Dreams of Heroism

Hey everyone! This is a story I've been poking at from time to time as a mental dump for some of my ideas. I've always wondered what it would be like to live day to day with super strength. Would you fight crime, or just be the worlds best delivery person? What would happen if you broke stuff? I don't plan on focusing a lot of energy into this story unless I get just assloads of feedback (which I doubt will happen). I'm just posting it for those two or three fans who enjoy my other stuff, and want to read something else I've written.

This story is fiction (obviously) and is copyrighted by Cathetel, and may not be reposted without express written consent.

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Dreams of Heroism

Chapter 1

Rachel woke slowly, the sunlight filtering into her second story window only partially obscured by the white curtains fluttering in the morning breeze. The sunlight sought her pupils out and stabbed them with reckless abandon. As much as she enjoyed the smell of wet grass wafting in through the window, that sun had to die.

Beep beep beep beep beep

She looked over to her alarm on the nightstand, and glared at the blue numbers. '

6:30am?! God damn daylight savings. It's way too early to be this bright.'

Stretching languidly, she felt her back and ankles pop in a very satisfactory way, and slapped her alarm clock to turn it off. At least that's what she tried to do. Instead her half-hearted swat pulverized the clock... and the nightstand. The sound of shattering wood and plastic exploding under her hand scared the shit out of her and a screech of terror ripped out of her lungs.

Feet pounded in the hallway and her half-dressed father came barreling around the corner of her door.

"What the hell was that?!" He shouted, then noticed the remains of her once antique nightstand, complete with broken clock, lamp, and glass of water from last night. "Oh my god what happened? Are you ok?" He demanded.

Rachel started and then looked at her hand. It didn't hurt. There wasn't even a scratch. No redness or swelling of any kind.

"I don't know what happened. I just went to turn off the alarm and the whole thing shattered. What the fuck?!"

"Language, young lady!" Her father admonished. He reached out and checked her hand to verify she was indeed unharmed.

He leaned down to inspect what remained of the nightstand next to her bed and she looked over his shoulder.

"Maybe it was just weak with old age?" she mused aloud

"I doubt it. That was solid wood. Were you jumping on this thing? The floorboards are cracked." He replied.

"No, dad. I haven't jumped on the bed in, like, ten years. I'm not a child."

"Uh huh. How did this break then? Things don't randomly smash themselves."

"I don't know." Her adrenaline was starting to cool, but there was enough left in her system to ramp up her annoyance at her father. "I told you, I just touched it and it broke."

He eyed her in disbelief. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine, don't believe me!" Rachel turned on her heel and stomped over to her closet and pulled the handle in anger. Instead of yanking the door open, the entire door handle ripped out of the door. With the door no longer secured, it slammed open hard enough to break the plaster on the wall behind it.

She jumped back with a squeak, and her dad jumped to his feet. "What the hell?!"

Her nerves were shot. What was going on?! She looked down at the doorknob still clutched in her hand. Her eyes widened in terror, and she held it out to her father trembling. The round doorknob was smashed beyond all recognition, and you could clearly see where her fingers had crushed the metal.

"Dad," she said in a small voice, "what's happening to me?"

Chapter 2

Diary 12-11-17

So my name is Rachel and I'm a freak. I don't just mean that I like Avril Lavigne and ICP. No I mean there's something different about me. Very different. A few weeks ago I woke up one morning and wrecked my bedroom. My dad went into a full blown panic and dragged my butt down to the hospital and they ran a whole bunch of tests. MRI, CT, FMRI, Electro-Stimulation, Nerve and Muscle biopsies... all of them came back clean.

As far as the medical staff were concerned I was an average nineteen year old college freshman. Albeit the coolest girl ever. I mean come on. I have super strength. That's pretty fucking cool right?! Its ok to be jealous. Your tears are delicious.

Before you ask; no, I have no idea why I'm strong. No, there was no freak accident, or spider bite that turned me into the Hulk. I just woke up one morning same as every other morning and suddenly I could crush steel with my bare hands. I don't mean just little stuff like doorknobs either.

One of the doctors needed proof, so we went to the hospital gym (the one the EMT's use, not the physio lab), and I took one of those bench press bars and bent it like a twizzler. It wasn't even hard. They even stuck me in the squat machine and I was able to do all 450lbs. With one leg. That's strong no matter who you talk to. Take that football jocks!

I'd have to admit its pretty cool being a superhero, but I'm not superman or anything. I can't fly, and my skin cuts just fine. Oh it took a little muscle on the doc's part but they were eventually able to take blood samples.

It's not all sunshine and wonder woman here though. Seems like it would be really fun to have super strength right? Wrong. Well...right, but not like you think. The house is ruined. It took days to figure out how to touch something gently, and I broke a nightstand, closet door, bathroom sink, four glasses, two forks, three dinner plates, a bowl, and an ambulance gurney.

Dad's pretty pissed about the gurney. The insurance is billing him for it. Do you know how much those things cost? I don't, dad wouldn't tell me and that's never a good sign. I bet its a thousand dollars. I feel terrible. I mean, I didn't mean to break it! It was an accident I swear! I'm just apparently that strong.

After the doctors gave up on us, my dad talked to the football coach at my community college and asked if we could use the gym after hours. He fed the coach some line about his daughter wanting to take a weight lifting class, but being nervous around people so he wanted to ease me into it. Whatever. They let us in at six thirty and gave us run of the place.

Do you know how much you can lift? Most people don't. I don't either. We picked up every weight they had in that place and I was able to lift all of it. I can stand, pull, push, and lift 850lbs without breaking a sweat. We wanted to add more weight but they didn't have any, so we left. Dad said he's going to try and find a gym where I can lift more, so we can see how much it is.

Even though I was able to lift all that weight no problem, I am a little sore. My back is starting to tighten up. Think I'll go take a bath and try to relax. Tomorrow I go back to school and try to pretend that I'm not she-hulk or whatever.

***

God damnit, now dad has to buy a new bathtub. Fuck my life.

Chapter 3

Rachel woke with a abruptly at 6:29am. Just like she had every morning since she broke her nightstand. She moved carefully, making sure she didn't wreak anything. Her dad was still mad about her accidently punching a hole in the wall in her sleep. They had moved the bed to the middle of the room and taken off the headboard to make sure she didn't break anything else.

Living with super strength was exhausting. She had no idea how muscle heads did it. If she so much as looked at something too hard it broke. Half her clothes were ruined and the house was still in shambles.

She got out of bed and slowly and tip toed over to the bedroom door. Using just the tip of her index and thumb, as gently as possible she opened the door. Success! It opened without the screeching of metal or crack of wood.

Padding her way downstairs, she look wistfully in on the bathroom upstairs, missing the sink and huge crack in the tub. Now she had to walk clear across the house to use the toilet and then BACK upstairs to wake her dad up and use the master shower.

She was surprised to see her dad in the kitchen making coffee on that fancy new keurig thing. Rachel didn't much like coffee, but it also made hot water and she loved a morning cup of tea.

"Morning beautiful! How'd you sleep? I'm headed to Home Depot after I drop you off at college. Do I need to buy any new walls?"

"Ha Dad. Real funny. NO, thank you very much. Though if you happen to stop buy Walmart, I wouldn't say no to a new blanket. The ones from the attic smell like old people."

That earned a small chuckle from him as she ducked into the downstairs bathroom real quick. When she came out there was a cup of Apple Spice tea steeping on the counter, next to a banana and yogurt. She smiled and sipped the tea, letting the warmth seep through her core like a hug from the inside out.

She heard the shower kick on upstairs, so she polished off the banana and yogurt and was poking through the fridge looking for more, when it stopped. So she just grabbed another banana and ate it quickly, then bounded upstairs to grab her clothes for her own shower.

Her shower was fast, since she wanted to make sure she looked good for her first day back into school. The doctor stuff made her miss the first week of classes, but her dad had made some calls to the student aid people and told them she was sick, though she would be out in time for the second week. Most of her classes understood, with only the math teacher not allowing her to catch up. Rachel didn't like math anyway so she was happy to put it off till next semester.

She spent a few extra minutes making sure her wardrobe and hair were just right. Then, another extra few when she broke two sticks of eyeliner and tore her favorite jeans trying to get them on.

'It's amazing how much work goes into looking just the right amount of lazy,'

she thought to herself. '

Hmm, gonna have to start shopping at the salvation army. Thank god hobo chic is a thing.'

"You done primping yet? You're gonna be late!" Her dad shouted from downstairs. Her eyes glanced over at the new clock on the wall and saw that it was 8:22am and her first class was at 9, across town. Shit! She snatched up her book bag and ran out of the room. She considered trying to jump the stairs, but in heels? No way. Besides, she might break the floor.

She ran past her dad who was holding the door open for her.

"Can I drive? Please?" She asked giving her dad the smile he never said no to.

He shook his head. "Sorry sweetie. I know you wouldn't do it on purpose, but I don't you to accidentally rip the steering wheel off or anything."

Her face fell. She was disappointed not just because he thought she might wreck the car, but because this might be a permanent thing. He was right. What happened if she was driving and broke the gas pedal or steering wheel? She was strong but she could still get hurt, and a car crash was a great way get seriously hurt.

Her dad came up to her and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm sorry sweetie" he said as if he read her mind "we'll figure something out. I promise."

She just nodded mutely and climbed into the passenger side. The ride to school was uneventful. Red light, green light, turning. Same old same. College on the other hand, that was new and exciting.

Gorgeous red brick buildings stood six stories tall, with huge lawns and manicured trees that had to be a hundred years old if they were a day. The campus looked like it had invented the word "prestigious", and you could almost hear the haughty tone in it as well. The administration building was smaller itself, with only two stories. A few quiet questions provided her a list of her classes and their locations.

Her first class was English 102 in the Alexander building, which of course was clear across campus and up two flights of stairs. In three minutes. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Rachel sprinted across campus. She didn't even bother slowing down for the stairs. She leaped and tried to take the first three, but overshot wildly. Squealing in panic, she overshot the first flight of stairs entirely and slammed into the railing at the top.

Chest heaving and adrenaline surging she looked behind her and at the almost forty feet that she had just cleared.

"Ok. So that's new. Maybe I can fly." She muttered to herself.

Of course the universe in its infinite wisdom took that exact moment to have the 9am bell ring out through the hallways.

"Shit."

Rachel took off again, this time though at a much more sedate pace. She made it to her class and slipped into her seat just as the professor, Mr. Anderson, began talking about their first essay; which of course would be due next week. A mere ten pages on the life of William Shakespeare with special emphasis on any possibility or truth to the accusations of plagiarism.

Oh this was going to be a great year. The next two hours went by quickly as the professor informed his student under no uncertain circumstances William Shakespeare was a fraud and a scoundrel of the highest order, having ripped off the fellow playwright Robert Greene; effectively giving them all the information they needed for their essay.

Rachel honestly couldn't care less. The words were pretty, and she liked Romeo and Juliet, but otherwise much prefered the works of J.K. Rowling.

'Nothing worse than a professor who uses a captive audience to try and force their opinion down someone else's throat. At least he told us we needed to write the paper BEFORE the lecture. Note to self: google 'Robert Greene and Edmond Malone,'

she thought.

The next class was was Anatomy and Physiology 101. The first in many such classes on her way to her Registered Nurse's degree plan. She had always been intrigued by the interactions of hormones and chemicals in the body, but after the last few weeks she paid extra attention.

Sadly A&P 101 was mostly "this is a leg. It has muscles and bones. They are as follows: Tibia, Fibia..." Boring. She had hoped that college level classes would be a little faster paced, especially after all the long hours she put in her advanced placement classes in high school.

'I doubt they're going to cover "Super Strength and You: A beginners guide to being a heroine". I wonder if I'm alone, or if there is anyone else who woke up with super speed or something?'

At least the class would be easy to pass, and now she had a block of time and a captive teacher she could ask about her condition.

After the bell finally rang, she made a beeline for the cafeteria. The building was centralized, which was nice and sported a little garden in the center. She wasn't sure why, she had a decent breakfast, but she was starving.

The line at the cafe was blessedly short. Its prices were insane, but that was to be expected. She ordered a huge huevos rancheros dish, and sat herself at the first table she found. She pulled out her schedule to review her next classes and was barely four bites into melty cheesy goodness when someone sat at her table.

It was a guy about her age. Perfectly quaffed hair, and an outfit that looked a little too preppy for her personal taste. Nothing against the GQ types, but she was more of a tattooed snowboarder type of a gal. I mean, if they couldn't handle a needle in the skin, there's no WAY they could handle her after hours she smirked to herself.

"Hey there! Haven't seen you around before. My name is Brock" he said flashing every one of his bleached teeth.

She plastered a smile on her own face, no reason to be rude. "Hello I'm Rachel," she said shaking his hand.

'Limp wristed, I knew it.'

She wanted to squeeze, give him a firm handshake like dudes did to each other. Though hearing his bones snap as probably not a great way to start her afternoon. "You're right, today is my first day."

"Ha! I knew it. I was sure I would have noticed you. So what brings you to our humble college?" he asked picking at a Caesar salad that was the entirety of his meal.

Rachel chuckled to herself at his implied pick up line.

'Not bad, he's pretty smooth.

'

"Nursing program. I hear it's supposed to be one of the best." she nodded sagely around a mouthful of beans and rice.

"Nursing! A very popular choice. My mother is the assistant director of the HPA program. It's a fun job for her while father runs the company."

"The company?"

"Arthur Weyland of Weyland Industries. They build stuff. Mostly military bases in hard to reach places. It's a dirty job but the money is nice." He said watching her out of the corner of his eye for her reaction.

'

Oh god, he's one of those that identify completely by their parents. Am I supposed to be impressed by you dad's money? Thats

his

accomplishment, not yours.'

Rachel mentally face palmed herself. "Military bases huh? Sounds dangerous" she said aloud.

"Oh it can be. Sometimes the natives don't appreciate what we're trying to do for them, and they throw rocks or blow up cars. It gets tedious. Fortunately my family worked out a deal with the military to receive training from the special forces. After I graduate next year with my MBA, I have to go spend a year with the Navy Seals. Shouldn't be too hard." Brock said leaning back in his chair as if Seal training was the least among his concerns.

'I bet none of that is true. Even if his dad is head of Weyland Industries, executives never go to goatistan and get shot at. Ugh fuck this shit, I'm out.'

"Wow! That's super cool! Well, it was nice to meet you Brock, but I have to get to my world history class." Standing up she went to take her empty plate and gatorade bottle to the trash. She didn't get far.

"World history huh? I took that class a couple of years ago" he said following her to the trash. "I aced it. If you want I can help you study sometime. How about you give me your phone number and I'll call you around five, we can go from there."

Rachel turned and looked him square in the eye. "Thanks for the offer Brock, but it's just an intro class. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Alright. Then how about you give me your number and I'll call you around eight and take you to this exclusive club I know. Very chic." Brock said trying a new angle.

"Thanks for the invite, but I'm already a week behind on my workload. I really need to get caught up on all these new classes. Maybe some other time."

Brock's face darkened a little, and his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Oh come on, dont be like that. I promise I'll show you a great time, and I'll even put in a good word for you with my mother. A helping hand from the assistant director could go a long way in a school like this."

Rachel squared her shoulders. "Brock. I said no. Not now, not ever, and don't you dare ask me again. I don't give a shit who your daddy is, or who you know at this school. You're a creep." She forced her face to stay stern, even though her primal brain was screaming at her to find a herd of females for protection.

'

Pfft. Stupid lizard brain. I could throw this guy across the cafeteria with one hand. What's he going to do to me?'

A snorted giggle caught their attention and they turned to see a girl in a cheerleaders uniform sniggering at the next trash can over.

"Struck out huh Brock. Too bad" she said with a sneer. "Guess daddy's money couldn't buy you some class."

The cheerleader howled with laughter and threw her tray into the stack on the trash can and wandered off to tell all her girlfriends.

Brock's eyes swiveled to Rachel and bored into her like a laser drill. "You're gonna regret that bitch."