Happy

Happy, story, quirky , simple, character, flash fiction

There was nothing special about him. If anyone was ever to write a book about him it wouldn’t be very good. He just got on with it. Maybe that was what was special about him. He had always wanted to be a superhero and every so often he would focus on a cup or a ball or some kind of small object, and try and move it with his mind. It worked once and no one believed him and when he tried to prove it to them he couldn’t do it anymore. He believed that if he never told them then maybe he would still be able to do it.

He liked prunes. He found them quite satisfying, and enjoyed eating them on a park bench. He went on the swing one time and some children laughed at him so he never went on them again. He would often look at them and think about what a waste of a good time he was having. He’ll have a go on them before he dies, he thinks. A robin landed by the man and he threw it a chunk of prune, cautiously making it back of, then in closer to investigate the chunk, and peck away at it. And the robin would come back almost every day. People didn’t realise when they walked by that he was his friend, they could just see that he was happy.