There Will Be War
Flash jolted awake for what must have been the hundredth time that week, his body wracking with shivers as he struggled to recall the events from his previous dream state.
A flash. A lightning bolt?
A man. Not him though. A different man. Someone similar?
He put his hands to the temples of his head, gingerly pressing as he relieved a sigh from his chapped lips. "Relax, Wall. You're just going crazy, that's all.."
He stilled, and sat quietly for a moment before rolling his eyes at his lame excuse for a pep-talk and then practically ripped the covers off from his sweaty body. He shivered in the cold air of the bedroom.
He had rarely ever slept in the Watchtower, maybe when he had a really late shift, but never out of desire. However, for the past week, he found the thought of sleeping alone in his silent apartment, sickening.
He put a hand to his swimming head and closed his eyes. It had always been a side-effect of that night. When the lightning bolt had struck all those chemicals which had spilt onto him, granting him endless speed.
All the speed in the world, yet every time he woke up, and stood, he would be plagued with almost intolerable vertigo.
He leaned against the wall for support skillfully and after just a minute, the vertigo was gone. He regained his posture and grabbed his spare Flash ring, which of course, contained his entire costume. Fresh and new.
He shuffled into the bathroom, slipping off what clothes he did have on, which consisted of boxers and a white T-shirt, and slid into a hot shower which lasted for all of five minutes.
He didn't want to stand beneath that hot jet of water more than he had to this morning. The thought of being slow today, almost repulsed him.
He had those days.
Every once in a while.
Out of the blue.
The days where his legs refused to allow him to simply be slow, or even normal paced. They flat-out refused it.
Then everyone in a while he had those days where his legs commanded he try and run as little as possible, that they were tired.
Usually, however, slowness came with hunger.
He dressed quickly with severely less enthusiasm than usual, but held off on putting the mask on just yet. He held it within one latex palm, looking into the mirror.
The reflection that looked back into his hazel eyes..
It was the one from his dream, but not quite. It had just few differences.
He felt a gasp intrude his lungs and his eyes widen. How could he have forgotten the man in his dreams? It had been his Uncle.
He shook his head, eyes searching the sink. It was a subject he tried to refuse as much as possible and buried The death of his Uncle had been one too tragic to speak about since the minute it happened.
The minute he'd heard.
It all came back and with it, a hot flush of tears pounding at the back of his eyeballs which he refused to let pass. He was stronger than this. He was a superhero for Christ's sake. He blinked them back wildly, shooting out minty-fresh toothpaste onto his green toothbrush, and stuck it into his mouth with a jabbing force.
The tears stung, but retreated obediently, and finally, when all had been done for that morning, he slipped the mask onto his head and slowly...
..opened the door, and stepped into the quiet hall of the early morning.
He had a meeting this morning, after all.