A Fiction in 58

Middle-aged Superheroes
He buries his thumbs into his hips and flexes his shoulders in the darkness. The wood floor is cool on his feet.
The kinks take much longer to work out; the body isn’t what it used to be, he chuckles. He traces the scars with fingers that lost their feeling years ago.
Superman? Maybe after he’s had coffee.

1 comments:

RachelRenae said...

I can almost feel the kink in his neck.