Other times with Trever Hoyt, superhero - http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/07/19/everybody-knows/
The last hour of the twentieth century would be the last time Trever Hoyt and his older sister, Fallon, would ever be normal. Only nineteen-years-old, Trever looked at the seven Blue Moon beer bottles lining the top rail of the wooden deck in an order of labels facing out, the backyard.. Twenty-two-year old Fallon had bought a twelve pack. She was holding her fifth beer. Trever’s mouth formed a wicked grin.
“Fal, I outdrank you. You’re getting weak in your old age.”
She shook her head and straight shoulder-length dirty blonde bangs feathered over her right eye. She stood over him and announced.
“Little brother, it’s bad enough I have to spend New Years Eve with you. Don’t ruin it by being a mouthy drunk. That’s my deal, dude. I’d hate to have to kick your ass all over Aunt Nealy’s house.
They laughed as thunder rolled over the two-bedroom ranch on a one-acre plot in the middle of Orange County, Florida. Trever stumbled as he stood, grasping the extent of his buzz.
“Fal, I’m going to the redneck boys room then shoot off this last bottle rocket. Storm will be here soon. We’ll be ringing in the New Year on the couch.”
Fallon didn’t respond. The telephone inside the house on the kitchen wall next to the refrigerator, rang. She assumed it was her Aunt, checking on her house and it’s sitters.
Trever strolled to the large mound in the middle of the yard. After zipping up, he found a lighter in his left front pocket. He pulled his jacket sleeves up a few inches on each arm. He heard Fallon’s voice from the deck, but couldn’t decipher her words. He ignited a tiny flame, and held it to the bottle rocket’s wick then held it over his head with his left hand. He pulled th trigger of the launcher.
“Trever Morgan Hoyt!”
Fallon screamed her brother’s name. He was too drunk or too stupid to hear, she thought.
The lightning strike was bright orange and white. It must have hit Trever on his left hand, because by the time she reached him on the mound, the sleeves of his jacket and his green and black flannel shirt were burned off, to the shoulder.
“Oh my God, Trever, please be alive!”
Panic waved over her. He was unconscious. The orange and white charge from the strike danced over his extremities like a mischievous demon.
“Oh my God, Trever, I don’t know what to do!”
Fallon leaned her right ear to her brother’s chest and heard nothing. She placed her hands over his heart and pressed down to manufacture life. As her shaky palms touched him, the orange and white demon shot her back. She landed a few feet from his body, on her rear end.
His murmurs, faint, lost, desperate brought tears to her eyes. He was alive.
“Yeah, little bro, I’m right here. I can’t move you. I don’t know what to do.”
Trever rolled to his right side. His left hand appeared injured. He couldn’t move his legs.
“I, uh, I think it’s wearing off, or something. Just give me a minute. Damn, this feels weird. Really, different, like my body’s plugged into a socket.”
Fallon scooted on the grass, within inches of her brother. She sat with him until he could move his legs. It was the last few minutes of the twentieth century. They’d never be the same.
This is my response to picture it and write.
It’s an origin story of a superhero story I’ve been brainstorming for months. I’ll reveal the character’s powers, current situation and superhero name later, if you guys like it.
Today’s song goes with the picture and the story, except it was made in 2007. It’s Oasis’ Shock of The Lightning. Happy New Year, Have a great ’13.