This is a work of fan fiction; I do not own the Watchmen . . . I have a pretty strange mind but I don't think I could come up with something that twisted :)
First (& probably only) Watchmen fic, please be gentle! This was a totally random product of my mind - I came home from school one day and thought, 'Hm. I think I'll write a Watchmen fic today...' So uh yeah, here's this *throws fic in readers' general direction and runs away*
One afternoon, a little while after my grandmother died, I got it into my head to look through the box of her things in our attic. The attic was an endless source of fascination for me – technically, I wasn't supposed to go poking around up there alone, so of course I did just that every chance I could get.
I opened up the box and peered inside. It didn't seem too interesting as I rifled through halfheartedly. Then my fingers knocked against a framed picture, wedged up against the edge of the box. I lifted it out and examined it in the light from the little attic window. It was an old sepia photograph, somewhat faded with age or poor exposure. It featured a group of costumed people posing underneath a banner that read "MINUTEMEN 1940."
Was this really what it looked like? I asked myself in amazement. Was this really a picture of the original Minutemen? What was it doing here?
I loved the Minutemen. I knew pretty much everything there was to know about them, and I could recognize each of the little masked figures in the picture. I trailed my finger across the glass, reciting the names I knew by heart. "Hooded Justice . . . the Comedian . . ."
My finger stopped on a woman with perfectly permed hair and a pale halter top. "Silk Spectre." Silk Spectre was my idol. When my friends and I played superheroes-and-villains, she was the character I always insisted on being. I peered into the tiny face with its wide, self-confident smile. I always liked to think the vigilante's face bore a little resemblance to mine. I hoped that someday I would have the sexy confidence to pull off that same smile.
"Holly? I'm home!"
Hearing my mother's voice, I flinched. I suddenly felt that I was doing something deeply forbidden. Something worse than the thousand little transgressions I committed almost every day. Hastily I shoved the picture back down into the box with cold, sweaty hands and scrambled down the ladder into the hallway.
As I called "Hi Mom" and hurried to make it look like I had been in my room the whole time, I couldn't risk posing for a minute in front of my floor-length mirror. I placed my hands on my hips and tried to curve my pre-pubescent body into Silk Spectre's elegant stance. I whipped my layered brown hair dramatically and flashed a grin at my reflection. In that moment, I had the oddest sensation that the mirror was a window through which I was watching someone else. I looked at my reflected face and felt a sudden, uncontrollable shiver pass up through my body. Unreasonably frightened, I rushed out of my room, suddenly no longer wanting to think about pictures or superheroes.