Thyroid Superhero, Louise Sopher
“Run!” she yelled, though no one listened. “Run, you idiot, runn!” The girl stood, a statue amongst a moving world. Thyroid Superhro, standing between rushing bodies and elbowing irritants, was too far away to help. But the child wasn’t listening – no, Thyroid Superhero corrected herself – she couldn’t hear her. Thyroid Superhero could see it – the grey cloud hugging the child’s head. She’d been Taken. Taken by the all-powerful: Brain Fog.
“Come on kid, wake up.”
‘Concentrate. Wake up,” the child willed herself.
The oncoming grey matter (not the symbol of a Taken but something else, something nastier, something long-lasting) was fast approaching. It carried a number, and some part of the child’s neck knew what it was: -3.
That’s 3 less T4.
She’d sleep in two.
Blind to it, she remained, gaping; empty, empty like a blank sheet.
Slowly, attune with the speed of a second, -3 advanced.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Words were spoken around the child but she seemed hardly aware.
Thyroid Superhero watched, helpless. Tick. Tick.
“Small fights,” she thought aloud, “are better than no fights,” and she dived through he crowd, pushing everyone aside, and knocking the girl head first as -3 skimmed over their heads and melted into raindrops.
The girl shook her head, stood up, and walked on.
Thyroid Superhero smiled as her hair grew a little longer: the child wouldn’t sleep today. She’d just stand and watch. It was better than nothing.