The Sympathetic Beginnings of a Misunderstood Yet Assuredly Evil Super Villain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Martin has the terrible curse that comes with his sight, how he uses it is up to him. 8/18/14
The Sympathetic Beginnings of a Misunderstood Yet Assuredly Evil Super villain

Submitted: August 19, 2014

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Submitted: August 19, 2014

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 Martin awkwardly turned his gaze up at Suzan. She was on top of him, causing his back to press flat against the plush bed. Suzan wore a lustful mask on her face, though Martin could not rightly tell as his vision through his thick glasses was vague and blurry. She felt nothing for him, truly, and if she had, the feeling would involve pity. Peter had put her up to this. It was a joke on the mole-  the crooked teen boy who never could catch a vixen like Suzan if he'd had the world's largest butterfly net. She chuckled at her own metaphor, it being not quite right. Then the thought came to her that perhaps she was not a fox and the boy was not really a mole, a thing to toy with. Maybe they were really both cocooned butterflies under the same net, and he needed her help to emerge. She looked at Martin for the first time, she really looked at him, studied his round features. She wondered what he really looked like, what he really felt like. Suzan pulled her hands away from Martin's thighs and placed them on either side of his face.

 Martin was now afraid. He did not need to properly see to know what was about to occur, and he dreaded the inevitably following events. He closed his eye lids, squeezing his features together in a hope that no danger would come from his beautiful golden eyes. He felt the heavy frames of his glasses lift away from the bridge of his nose. Still his eyes were shut. Suzan cooed at the boy, the butterfly, to not be shy, and at last Martin could no longer find the will. His eyes flew open and for but one moment he saw with absolute clarity the auburn haired, ruby lipped face over his. He felt a wave of her love rush over him, true and overpowering. He shut them again quickly, though the damage had been done.

 Martin reached for his glasses, and upon putting them on his vision became once again heavily burdened. He opened his eyes, looked at the chalky shapes he saw around her room; the outlines of dresser, chair, ceiling fan a-whirring; and knew he was alone. And Martin felt utterly alone with his awful, awful curse.

 Clumsily he crawled off the bed to the floor. He began to weep, big wet drops filling his glasses and spilling down his cheeks, heaving big gulps of cold hostile air. Martin had promised himself it would never happen- not again. Every one he had once loved became a victim of Martin's vaporizing stare. He was alone. Gathering himself, drying his tears on Suzan's bedspread, Martin left the room with surprising composure. He made it halfway down the stairs when the vehement noise of the party reached him. Suddenly able to hold himself no more- as he hadn't been able to avoid looking at her- Martin's sadness turned to grieving anger! He let out a profound yell as he tore away his glasses, and the whole room looked to him, then no one was looking at Martin. There was no one at all.

 Still, the mole looked on, staring at each wall in the house, stripping the photos, the wallpaper, then the very structure with his eyes. The house was gone and he moved to the entire neighborhood, streetlamps and sidewalks disappeared as if they had never once been there. When he was finished, all that lay before Martin was a desolate, flat brown landscape, surrounded by the dark clear sky of early morning. He could do more, Martin could, though he had lost heart and now felt nothing, not even shame; though that would certainly make an appearance later and linger for the rest of his life. He would have been glad for the numbness. Martin returned his glasses to shield the rest of the world from his pair of evil golden weapons. He faintly wished to be home, and so in that direction Martin wandered.

 Morning sun had come, air brisk and pleasant to the skin, Martin encountered no one else on his saunter. He entered a gated area, once a community, though now only a lone metallic mansion remained. It towered over the flat barren earth, which was starting to repopulate itself with various weeds and flowers. Martin blindly waved his arms about, searching, and they found their mark on the front door of his fortress. The fortress recognized the feeling of its master's hands, firm yet soft. It was glad he was home, and was eager to present how it had tidied itself and made its master's bed and warmed his breakfast. The fortress opened its doors for him, and remained silent as it had ever been, as it had no voice- only soul. The fortress never felt alone when its master was near, even though he had destroyed all of the other homes, the fortresses' nearest thing to kin. The fortress felt, yet, that it did not need kin, only the master, and it would be forever happy to care for him and be there for him in silence, and he would know how the fortress loved its master.

 Martin ignored the spotless living area, ignored the eggs Benedict in the little bowl and plate piled with French toast, and the wine glass brimming with cold milk that was beside them. He plopped into his bed without noticing the fresh smell or the particular fluffiness of his pillows. Nearing his now yearned for slumber, Martin had a thought. He had always tried to remain benevolent, and O' had that worked for him! So now he would try a new thing. Of all the fourteen long years of his life, never had Martin wanted a thing other than to rid himself of his curse. Yet his curse has gained his riches and his solitude. It had evaporated every other annoyance of Martin's. It would always continue to do so. Why not have some fun with it? Martin's life was always going to be short- his genetic condition would make sure of that, and he realized that he should indeed live to the highest point. That is when Martin decided to use his curse- no his powers- for a dark, dark intent. He grinned a villainous grin. It was going to be a blast.

 


© Copyright 2020 Madison Thomas. All rights reserved.

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