Kevin’s Dumb Ass Needs a Corner

By Kiana M. Cauwels

Legs racing, arms pumping, chest burning, he ran for his life — a red-caped supervillain was hot on his tail. But Kevin didn’t need to be in the lead for much longer. He’d spied the perfect corner up ahead on the left.

The city featured a grid layout with small blocks, which he often used to his advantage, pivoting out of sight. But his dumb ass had to get involved in the middle of a giant public park. Why couldn’t his “fuck it” complex have stayed quiet and let that family get pummelled? What did it matter that it was unprovoked and they had no defense and he was the only one around? It would’ve helped them build character. Probably. If they survived.

Kevin pushed the thoughts away; the circumstances were irrelevant (and irrelephant, since no elephants were involved). All that mattered was reaching the corner before the woman with extra strength and a clear lack of compassion could get ahold of him. Almost there, almost there, almost — there!

Kevin dashed into the alley and, seeing that he was alone, activated his own superpowers, immediately shrinking in size. He hit the cement ground with a clink and rolled into the building’s shade. Just in time, too.

The woman barrelled into the narrow space, then raced through to the next intersection, her red cape waving like a flag behind her. There, Kevin’s wannabe attacker scanned the ways forward, searching for which path he’d taken.

He spied a muscled arm silhouette adorning her now-stilled cape. Only idiots advertised their abilities with costumes. Kevin preferred to surprise, disappear, avoid: smart people shit.

The super-villainous woman looked back down the alley, overlooking his hiding place, then up toward the roof lines. Still no sign of him, she punched a chunk out of the brick corner nearest her and stalked away. “Woe is me, no people to pummell,” he imagined her thinking.

Kevin remained hidden in that dark alley longer than necessary. This was the type of thing you only got to be wrong about once. Eventually, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, he was covered in soapy water. What in the world? Did I sleep-shower? Then he remembered — he hadn’t returned to his human form. He was still an indestructible glass beer bottle.

The person scrubbing him with a sponge wore headphones and kept making random, out-of-tune sounds while bopping to an unheard rhythm. “Bee-poo-tah, poo-tah,” followed a minute later by, “in my heaaaaaaaad!”

Kevin mentally commended them for doing a thorough job of cleaning him and for using the correct scent of dish soap (lemon). But he couldn’t anticipate what this stranger would do if he returned to his human form. Better to wait and transform after they leave.

Unfortunately, life as a glass beer bottle was as enthralling as it sounded — not in the least. He fell back asleep.

The next time Kevin awoke, he felt a horrible, sloshing wholeness. Like he’d fallen into the ocean and drowned so thoroughly that he contained the sea, became it. In this form, he didn’t have actual eyes, but he had a sense that served the same function. And with that sense, Kevin could tell he was in a bar, resting on a bar top, filled with beer. Yuck.

He scanned the packed dive bar for the exit, racking his brain for a way to leave unnoticed, but someone rudely grabbed him and lifted him into the air. The person’s mouth came nearer and nearer, lips parting. Oh no, not again. He instinctively made the transition, sending sticky beer all over himself and the person who’d been holding him. Their mouths were one single inch apart. Both of them screamed.

“Wait a minute,” the person said after they’d calmed down. “Are you spying on us?”

“He’s a villain!” another bar-goer shouted. That’s when Kevin realised almost every person around him was wearing a costume.

Rather than stay and argue semantics with a room full of liquored-up superheroes, Kevin took off running, out the door and down the street.

They all gave chase. While none seemed to have superspeed — a lucky break — they weren’t slow either. It would be natural to panic, but Kevin knew something the supers chasing him didn’t: safety was just around the corner.

About the Author

Kiana M. Cauwels writes emotionally honest, often playfully weird stories.

What else would you expect from a data analyst with degrees in journalism and apparel design, and enough anxiety to power a rocket?

She lives in Georgia, USA with her husband and pitbull mix.

Her work has appeared in MetaStellar and elsewhere.