Author's Note: Here's another story that I started a while ago, right now it's only two chapters, so after I finish editing the second chapter, I'll put it up. This chapter is set in-time with the rest of the story, meaning it's sole purpose isn't to provide a flashback, although it does introduce some background info. This whole story is inspired by the 70's TV show The Incredible Hulk (my favorite show ever), starring Bill Bixby, Lou Ferrigno, and Jack Colvin.
Enough fangirling from me, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, events, etc. relating to The Incredible Hulk and any other Marvel material, of whom the rights belong to their respective owners that obviously do not include me.
I sit at a booth in a little dive in New York City. It's nothing special- four walls, that's really all there is to it. A couple of worn-out booths, a few tables with broken chairs, and an assortment of pictures flung up on the crumbling walls- that's all that this place is.
Yet, somehow, it intrigues me. Maybe I'm just fascinated that this place is still standing. You would've thought that it would have been closed down due to safety concerns. But here it is. This little restaurant, named "Zach's," is almost a metaphor for my life- still standing and going strong, even after all of the hardships that it has faced. I sigh and take a bite out of the blueberry bagel that I ordered.
I scan the little dining room with my eyes. There's an old married couple sharing the booth to the left of mine, who've looked like they have been to this restaurant ever since it opened 70 years ago. I read their minds and find that they are madly in love with each other, even after all these years. There's a little group of teens that are sitting at a bigger table across the way- they're obviously skipping school. But, at least they have the ability to do so- they each have lives, their futures relatively intact. I then turn my attention to a man sitting all alone at a tiny corner table, near the window.
From his facial expressions alone, you can tell that, in spite of having such a serious face, he's actually soft and broken on the inside. I don't need to use my telepathic abilities to know that- I see a similar face in the bathroom mirror each morning. I read his mind- or at least, I attempt to. For some reason, I cannot get through to his thoughts.
That's strange; I've never had that happen before.
The only thing that I can think of is that this man- this shattered man- is so damaged on the inside, that he has put up walls inside his mind- walls that try to hide whatever he's running from. I know that I shouldn't dig deeper, that I shouldn't try to break down his barriers, but I can only wonder if maybe, just maybe, I might be able to help this guy. So, I begin to chip away at his walls, layer by layer.
I feel guilty as I do so, but I can only hope that I might be able to console him from his troubles. I work slowly, careful to try to not set off any alarms in his mind- something that would alert him to the fact that I'm poking around in his head.
After what seems like forever, I feel the walls start to crumble. But, oh too late do I realize that the walls are tumbling down- and fast. Helpless to stunting the implosion of the man's brain-wall, I brace myself for the sudden jerking of the stranger's head, desperate to find out who is messing around with his mind. But, no- he's oblivious to everything.
I'm truly stunned. He must be so lost in his own current thoughts that he has no clue what's happening with his repressed memories. Maybe I shouldn't bring them to the light. But, for some reason, I feel an overwhelming need to help this man, this complete stranger. Carefully, gingerly, I dig through the remnants of his mind's walls. I keep charging on until, shockingly, I reach a door in his head.
Maybe that's why he didn't feel the walls tumble down- because his main focus is on keeping this door locked. I process this new information as I begin to pick the lock of his door.
A small part of me screams deafeningly to stop, to go back before it's too late, but the rest of me ignores the irritating voice and works on. It's not until I'm a split-second from opening the door that I realize that I should quit, but it's too little, too late, I'm afraid.
As soon as I hit this realization, I'm bombarded with his repressed thoughts, secrets, memories- everything. Most of it is too terrible to even begin thinking about, and I want to end it, to stop the horror- but I can't.
The pain, the loss that this man has been through, it makes my sorrows seem like a walk in the park on a sunny day. No matter how much I try to pull away, nothing that I do works. It's as if the flood gates are open, and they have absolutely no intention of closing- never again.
It's in this moment that I realize that I have started crying, tears steadily flowing down my cheeks as if they are rivers. I also notice that the man is now staring right at me, his face emotionless, but his eyes telling me another sad story.
He doesn't seem surprised or shocked, just hurt and, what almost seems to be, disappointed. I gasp, get up, and run out of the dive of a restaurant as fast as I can, emotionally compromised with the fact that that man- that unassuming guy- and I have so much more in common than I ever thought possible. We may both be freaks, but there's one thing that I never would have expected to learn in the journey to the center of his mind- that that man, that misunderstood man, is the infamous "Incredible Hulk."