instinctively to hit the snooze button, bringing on the first pangs of discomfort from his exceedingly sore muscles. All at once he felt it throughout his body, and he longed for the return of that brief moment of sublime ignorance upon first waking, before the body remembers the state it is in.
This marked the fourth straight morning of muscle fatigue, once again growing even more painful than the previous morning, a feat he would not have thought possible before experiencing the awful truth. Mark dropped his arm back to the bed, which failed in its quest to silence the alarm clock music. The music had become the lesser of the two evils, and he would willingly endure its blaring wakeup call if it meant he did not have to lift his arm again. Mark made sure not to do any heavy lifting the day before, in order to rule out exertion as the cause of his pain. He had hoped to find the cause on his own, or that it would go away naturally, but he began to fear that a trip to a doctor may be necessary. His father was strongly against taking time off from school for any reason, and this was only Wednesday, but he was not sure he could survive until Friday at the rate he was going.
Mark heard the front door slam shut, and despite the uncertainty of whether his legs would hold him, he slid them off the bed, and proceeded to force himself up. Loud noises roaring into his ears he could bear, but his father’s anger over him being late to breakfast was something he could not. The crash of the front door meant his twin sister Elise was back from her morning run. She ran like clockwork, and Mark knew that if she was arriving home, he should already be downstairs at the table.
Walking to his bedroom door proved that there was no problem with the strength in his legs. The radiating sting as he used that strength was another story. Mark stepped forward with his left leg, and a jolt shot up from his heel all the way to his forehead. He knew there were muscles in the forehead, but he would never have guessed them big enough to feel pain, yet they throbbed momentarily, just like the rest. A step with his right leg evened out the sensations, allowing both sides of his body to feel the current that bordered on agony.
The consolation to his journey was found in the diminishing effect of each step. Whether he was getting used to the pain or it was legitimately decreasing he was unsure, but he would accept it nevertheless. The stairs started a fresh set of jolts, but he pushed on, and by the bottom he was able to push the pain back enough to keep it from painting a picture across his face.
Stepping into the kitchen, he could see his father and sister sitting at the table waiting for him, father with stern consternation, and Elise with anxious excitement, reading the heroes section of the newspaper. It was his sister’s ritual to return from her runs and immediately request the heroes section of the newspaper in order to get caught up on the hero-villain war, and on any youth who had newly discovered a power within themselves.
“Cutting it close this morning, aren’t we?” Mark’s father asked with a frown on his face.
Mark looked nervously to the clock, and was relieved to watch as it clicked to 7:15.
“No, you made it on time, but when I say breakfast begins at 7:15, I do not mean you should be arriving right at the onset. What have I told you about being on time?”
“If you’re on time, you’re late,” Mark recounted, then added “I apologize father, it will not happen again.”
A nod from Mark’s father released him, and he sat by his sister, adding toast and eggs to his plate from the communal tray in the middle of the table. The first forkful of eggs was interrupted by a sing-song squeal emanating from the mouth of his sister, which made Mark long for the comparative peacefulness of his clock-radio.
“Mark! Father! A speedster was discovered in Rothlinberg County! That’s
This marked the fourth straight morning of muscle fatigue, once again growing even more painful than the previous morning, a feat he would not have thought possible before experiencing the awful truth. Mark dropped his arm back to the bed, which failed in its quest to silence the alarm clock music. The music had become the lesser of the two evils, and he would willingly endure its blaring wakeup call if it meant he did not have to lift his arm again. Mark made sure not to do any heavy lifting the day before, in order to rule out exertion as the cause of his pain. He had hoped to find the cause on his own, or that it would go away naturally, but he began to fear that a trip to a doctor may be necessary. His father was strongly against taking time off from school for any reason, and this was only Wednesday, but he was not sure he could survive until Friday at the rate he was going.
Mark heard the front door slam shut, and despite the uncertainty of whether his legs would hold him, he slid them off the bed, and proceeded to force himself up. Loud noises roaring into his ears he could bear, but his father’s anger over him being late to breakfast was something he could not. The crash of the front door meant his twin sister Elise was back from her morning run. She ran like clockwork, and Mark knew that if she was arriving home, he should already be downstairs at the table.
Walking to his bedroom door proved that there was no problem with the strength in his legs. The radiating sting as he used that strength was another story. Mark stepped forward with his left leg, and a jolt shot up from his heel all the way to his forehead. He knew there were muscles in the forehead, but he would never have guessed them big enough to feel pain, yet they throbbed momentarily, just like the rest. A step with his right leg evened out the sensations, allowing both sides of his body to feel the current that bordered on agony.
The consolation to his journey was found in the diminishing effect of each step. Whether he was getting used to the pain or it was legitimately decreasing he was unsure, but he would accept it nevertheless. The stairs started a fresh set of jolts, but he pushed on, and by the bottom he was able to push the pain back enough to keep it from painting a picture across his face.
Stepping into the kitchen, he could see his father and sister sitting at the table waiting for him, father with stern consternation, and Elise with anxious excitement, reading the heroes section of the newspaper. It was his sister’s ritual to return from her runs and immediately request the heroes section of the newspaper in order to get caught up on the hero-villain war, and on any youth who had newly discovered a power within themselves.
“Cutting it close this morning, aren’t we?” Mark’s father asked with a frown on his face.
Mark looked nervously to the clock, and was relieved to watch as it clicked to 7:15.
“No, you made it on time, but when I say breakfast begins at 7:15, I do not mean you should be arriving right at the onset. What have I told you about being on time?”
“If you’re on time, you’re late,” Mark recounted, then added “I apologize father, it will not happen again.”
A nod from Mark’s father released him, and he sat by his sister, adding toast and eggs to his plate from the communal tray in the middle of the table. The first forkful of eggs was interrupted by a sing-song squeal emanating from the mouth of his sister, which made Mark long for the comparative peacefulness of his clock-radio.
“Mark! Father! A speedster was discovered in Rothlinberg County! That’s
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