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A Bad Idea 153

Weeks after David’s death, Superfreak stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.

He faked a smile, hoping that would work, hoping it would make him feel better. It didn’t.

He leaned over the sink, resting his forehead on the mirror. This wouldn’t work. This couldn’t last forever. He had to find a skin he liked — he had to figure himself out.

But who was he? What would make him happy?

He thought of people he liked. He thought of people he’d wanted to be.

The answer, inevitably, was everyone.

He narrowed the question down. Who did he want to be for the rest of his life?

The answer was simpler, but no less depressing. For that amount of time? He wanted to be nobody.

He thought hard. He had to be somebody. Anybody.

What did this world need? Who did this world need him to be?

Superfreak remembered David’s funeral. It’d happened after the first time he died. (David hadn’t even gotten a second one, in fact, because his resurrection was being kept as secret as possible. Superfreak didn’t even know about David’s second death.)

Superfreak thought about David. He hadn’t gone to the guy’s funeral — he hadn’t really known him well enough to go. But he’d passed by the graveyard when he got buried.

People had looked so sad when David died.

People wanted another David in this world.

“David,” Superfreak said, bloodshot eyes staring back at him in the mirror. He rasped the words out, “I have to become David.”

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