Flash Fiction | Supervillain
I’ve really been having a lot of fun with the Writing Prompts of late (as you’ve probably noticed from the plethora of blog posts recently). Here’s a quickie I wrote on my lunch break.
[WP] A child wants to be a supervillain when they grow up, rather than a superhero.
“I’m sorry, you want to be a what?” Berserko Fantastico said to his young daughter, Natalie.
At only seven years old she was already a handful, and in hindsight he should have noticed the signs earlier. In the past three months alone she’d designed and built three doomsday devices and attempted to sell them on Craigslist to various evildoers.
If he hadn’t been home at the time then Evil Incorporated, The Diabolical Duo, and the Fellowship of the Fiendish would all now be the proud owners of her handiwork.
Then of course there was the incident involving merging gorillas and alligators, which he didn’t want to think about again.
At the time he wrote these incidents off experimentation that any typical child would do. Surely all children of superheroes go through the same, he rationalized. As a single father he wasn’t at home as much as he’d like. More often than not he palmed off the responsibility of raising his daughter to an endless parade of babysitters.
“I don’t want to be like you, dad,” Natalie replied, crossing her arms and pouting. “I want to be like the Venom Vixen. She’s so awesome! She’s so smart and has the coolest tech of anyone.”
Berserko Fantasico choked and spluttered on his coffee.
“Venom Vixen!” Berserko Fantasico shouted once he’d recovered. “That’s it young lady. You’re grounded! Off to your room and think about how hurtful your words are to me.”
Natalie rolled her eyes and sighed. She pushed her chair away from the table, the legs squeaking on the polished floor in just the right way that infuriated her father. Berserko Fantasico gritted his teeth but said nothing as Natalie stomped out of the dining room.
“You’ll be sorry when I’m The Nefarious Natalie,” she said as her parting words as she stomped to her room.
Berserko Fantasico sighed and pinched the top of his nose with his fingers. The familiar post-argument migraine was on its way.