Who: Bart Allen What: Being confused and not where he’s supposed to be. Fun switch? When: June 1st, 1 am Where: The Bradbury Building and then the streets of Los Angeles. Rating: PG Status: Complete
He slowed down enough so that when he smashed into the wall, his shoulder didn’t crack and fracture at the joint. He hit hard but it wasn’t hard enough to break anything and although he flinched, it was okay and there wasn’t much to complain about. Staying where he was, head down, eyes to the floor, Bart listened to everything, the dripping of water in a sink, the turning of a fan in another room. This wasn’t right. It should have been cars, people yelling, talking, kids running across roads. Not this. Not indoor noises.
Straightening himself up, he stepped away from the wall, a bedroom wall, beside a closed door, not locked. A bed and a closet, a dresser and posters hanging, clothes thrown on the floor, a cat curled up and asleep on the bed. He snarled, ventured forward, saw a backpack, his backpack, on the floor next to a desk. He made a hurried move for it, grabbed it and peered inside.
Bart dropped it immediately. Stared where it fell. Those weren’t his things. He didn’t read Mark Twain and certainly didn’t carry around books such as, The American Claimant and who the hell knew what else. This time he backed away, actually withdrew, eyes to the walls, trying to take in everything at once. The cat cracked open her eyes and hissed at him. He didn’t pay her any attention.
He wasn’t afraid but he was suspicious and out of his element, confused.
So he ran, pulled the door open and ran, a gush of wind through the building. But he didn’t leave. Not then. Not yet. He looked, saw things and studied things. The cat stalked him, suspicious, distrusting. This wasn’t her boy.