

He knew what he wanted to do now. What he always wanted to do.

“So, tell me, Norman’ Dr. Lylak encouraged ‘ What’s in the box?’

Norman looked down more surely at the innocuous cardboard box on his lap. He firmly pulled off the lid and looked inside. Norman looked into the box and saw the truth, what he was meant to be. He emptied the contents on the desk. Hundreds of drawings and comics he had made came pouring our onto the chrome desk.

‘I want to be a comic writer’ said Norman proudly. ‘I want to inspire people’

‘A writer’ repeated the doctor curiously, grabbing the closest comic. ‘Tell me Norman’ he said

‘What is a superhero?’

While technically this is the 3rd upload of my draft, it has undergone so many re-draftings and changes that I felt I was doing it and myself a disservice by simply stating that this was the third draft of the tale and ignoring all the hard work that had gone into it. One version of the story, which I liked quite a bit had an alternative ending, but again had fallen into the same pitfalls of focusing too much on Bill and not on Norman that ultimately, I scrapped it in favour of this piece.

I tried to anchor the story around the doctors office and the character of Norman, limiting it only to his point of view. I felt it worked much better this way and the story can flow a lot easier. The flow is also aided by the extra scrutiny but into to chopping and editing sentences and sequences so that they gel together much more freely.

Overall, I felt this version of the story is much better. The story flows well and there is a clear protagonist to the piece as opposed to the first few drafts. I still feel the scale of the piece is a bit too large to be condensed into a short story and you can see elements of the larger picture trying to break free, particularly in the last 'vision' Norman has. I could have simply made Norman working at the register from the start but felt it lacked credibility really and that the scene needed more depth. 

The final scene does seem  rushed but overall I think it fairs better than the clunky exchange between Bill and Norman from he previous piece. 


Reducing Bills role to a minor part ultimately proved much better for the tale. I really liked him as a character, and to my undoing I kept going back to long dragged out emotional torments of Bill in my various drafts, which hindered the story quite a bit. Perhaps I will revisit him, but for now the story has to focus on Norman. 

I tried to nail down the imagery of the various places and items using the descriptive exercises from our weekly tasks. Having clear scenery and objects really helped make the world feel more real.