The Flash
By: Joe Grunenwald
1 The Fastest Man Alive!
My name is Barry Allen. I am a chemistry teacher at Adler High School in downtown Central City, OH. My students laugh at me behind my back. Some of them even do it to my face. My own family is ashamed that they are related to me. I've never had a girlfriend. I've found solace in chemicals. Not THOSE kinds of chemicals. I'm a laughing stock, but I'm not stupid. I mean legal chemicals. I revel in combining nitric acid with phosphoric hydrogen dioxide. I find separating water into hydrogen and oxygen fascinating. I am, to use an outdated colloquialism, a 'nerd.'
That's what they think.
Mind you, all of what I've just told you is true. I AM a chemistry teacher that takes his job extremely seriously. I AM ridiculed by nearly everyone around me. But I'm much, much more than that. You see, I've got a secret that I've never told anyone. You'll be the first to hear it, straight from the horse's mouth.
I can outrun a cheetah. I make sonic booms like drunkards make methane gas. If you fire a bullet into the air, I will catch it. It'll hurt a bit, but I'll catch it. I can circle the earth on foot 8 times in one second. The great thing is, during all of this, I never break a sweat. I am, to my knowledge, the fastest man alive. Maybe you've heard of me. Not of Barry Allen; I doubt ANYONE'S ever heard of Barry Allen. No, when I'm doing the speed thing, people call me something else. Like I said, maybe you've heard of me.
I'm The Flash.
No joke.
I haven't always been this fast. In fact, I HAVE always been quite the opposite. Hard to believe that the Flash was once constantly late. When I was younger, my parents used to have to drag me out of bed in the morning to get me to go to school. They'd yell and yell at me to get my day started. Even once I did get it started (normally five to ten minutes later than all the other students), it was a struggle to keep it going. I was consistently late to six of my seven classes. Why six and not all seven, you ask? Well, that's easy.
My seventh class was my science class. For that class, I was EARLY.
Anyway, despite my shortcomings in the 'time' department, I made good for myself. I was the valedictorian of my graduating class of 1992. I was awarded a full scholarship to The University of Notre Dame. I'd love to say here that I'd never seen my parents more proud of me. Sadly, that's not true. Don't worry, my parents aren't dead. They weren't murdered when I was very young and they didn't die in a freak accident. They were there for my graduation. They were there when I received my scholarship announcement. It's just that, I've never seen my parents seem proud of me. They've never told me they were proud of me, and I've never heard them tell anyone else they were proud of me. It's not that I need the self- assurance. It'd be nice, though. But I'm going off on a tangent again.
Where was I? Oh yeah, college. I attended Notre Dame, majoring in chemistry and minoring in education. After I graduated, I decided to go back home to Central City. I took a job at my alma mater, Adler High School, teaching sophomore and junior chemistry. I'd been working there for 3 years before the accident.
What accident, you say? Well I'll tell you.
I was cleaning up the science lab one night. It was late, and I was still at school. My students had been working with the chemicals today. It was the beginning of the year, and we were doing simple combinations. Today we had created volcanoes. I know it's simple, but it gets the kids into the class. Anyway, one of the students had made a rather large mess of things around his workspace, and I told him I would take care of cleaning up. However, a faculty meeting and a few disgruntled parents ("Why is Billy getting a D?" "It's because he's a doesn't do his homework and he sleeps through class, Mrs. Jones." "But how is that HIS fault?" I swear, some of the parents just can't handle the idea that their child is not perfect) kept me out of my room for a few hours, and by the time I got back there, it was 7 PM. For a teacher, that's late. Anyway, it was storming outside. Lightning was striking and thunder was subsequently crashing. I was putting chemical beakers back into their places in the cabinet that stood next to my front window when I saw a bright flash of light. A looked across the street and saw a tree ablaze. It had obviously been struck by lightning. I breathed a sigh of relief as I mused to myself that if that lightning had been 100 yards due south, I would've been fried.
Then, something kind of funny happened. I placed the final beaker on the shelf of my cabinet when a single bolt of lightning came bursting through my window. It struck me, and I was thrown backwards into the cabinet. Beakers were smashed into millions of pieces, and chemicals, now electrified, soaked my clothes and my person. I fell to the ground and passed out.
I woke 10 minutes later, lying in a puddle of electrified chemicals and nursing multiple small cuts. I stood from the odd mess, trying to figure out why I was still alive. It was late. I was tired. I didn't feel any pain, aside from the cuts on my face and hands. I cleaned my wounds and, somewhat bewildered, closed up my room and decided to go home and get a good night's sleep.
As I walked out of the building towards my bus stop, I pondered whether what I had just experienced had actually happened or not. Was I hallucinating due to over-exposure to various hazardous chemicals? This thought crossed my mind as I saw my bus pass right past my stop. I shouted for the bus to stop for me, and took off running after it. I didn't really expect to catch it, but it would make me feel better to at least have tried. However, something unexpected happened. I felt myself moving faster than I had ever moved in my life. Within seconds I had run over 200 yards and was standing next to the stopped bus. The driver, stunned, let me on for free.
It wouldn't hit me until much later, but the accident with the chemicals and the lightning must have somehow granted me the gift of superspeed. As a scientist, I try to find logical explanations for things. However, with this case, there WAS no logical explanation. I had no choice but to accept my gift. What would I use it for, though? Why had I been given these abilities?
Weeks later, I was teaching my class when I heard the blasting boom of bullets being fired. I saw my windows shatter and immediately began moving at superspeed. I saw all of the bullets enter the room, and I could tell where they were all going to go. Knowing that catching the bullets would reveal my secret, I created small gusts of wind to move the kids out of the way of the bullets, just enough for them not to have noticed in all of the confusion.
I had experienced drive-by shootings before. Luckily, no one had ever been killed or seriously wounded. Despite the school's string of good luck, I knew that, eventually, someone would be severely injured. I knew that something had to be done about the situation. The only thing I didn't know was, what could be done?
Within weeks I read reports of a costumed hero in Metropolis. The newspapers called him "The Metropolis Marvel," "The Man of Steel," and "The Man of Tomorrow." The new century had brought Earth a new hero, a champion for justice that stood head and shoulders above all others, not that there were many to compare him to. He was known worldwide by one name: people called him Superman.
I knew what could be done. Not only about school violence, but about violence throughout the entire city, perhaps the entire state. I had a gift; I should use that to benefit others. My parents never pretended to be proud of me when I was younger, but they did teach me about love of neighbor and love of self. I had found my second calling. I would follow the lead of Superman and costume myself in order to help those in need. Now all I needed was a snappy name. "Fastman" just didn't seem to flow, and "The Streak" sounded too much like I ran around naked. Then I had it; It came to me when someone took a picture of me, and the light blinded me. The light bulb lit up in my mind, and I had my name. I went home and designed a costume, which I created the next day after I bought myself fabric. The suit was a red body suit with yellow lightning around the wrists, waistline, and across my chest. The chest bolt was bursting out of a white hole with a black border. I wore yellow boots and winged yellow ear pieces over my mask. The costume was perfect, and it fit my name perfectly. Justice had a new avenger.
My name is Barry Allen. I'm The Flash.
There are some things that I have learned during my five years as a teacher. During this time of year, though, one thing stands out.
The time of year is parent-teacher conference time. The lesson I've learned is that, no matter how smart someone is, they still don't have a clue. Case in point: I met with a parent by the name of Hartley Rathaway. This man is a musician, the first-chair flute player with the Central City Philharmonic Orchestra. He's written three concertos and a symphony. As impressive as that is, his talent doesn't end there. He's also a mechanical and scientific genius. The two of us both graduated from Adler High School in the same class. We were never really good friends, but we knew each other, we worked together occasionally.
So anyway, Hartley's son, Stephen, is in my sophomore Chemistry class, and he's not doing so well. He's failed the last two tests, and I wish I could say he was trying, but he's just not. He skips class, he doesn't hand in his homework. It's hard for me to believe that this is Hartley Rathaway's son. Then again, it's hard for Hartley to believe, too.
"He's FAILING? How is he failing?"
I sat across a table from Hartley with my grade book in front of me. I showed him his son's grades, as well as his attendance record. Hartley was still livid. "Isn't there anything you can do, Barry?"
I shook my head in masked frustration. "I've tried, Hartley. Honestly, I have. I just can't get through to him. I don't know what else to do."
The light orange-haired man across from me slammed his fist down on the table. "Dammit, Barry! It's hard enough to raise this boy on my own without worrying about his school work. I can't hold his hand."
I shrugged. "Neither can I. This is something that the two of you have to work out."
He stood from his chair and turned around quickly. He walked over to the window. He started talking to himself. "You're all the same. For years, you people have blamed me and my son for your inability to teach."
"That's unfair, Hartley, and you know it." I stepped up behind the angered man and put my hand on his shoulder. "I want to help you."
Just then I saw him start to spin around. I saw him curl his left hand into a fist, and I knew what was coming. I could've dodged it easily, but that would've surely given away my secret. Instead, I stood tough and waited for it to come. He hit me square in the jaw. I fell backwards into one of the desks. He shouted at me as I wiped a spot of blood off of my lip. "THE HELL YOU DO!"
I pulled myself together and began to stand up. "Hartley…"
He looked shocked. He stepped forward to give me a hand. "Oh Barry…I'm sorry…"
I took my friend's hand and stood up. "I think…I think you should go. I'll give you a call about this later."
I walked Hartley to the door of my room. He shook my hand as he left. "Barry, I'm sorry."
I smiled and reassured him. "Don't worry about it. This never happened."
Hartley left, and I closed and locked my door. I sat down and felt the welt that was beginning to build on my lip. I looked down at the clock on my desk: 4:28. I decided to go home, not telling anyone about what had happened with Hartley hitting me. I figured I wouldn't have to think about it again.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
A few days later, the school held a surprise assembly. I herded my students into the gymnasium, along with hundreds of other kids, and we packed ourselves into bleachers. None of the teachers knew what was going on, and the students could tell from the looks on our faces. We had been telling them that it was probably another anti-drug talk similar to the ones we had every other month.
We sat still for a while before one of my students, a red-haired young man by the name of Wally West, came up to me. "What's going on, Mr. Allen?" the young man inquired.
"I'm not sure, Wally," I replied with a shrug. "But I do know that if nothing happens here soon, I'm going to have to find out what IS going on."
Ten minutes passed. No one came out to say anything, and the student body was getting restless. Suddenly we heard a voice come over the PA System. It wasn't a voice that the majority of the students had heard before. I recognized it all too well.
"Everybody stay in the gym and nobody gets hurt. Just so you know I'm not messing around here…"
What came next was a high-pitched whistling sound that made the entire gymnasium shutter. Everyone threw their hands over their ears, and I instantly raced out the doors of the gym as fast as I could. I staggered around the parking lot, disoriented from the whistling sound. As my head cleared, and I played back the scene in my mind, I realized that what I had originally thought was just a steady tone was really a series of pitches in rapid succession. I steadied myself on a parked car, and oddly felt myself compelled to smash in the windows of the car. I controlled myself, not destroying anything, but then I wondered. I walked back to the open door and, looking in, I noticed the entire student body and teachers, fighting amongst themselves.
I raced to my car, where I had a duffel bag in the back seat. I pulled out a red and yellow uniform and suited up. Moments later, The Flash sped into the office of Adler High School. I had expected to find Hartley Rathaway there, holding the office workers hostage. I didn't get exactly what I had expected.
I entered and saw all of the workers still going about their days, oblivious to what was going on around them. In the center of the room I saw Hartley standing there, smiling. He was wearing a green hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. In his hand was a small item, roughly the size of a thick magic marker. Along the side of the item were buttons. At the end was a small bell, about the size of the end of a trumpet. Hartley saw me out of the corner of his eye and turned to face me. I stood tall, firmly planted on the floor.
"So you must be The Flash. I'd heard you might show up. That's why I prepared for this."
Hartley raised the small item in his hand to his mouth. As he blew a single note through the object, he pressed one of the buttons on the side. The note pattern changed, and the office workers dropped whatever they were doing. As they approached me, Hartley chuckled. "You can't stop me, Flash. Not without hurting these innocent people."
He was right. They all rushed me at once, and I thought as quickly as I could. I could create wind currents with my arms to hold them off, but I still really hadn't learned to control those completely. I could block their punches, but not without hurting them. I realized that I had no choice but to let them capture me. I couldn't risk injuring them.
Minutes later I was tied to a chair. Hartley hadn't gagged me, but he wasn't giving me much opportunity to talk between punches in the mouth. Hartley wouldn't shut up, though. "I just want my boy to do well, don't they understand that? It's not my fault he doesn't do his work! They need to learn to teach him!"
Finally he took a break from beating my senseless. He took the small instrument out of his pocket and held it in his hand. "But with this little toy, I can take care of things for him. You see this, Flash? I can use this pipe to make anyone do anything I want them to. I could make you kill someone, or destroy the entire town, or do my taxes. I could make you dance a jig with the right combination of notes. I can even have the principal change my son's grades. It's so easy, I don't understand why I never thought of it before."
I struggled to speak as I worked on undoing the ropes which held me. "It won't work. You'll never get away with it."
"Never get away with it?" Hartley smiled a sick smile at me. "Who's going to stop me? You? You know, I heard you were some big superhero. Now that I see you, though…you're nothing but a flash in the pan. You're nothing compared to me, the modern-day Pied Piper of Central City!"
He turned his back to me for just a moment. That was all I needed. "I can forgive one bad pun, Piper –"
He turned around again to see me standing from my chair, the ropes which held me laying loosely on the floor.
"- but I have to draw the line at two in a row."
He panicked, raising the pipe to his lips, blowing and pushing the buttons simultaneously. As I lunged towards him, I was hit by a literal wall of sound, and was sent flying through the giant glass window of the office and out into the parking lot yet again. I landed with a thud on a car towards the middle of the lot. Hartley stuck his head through the shattered window and shouted at me, holding his pipe out the window for me to see. "It doesn't matter how fast or how slow you run, Flash! You'll never beat me! Not while I have this!"
I stood again, lucky to be alive, and as I listened to what he said, I realized something. I shouted back to him. "You know what, Piper?"
I threw my arms up in the air. "You're right."
I turned and ran a few miles away. One of the office workers later told Barry Allen that Hartley pulled his head back in the window, stunned that I had run. He started laughing with a mixture of shock and relief in his face. He kept laughing for a few more seconds.
That is, until he heard the boom.
I entered the school building doing just over Mach 1. Even IF Hartley, or as he had dubbed himself, the "Pied Piper," could raise his little pipe to his mouth and blow off a few notes, it still wouldn't affect me. I was going faster than the speed of sound; I could grab the pipe from out of his hand and mouth, pull his pants down, tie him up with quadruple knots, and fly his pants from the flagpole outside the building before I even began to hear whatever notes he played.
In fact, that's exactly what I did.
Two seconds later Hartley realized what had happened. I stood before him, glaring at him and holding his pipe in my hands. He was stunned yet again. I couldn't help but ask him a question.
"Why'd you do it? Without you, your son isn't going to have anyone to raise him. You're his role model, he looks up to you. Why resort to this?"
The humbled man before me hung his head in shame and began to sob. "I'm sorry…I only wanted what's best for my son. He's all I've got."
I put my gloved hand on his shoulder. Minutes later, the police came to take him away. As the squad car pulled away with him in the back seat, I saw him turn and look at me out the window with a puzzled look on his face. He said something I couldn't hear, but I read his lips: "How'd you know I'm a single father?"
Another officer saw what had happened and he came up to me. "Hey Flash, what'd he say?"
I looked at the officer and shrugged. "I don't know."
I shook the officer's hand as he thanked me for handling the situation. With that, I sped off.
A few minutes later, I reentered the school again, this time as Barry Allen, rejoining the large group of students, still in the gymnasium. They were all talking about what had happened. I went back to my seat as quickly and quietly as possible, trying not to attract attention. It seemed that I had been successful until, a few minutes later, Wally West tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see an inquisitive look on his face. "Where've you been, Mr. Allen?"
I thought quickly. "I…ran to the bathroom. That high-pitched sound made me want to throw up!"
Wally was shocked. "Oh man, you missed it! The Flash was here! I swear he looked at me! It was awesome! I can't believe you missed it!"
He smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Just then a voice came on over the PA system. "Attention students, this is the principal. Due to the circumstances of today, you are all free to go home. Have a good weekend, we'll see you on Monday."
Wally's face lit up like a 200-kilowatt light bulb. "YES! Let's get outta here!"
I smiled as he walked in front of me back to our room. He chuckled again and turned back to me. "I still can't believe you missed The Flash, Mr. Allen."
I smiled and walked past him, unlocking the door of my room and letting students in. "I guess I just have bad timing, Wally."
Wally walked a few feet through the door, then stopped to look at me. As he turned to walk away, I heard him say something to himself. "Maybe you do…"
He looked at me oddly as he walked out the door, and I shrugged innocently.
2 FADE TO BLACK
By: Joe Grunenwald
1 The Fastest Man Alive!
My name is Barry Allen. I am a chemistry teacher at Adler High School in downtown Central City, OH. My students laugh at me behind my back. Some of them even do it to my face. My own family is ashamed that they are related to me. I've never had a girlfriend. I've found solace in chemicals. Not THOSE kinds of chemicals. I'm a laughing stock, but I'm not stupid. I mean legal chemicals. I revel in combining nitric acid with phosphoric hydrogen dioxide. I find separating water into hydrogen and oxygen fascinating. I am, to use an outdated colloquialism, a 'nerd.'
That's what they think.
Mind you, all of what I've just told you is true. I AM a chemistry teacher that takes his job extremely seriously. I AM ridiculed by nearly everyone around me. But I'm much, much more than that. You see, I've got a secret that I've never told anyone. You'll be the first to hear it, straight from the horse's mouth.
I can outrun a cheetah. I make sonic booms like drunkards make methane gas. If you fire a bullet into the air, I will catch it. It'll hurt a bit, but I'll catch it. I can circle the earth on foot 8 times in one second. The great thing is, during all of this, I never break a sweat. I am, to my knowledge, the fastest man alive. Maybe you've heard of me. Not of Barry Allen; I doubt ANYONE'S ever heard of Barry Allen. No, when I'm doing the speed thing, people call me something else. Like I said, maybe you've heard of me.
I'm The Flash.
No joke.
I haven't always been this fast. In fact, I HAVE always been quite the opposite. Hard to believe that the Flash was once constantly late. When I was younger, my parents used to have to drag me out of bed in the morning to get me to go to school. They'd yell and yell at me to get my day started. Even once I did get it started (normally five to ten minutes later than all the other students), it was a struggle to keep it going. I was consistently late to six of my seven classes. Why six and not all seven, you ask? Well, that's easy.
My seventh class was my science class. For that class, I was EARLY.
Anyway, despite my shortcomings in the 'time' department, I made good for myself. I was the valedictorian of my graduating class of 1992. I was awarded a full scholarship to The University of Notre Dame. I'd love to say here that I'd never seen my parents more proud of me. Sadly, that's not true. Don't worry, my parents aren't dead. They weren't murdered when I was very young and they didn't die in a freak accident. They were there for my graduation. They were there when I received my scholarship announcement. It's just that, I've never seen my parents seem proud of me. They've never told me they were proud of me, and I've never heard them tell anyone else they were proud of me. It's not that I need the self- assurance. It'd be nice, though. But I'm going off on a tangent again.
Where was I? Oh yeah, college. I attended Notre Dame, majoring in chemistry and minoring in education. After I graduated, I decided to go back home to Central City. I took a job at my alma mater, Adler High School, teaching sophomore and junior chemistry. I'd been working there for 3 years before the accident.
What accident, you say? Well I'll tell you.
I was cleaning up the science lab one night. It was late, and I was still at school. My students had been working with the chemicals today. It was the beginning of the year, and we were doing simple combinations. Today we had created volcanoes. I know it's simple, but it gets the kids into the class. Anyway, one of the students had made a rather large mess of things around his workspace, and I told him I would take care of cleaning up. However, a faculty meeting and a few disgruntled parents ("Why is Billy getting a D?" "It's because he's a doesn't do his homework and he sleeps through class, Mrs. Jones." "But how is that HIS fault?" I swear, some of the parents just can't handle the idea that their child is not perfect) kept me out of my room for a few hours, and by the time I got back there, it was 7 PM. For a teacher, that's late. Anyway, it was storming outside. Lightning was striking and thunder was subsequently crashing. I was putting chemical beakers back into their places in the cabinet that stood next to my front window when I saw a bright flash of light. A looked across the street and saw a tree ablaze. It had obviously been struck by lightning. I breathed a sigh of relief as I mused to myself that if that lightning had been 100 yards due south, I would've been fried.
Then, something kind of funny happened. I placed the final beaker on the shelf of my cabinet when a single bolt of lightning came bursting through my window. It struck me, and I was thrown backwards into the cabinet. Beakers were smashed into millions of pieces, and chemicals, now electrified, soaked my clothes and my person. I fell to the ground and passed out.
I woke 10 minutes later, lying in a puddle of electrified chemicals and nursing multiple small cuts. I stood from the odd mess, trying to figure out why I was still alive. It was late. I was tired. I didn't feel any pain, aside from the cuts on my face and hands. I cleaned my wounds and, somewhat bewildered, closed up my room and decided to go home and get a good night's sleep.
As I walked out of the building towards my bus stop, I pondered whether what I had just experienced had actually happened or not. Was I hallucinating due to over-exposure to various hazardous chemicals? This thought crossed my mind as I saw my bus pass right past my stop. I shouted for the bus to stop for me, and took off running after it. I didn't really expect to catch it, but it would make me feel better to at least have tried. However, something unexpected happened. I felt myself moving faster than I had ever moved in my life. Within seconds I had run over 200 yards and was standing next to the stopped bus. The driver, stunned, let me on for free.
It wouldn't hit me until much later, but the accident with the chemicals and the lightning must have somehow granted me the gift of superspeed. As a scientist, I try to find logical explanations for things. However, with this case, there WAS no logical explanation. I had no choice but to accept my gift. What would I use it for, though? Why had I been given these abilities?
Weeks later, I was teaching my class when I heard the blasting boom of bullets being fired. I saw my windows shatter and immediately began moving at superspeed. I saw all of the bullets enter the room, and I could tell where they were all going to go. Knowing that catching the bullets would reveal my secret, I created small gusts of wind to move the kids out of the way of the bullets, just enough for them not to have noticed in all of the confusion.
I had experienced drive-by shootings before. Luckily, no one had ever been killed or seriously wounded. Despite the school's string of good luck, I knew that, eventually, someone would be severely injured. I knew that something had to be done about the situation. The only thing I didn't know was, what could be done?
Within weeks I read reports of a costumed hero in Metropolis. The newspapers called him "The Metropolis Marvel," "The Man of Steel," and "The Man of Tomorrow." The new century had brought Earth a new hero, a champion for justice that stood head and shoulders above all others, not that there were many to compare him to. He was known worldwide by one name: people called him Superman.
I knew what could be done. Not only about school violence, but about violence throughout the entire city, perhaps the entire state. I had a gift; I should use that to benefit others. My parents never pretended to be proud of me when I was younger, but they did teach me about love of neighbor and love of self. I had found my second calling. I would follow the lead of Superman and costume myself in order to help those in need. Now all I needed was a snappy name. "Fastman" just didn't seem to flow, and "The Streak" sounded too much like I ran around naked. Then I had it; It came to me when someone took a picture of me, and the light blinded me. The light bulb lit up in my mind, and I had my name. I went home and designed a costume, which I created the next day after I bought myself fabric. The suit was a red body suit with yellow lightning around the wrists, waistline, and across my chest. The chest bolt was bursting out of a white hole with a black border. I wore yellow boots and winged yellow ear pieces over my mask. The costume was perfect, and it fit my name perfectly. Justice had a new avenger.
My name is Barry Allen. I'm The Flash.
There are some things that I have learned during my five years as a teacher. During this time of year, though, one thing stands out.
The time of year is parent-teacher conference time. The lesson I've learned is that, no matter how smart someone is, they still don't have a clue. Case in point: I met with a parent by the name of Hartley Rathaway. This man is a musician, the first-chair flute player with the Central City Philharmonic Orchestra. He's written three concertos and a symphony. As impressive as that is, his talent doesn't end there. He's also a mechanical and scientific genius. The two of us both graduated from Adler High School in the same class. We were never really good friends, but we knew each other, we worked together occasionally.
So anyway, Hartley's son, Stephen, is in my sophomore Chemistry class, and he's not doing so well. He's failed the last two tests, and I wish I could say he was trying, but he's just not. He skips class, he doesn't hand in his homework. It's hard for me to believe that this is Hartley Rathaway's son. Then again, it's hard for Hartley to believe, too.
"He's FAILING? How is he failing?"
I sat across a table from Hartley with my grade book in front of me. I showed him his son's grades, as well as his attendance record. Hartley was still livid. "Isn't there anything you can do, Barry?"
I shook my head in masked frustration. "I've tried, Hartley. Honestly, I have. I just can't get through to him. I don't know what else to do."
The light orange-haired man across from me slammed his fist down on the table. "Dammit, Barry! It's hard enough to raise this boy on my own without worrying about his school work. I can't hold his hand."
I shrugged. "Neither can I. This is something that the two of you have to work out."
He stood from his chair and turned around quickly. He walked over to the window. He started talking to himself. "You're all the same. For years, you people have blamed me and my son for your inability to teach."
"That's unfair, Hartley, and you know it." I stepped up behind the angered man and put my hand on his shoulder. "I want to help you."
Just then I saw him start to spin around. I saw him curl his left hand into a fist, and I knew what was coming. I could've dodged it easily, but that would've surely given away my secret. Instead, I stood tough and waited for it to come. He hit me square in the jaw. I fell backwards into one of the desks. He shouted at me as I wiped a spot of blood off of my lip. "THE HELL YOU DO!"
I pulled myself together and began to stand up. "Hartley…"
He looked shocked. He stepped forward to give me a hand. "Oh Barry…I'm sorry…"
I took my friend's hand and stood up. "I think…I think you should go. I'll give you a call about this later."
I walked Hartley to the door of my room. He shook my hand as he left. "Barry, I'm sorry."
I smiled and reassured him. "Don't worry about it. This never happened."
Hartley left, and I closed and locked my door. I sat down and felt the welt that was beginning to build on my lip. I looked down at the clock on my desk: 4:28. I decided to go home, not telling anyone about what had happened with Hartley hitting me. I figured I wouldn't have to think about it again.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
A few days later, the school held a surprise assembly. I herded my students into the gymnasium, along with hundreds of other kids, and we packed ourselves into bleachers. None of the teachers knew what was going on, and the students could tell from the looks on our faces. We had been telling them that it was probably another anti-drug talk similar to the ones we had every other month.
We sat still for a while before one of my students, a red-haired young man by the name of Wally West, came up to me. "What's going on, Mr. Allen?" the young man inquired.
"I'm not sure, Wally," I replied with a shrug. "But I do know that if nothing happens here soon, I'm going to have to find out what IS going on."
Ten minutes passed. No one came out to say anything, and the student body was getting restless. Suddenly we heard a voice come over the PA System. It wasn't a voice that the majority of the students had heard before. I recognized it all too well.
"Everybody stay in the gym and nobody gets hurt. Just so you know I'm not messing around here…"
What came next was a high-pitched whistling sound that made the entire gymnasium shutter. Everyone threw their hands over their ears, and I instantly raced out the doors of the gym as fast as I could. I staggered around the parking lot, disoriented from the whistling sound. As my head cleared, and I played back the scene in my mind, I realized that what I had originally thought was just a steady tone was really a series of pitches in rapid succession. I steadied myself on a parked car, and oddly felt myself compelled to smash in the windows of the car. I controlled myself, not destroying anything, but then I wondered. I walked back to the open door and, looking in, I noticed the entire student body and teachers, fighting amongst themselves.
I raced to my car, where I had a duffel bag in the back seat. I pulled out a red and yellow uniform and suited up. Moments later, The Flash sped into the office of Adler High School. I had expected to find Hartley Rathaway there, holding the office workers hostage. I didn't get exactly what I had expected.
I entered and saw all of the workers still going about their days, oblivious to what was going on around them. In the center of the room I saw Hartley standing there, smiling. He was wearing a green hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. In his hand was a small item, roughly the size of a thick magic marker. Along the side of the item were buttons. At the end was a small bell, about the size of the end of a trumpet. Hartley saw me out of the corner of his eye and turned to face me. I stood tall, firmly planted on the floor.
"So you must be The Flash. I'd heard you might show up. That's why I prepared for this."
Hartley raised the small item in his hand to his mouth. As he blew a single note through the object, he pressed one of the buttons on the side. The note pattern changed, and the office workers dropped whatever they were doing. As they approached me, Hartley chuckled. "You can't stop me, Flash. Not without hurting these innocent people."
He was right. They all rushed me at once, and I thought as quickly as I could. I could create wind currents with my arms to hold them off, but I still really hadn't learned to control those completely. I could block their punches, but not without hurting them. I realized that I had no choice but to let them capture me. I couldn't risk injuring them.
Minutes later I was tied to a chair. Hartley hadn't gagged me, but he wasn't giving me much opportunity to talk between punches in the mouth. Hartley wouldn't shut up, though. "I just want my boy to do well, don't they understand that? It's not my fault he doesn't do his work! They need to learn to teach him!"
Finally he took a break from beating my senseless. He took the small instrument out of his pocket and held it in his hand. "But with this little toy, I can take care of things for him. You see this, Flash? I can use this pipe to make anyone do anything I want them to. I could make you kill someone, or destroy the entire town, or do my taxes. I could make you dance a jig with the right combination of notes. I can even have the principal change my son's grades. It's so easy, I don't understand why I never thought of it before."
I struggled to speak as I worked on undoing the ropes which held me. "It won't work. You'll never get away with it."
"Never get away with it?" Hartley smiled a sick smile at me. "Who's going to stop me? You? You know, I heard you were some big superhero. Now that I see you, though…you're nothing but a flash in the pan. You're nothing compared to me, the modern-day Pied Piper of Central City!"
He turned his back to me for just a moment. That was all I needed. "I can forgive one bad pun, Piper –"
He turned around again to see me standing from my chair, the ropes which held me laying loosely on the floor.
"- but I have to draw the line at two in a row."
He panicked, raising the pipe to his lips, blowing and pushing the buttons simultaneously. As I lunged towards him, I was hit by a literal wall of sound, and was sent flying through the giant glass window of the office and out into the parking lot yet again. I landed with a thud on a car towards the middle of the lot. Hartley stuck his head through the shattered window and shouted at me, holding his pipe out the window for me to see. "It doesn't matter how fast or how slow you run, Flash! You'll never beat me! Not while I have this!"
I stood again, lucky to be alive, and as I listened to what he said, I realized something. I shouted back to him. "You know what, Piper?"
I threw my arms up in the air. "You're right."
I turned and ran a few miles away. One of the office workers later told Barry Allen that Hartley pulled his head back in the window, stunned that I had run. He started laughing with a mixture of shock and relief in his face. He kept laughing for a few more seconds.
That is, until he heard the boom.
I entered the school building doing just over Mach 1. Even IF Hartley, or as he had dubbed himself, the "Pied Piper," could raise his little pipe to his mouth and blow off a few notes, it still wouldn't affect me. I was going faster than the speed of sound; I could grab the pipe from out of his hand and mouth, pull his pants down, tie him up with quadruple knots, and fly his pants from the flagpole outside the building before I even began to hear whatever notes he played.
In fact, that's exactly what I did.
Two seconds later Hartley realized what had happened. I stood before him, glaring at him and holding his pipe in my hands. He was stunned yet again. I couldn't help but ask him a question.
"Why'd you do it? Without you, your son isn't going to have anyone to raise him. You're his role model, he looks up to you. Why resort to this?"
The humbled man before me hung his head in shame and began to sob. "I'm sorry…I only wanted what's best for my son. He's all I've got."
I put my gloved hand on his shoulder. Minutes later, the police came to take him away. As the squad car pulled away with him in the back seat, I saw him turn and look at me out the window with a puzzled look on his face. He said something I couldn't hear, but I read his lips: "How'd you know I'm a single father?"
Another officer saw what had happened and he came up to me. "Hey Flash, what'd he say?"
I looked at the officer and shrugged. "I don't know."
I shook the officer's hand as he thanked me for handling the situation. With that, I sped off.
A few minutes later, I reentered the school again, this time as Barry Allen, rejoining the large group of students, still in the gymnasium. They were all talking about what had happened. I went back to my seat as quickly and quietly as possible, trying not to attract attention. It seemed that I had been successful until, a few minutes later, Wally West tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see an inquisitive look on his face. "Where've you been, Mr. Allen?"
I thought quickly. "I…ran to the bathroom. That high-pitched sound made me want to throw up!"
Wally was shocked. "Oh man, you missed it! The Flash was here! I swear he looked at me! It was awesome! I can't believe you missed it!"
He smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Just then a voice came on over the PA system. "Attention students, this is the principal. Due to the circumstances of today, you are all free to go home. Have a good weekend, we'll see you on Monday."
Wally's face lit up like a 200-kilowatt light bulb. "YES! Let's get outta here!"
I smiled as he walked in front of me back to our room. He chuckled again and turned back to me. "I still can't believe you missed The Flash, Mr. Allen."
I smiled and walked past him, unlocking the door of my room and letting students in. "I guess I just have bad timing, Wally."
Wally walked a few feet through the door, then stopped to look at me. As he turned to walk away, I heard him say something to himself. "Maybe you do…"
He looked at me oddly as he walked out the door, and I shrugged innocently.
2 FADE TO BLACK