AntipodeanSF - "Mr Woe" by Shei Tanner

Shei Tanner is currently working overseas and has previously been published in Shadowbox e-anthology, AntipodeanSF and Flashspec Vol 2.

"I don't want to die, Doc. Not exactly. Well, not forever, anyway. I mean, it's not like I haven't tried. I just need a bit of stress relief, some sympathy, y'know? I get so tired, like I'm on repeat. Like it's a syndrome. The other day, I had to blackmail myself to save this kid from a fire. Save him, I said, or get fat. Yeah, been feeling that a lot lately, but I can't just quit, y'know? It's a life-time job, not the job of a life-time kinda thing.

"But the others, they don't seem to feel this. It's like they always wake up on the white side of the line or something. You think Superman's only weaknesses are Lois and kryptonite? It's all about psychology, man! They hate me. No, no, it's true. They think someone like me shouldn't be seeing someone like you. It is okay for me to be here, ain't it, Doc?

A shuffle and a squeak of leather. "Of course it is. Everybody needs an outlet."

"Exactly! That's what I tell'em. I mean, sure, we all got problems but I'm not like the others, Doc. Most of them know where they're going and why they're doing this. Me? I'm a failure. I'm driftwood between ocean and sand. I wanna lose the Name but I don't wanna disappear. I guess I just want someone to tell me I'm a special guy, regardless of the Secret Identity."

"You are special — "

"I'm not as well-rounded as Kent. I can't divert my sorrows in riches like Wayne, y'know? I've tried talking to my friends, but Wolverine won't answer my calls and that Parker kid pretends he doesn't know me; even the Hulk avoids me. The others hang out at some exclusive club, y'know, like some clique. Guess what it's called: The Super League! Can you get any lamer? They never invite me, they hate me.

"And why does Bond get all the movies? He's a fop and a fake, and human. I can't see why he's better than me. I stopped that Museum heist back in '98, thwarted the President's assassination, shielded those school children from an oncoming bus. No one's approached me about anything. I mean, I'm willing to play a sidekick. Or how about this: you've heard of the anti-hero, right? Well, what about anti-superhero, eh? Eh? What do you think of that?"

The timer beeped cheerfully.

"Okay, now remember to practise those phrases in the mirror, Mr Woe, and please take your medication this time. Will I be seeing you next week?"

"Yeah," he said, dejected. "Yeah, thanks for your ear, Doc."

Doc didn't see him out; he'd just keep talking otherwise. She shook her head and flicked through her notes: Disillusionment. Depression. Inferiority complex. Delusions of grandeur —

— Doc started at the awful shriek of tyres screaming along concrete. There were two impending seconds of silence before impact found and crashed against metal. Doc rushed to the window, worried that harm had found Mr Woe. Or worse, vice versa.

Outside, Mr Woe lay on the road, a disjointed ragdoll flung metres away from the demolished automobile. The driver and surrounding pedestrians were a hubbub of shock. But Mr Woe stirred, lifted his head groggily and peered down at himself. He got up. He patted his head, his chest, his legs.

All was well. Alive and intact.

Doc heard him say, clearly: "Damn it!"

Mr Woe kicked the fender and stalked away.