Ficly

Heat

The Daily Planet, electronic edition, flickered across his duct-taped Kindle, which after a decade of abuse struggled against a failing battery and a display pocked with scratches and grime. The news? Nothing new. People out of work. The city in a state of depression, citizens’ anxieties filling the air. A hot spell taking over the continent, lethargy trumping larceny leading to idle lawmen.

Not much for Superman to do.

He tossed the Planet aside. It knocked over a few unfinished cans of beer and a box of donuts. Superman ambled to the police radio and scanned not just the city’s frequency, but those of the capital. Then of other countries.

Nothing. Well, nothing other than cops swapping stories of their kids, their wives, their mistresses. The now familiar sound of grown men laughing. Again, nothing new.

Natural disasters? Gone.

Crime? Vanquished.

Evil dictators? Hasta la vista.

Superman opened the window, sucked in his belly, turned on the fan.

The day would only grow warmer.

This story has no comments.