The Shrink

This entry is part 8 of 16 in the series MicroFiction

Superhero Psychaitry wasn’t something he planned on getting into when he had finished his degree.  He had actually been planning on working with kids or something. This deviation had started when a masked crusader had burst into his office looking for a criminal mastermind.

“He was evicted last week,” he had explained to Captain Sparky.

“Oh. Hmm,” Captain Sparky had said, obviously disappointed. “Well, what is it you’re up to then?”

“I’m a psychiatrist. I plan on working with…”

“Can you tell me something?” Captain Sparky had asked.

“I guess so. What is it you want to know?”

“Why do I do this?” At that, Captain Sparky had broken down crying.

Over the course of the next hour, Captain Sparky had told him all about his childhood.  How his parents had always treated him unfairly, always yelled and punished him, and how they had dragged his dog away after they had accidentally run it over in the driveway.

“I never had a chance to say goodbye to Sparky,” Captain Sparky sobbed through a Kleenex. “And when I asked them about it, they smacked me and locked me in my sisters closet with all of her dance tights.”

“And ever since, you’ve been looking for justice,” he explained to the hero. Justice for Sparky, which is why you took his name, and justice for anyone who is downtrodden by authority.  That’s why most of your targets are public officials with corruption problems.”

“And the tights?”

“Well, what else is a superhero going to wear?”

“Nothing to do with my sister then, right?”

“Not at all,” he lied.

“Thanks doc,” Captain Sparky said.  “I really do feel so much better.” With that, and a flash of pink spandex, Capatin Sparky left through the window.

Within three weeks, he was booked solid with superheroes. And they all had some serious issues to work out. And they never paid him in anything like money.  Well, the few eccentric billionaires did, but it wasn’t enough to make up for the rest of the vigilante circuit.

Two months later, all of the city’s heroes were on all sorts of medication, or had been commited, or had retired because their minds were all fucked up by the twists and turns they had revealed to him.

He found it mildly tragic that while he had become the world’s most effective super villain–calling himself The Shrink–he was also the poorest.

Luckily, he now had openings for children as patients.  And now there were plenty, since seeing their once great heroes do things like break down crying while trying to foil bank robberies, did more to screw them up than their parents usually did.  He supposed he was a success after all.

This weeks micro-fiction is a little lame. But that’s because I forced it. Which is better than not writing at all.

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