These next three chapters are just more character origins. I had a lot of fun writing these, so obviously I'd like for you to read them, but if this kind of thing doesn't interest you, feel free to jump to Chapter 6. That's where the story really starts.
Central City, Missouri, United States of America
Fifteen years ago
Barry Allen dreaded moments like this. He was walking home after another stupid day at stupid school, and he knew that his stupid parents were going to berate him. He had been caught going through another student's book bag again, and his teacher had called his mother.
Barry couldn't help it. Some of the other kids just had better stuff. Their parents let them bring handheld games, books with bad words, and real non-diet soda cans to school. His parents were boring.
When he made it to his block, he saw a peculiar sight. Police lights. Surely his parents wouldn't get the police involved, would they? Barry knew he had a bit of a stealing problem, but he never took anything important. As he got closer to his house, he saw the yellow tape. Crime scene, it said. Do not cross.
Barry started running. He stopped just short of the tape, and he looked back and forth from the house to the two police officers standing in the yard. "Hey!" he called to the officers.
"Barry? Barry!" he heard. He looked toward the source of the noise and saw his father seated, and presumably handcuffed, in the back of one of the two police cars.
Barry ducked under the tape and tried to run up to the car, but one of the officers grabbed him by his arms. "Dad!" he cried out.
"Your father needs to come with us, kid," the other officer said calmly. "I'm afraid he's done something very bad."
"I didn't do it Barry! It wasn't me! You have to believe me!"
"Wh-what happened?" Barry managed to ask.
"Barry," the officer who grabbed him spoke slowly, loosening his grip and turning the frightened boy to face him, "your mother has been killed."
"What!?"
"It wasn't me, son! I promise!"
"You're lying!" Barry shouted at the officer, breaking free and running to the front door.
"Kid, stop!"
But Barry Allen didn't stop. He went right inside, and he was greeted with a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life. In the kitchen stood two more officers, marking evidence and inspecting a body lying on the floor.
His mother's body.
…
Central City, Missouri
Seven years ago
Barry had no idea what to do with himself. Today was his eighteenth birthday. He was finally out of the foster system, and yet he felt just as trapped as ever.
Life after his mother's murder had not been easy for him. He had been bounced around from home to home, never staying in any of them long enough to bond with anyone. Every time a foster parent caught on to his kleptomaniacal tendencies, it was off to the next house. He had known that today would be it. Following a talk with his social worker and a session in the courtroom, the system could no longer take care of him. He had known his social worker to pull strings for others in the system, to help them out a little longer, but he understood why she couldn't do any more for him.
The way Barry saw it, he had very few options. He had barely graduated from high school a month ago (he never stayed at one of those for very long either), and he knew that with his record, no respectable college would take him. He figured he could try taking some community college courses in the fall, or maybe even get an early start with some summer courses, but that still left him with the matters of where he was going to stay, and how he was going to pay for anything. As he trudged down the streets of Central City wearing a small backpack containing the few things that he could prove actually belonged to him, he kept an eye open for help wanted signs.
Finally, after several hours of searching, he found a place that was hiring. A convenience store and gas station needed a nighttime janitor. Slim pickin's, Barry thought, but beggars can't be choosers.
After a brief conversation with the manager, Barry was practically hired. He spent the next hour or so learning all that he would have to do. As he familiarized himself with the place, Barry noted the multiple security cameras. For all he could find to complain about in this place, maybe he would finally be motivated to put his bad habit to rest.
…
Central City, Missouri
Three years ago
"I'm not so sure about this, James," Barry whispered to the man standing next to him.
"Come on, man," James said aloud, not bothering with caution, "A few minutes ago you were excited."
"That was before I knew how big this place was."
The two men were standing across the street from a police station on a rainy night. Barry looked over at his companion. James Jesse (a fake name, Barry was almost certain) was a clerk at the convenience store who Barry had managed to become sort of friends with. They hadn't had many conversations, but they had bonded over two things: they were thieves, and they hated their jobs. I can see it in your eyes when you look at nice things, James had said to Barry one day. I know where we can get all kinds of nice things, he had said.
"Don't pussy out on me now, man. Come on. You know your part?"
"Yeah, yeah. Let's get it over with."
"Remember, it doesn't matter if they see you as long as they don't catch you. When the time comes, just run."
"Alright already. Let's go."
The two men put their ski masks on and ran across the street. James managed to scale the wall and go in through the window, leaving Barry to go right in through the front door and be the bait.
For a police station, security seemed pretty relaxed. Barry was surprised to only see one police officer upon entering the building.
The guard seemed equally surprised. Why would a guy in a ski mask just waltz right into a police station? The guard hesitated, then started moving toward Barry.
Shit, here we go, Barry thought, and he ran right past the guard toward the stairs.
"Hey, stop right there!" the guard called out, running after Barry and pulling his gun.
The guard fired off a couple of shots, but Barry managed to make it up the stairs, duck into the first room on his left, and lock the door.
The guard banged on the door, and Barry took a quick look at his watch. Twenty-one seconds had passed.
Frustrated, the guard fired a shot at the door. As soon as it opened, Barry tripped the guard, kicked his gun out of his hand, and ran further down the hall. He rounded a corner and made sure the guard didn't see which room he ran into next. He checked his watch again. Thirty-seven seconds.
This room appeared to be some kind of lab, with shelves of chemicals lining the walls. There was also a window, and Barry could see that the storm outside had gotten worse. There was thunder and lightning now. Despite the noisy storm, he heard as the guard came down the hall, kicking open every door he passed. Barry watched as the seconds continued to tick by. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine…
He heard the guard's voice calling for backup. Good, he thought, more people focused on him instead of James.
Finally, the guard kicked open the right door, and he looked Barry right in the eye. There were two more officers with him now, and they all pointed their guns at Barry, who took one more peek at his watch. Sixty-two seconds. Surely James had found what he wanted and gotten out by now.
Desperate, Barry moved toward the window. Everything that happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. The guard fired one more shot, but instead of hitting Barry, it hit the shelf of chemicals behind him. As Barry was showered with falling flasks full of unfamiliar substances, he made his final escape. He jumped out the window, breaking it, and falling two stories to the ground outside. Before he reached the ground though, something unlikely happened. Barry was struck by lightning.
For a moment, all Barry could feel was pain. The burning of the chemicals, the cuts from shards of glass, the pelting rain, the jolt the lightning strike sent through his body, all of it hurt.
By the time he hit the ground, though, he felt no pain at all. Was it shock? Severe burns that nullified his nerve endings? He didn't know. He didn't care. He stood up effortlessly, then turned to look up at the window where he saw the officers looking down at him. As he stood there, all he could think of were the words James had said to him earlier. When the time comes, just run.
So Barry Allen ran.
…
Central City, Missouri
Present day
"Come on, Flash, can't you let me off with a warning?"
"Sorry, buddy. You know how this works. Give me the shoes."
Barry Allen had spent the last three years as a masked crimefighter, following the accident that gave him super speed. Now, he was stopping his former coworker James Jesse from robbing a penthouse uptown.
"The shoes, Jesse. Take them off," the Flash said again, referring to the technologically advanced jester-style shoes James wore. They allowed him to alter the atoms in the air at the base of the shoes, effectively letting James walk on air.
"Alright, you got what you want," James said after giving the Flash his fancy footwear. "Now let me go?"
"No can do. The police are on their way, so you're staying right here. I, on the other hand, have somewhere to be. Bye now."
The Flash was gone in an instant, and James, who was left tied to a chair, didn't even notice him take some of the high end penthouse's fancy silverware for himself on the way out.
It was true that the Flash had somewhere to be. Yesterday he had gotten a letter saying that the President himself knew who he was and wanted to meet with him. Barry had been skeptical, but if it turned out to be a trap, it wasn't like he couldn't escape.
On his way to drop off his pilfered shoes, forks, and knives at his own apartment before heading to the location given to him in the letter, the Flash chuckled at the irony of what had just happened. Old habits die hard, he supposed. He still never took anything important, and that, he decided, was what separated him from thieves like James Jesse.
He would definitely have to try out the shoes soon.
