100 Words A Day by Hydrargentium

Well, at least 100 words — best served random….

Tag: Caveman

She’d seen him in action before — wild hair flowing around his face as he leapt and dodged and grappled — but had never been close enough to hear him, or smell his masculine tang.

As strong and as forceful as Caveman was — and she was already, she admitted, a tad smitten with him for his raw power — that strength was nothing compared to the fascination that overwhelmed her now. These more immediate sensations, his musk, his quietly confident grunts of exertion, rolled over her, soaked into her, and filled her head with his presence.

For a moment, even as she cowered under the wreckage of an overturned bus, Jodi forgot she was in the middle of a war zone.

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Standing at the base of the McQuarry Tower, he stared up its full height to the burgeoning purple sky beyond. His gaze took in the face of the building as well, noting handholds and outcroppings of architectural bric-a-brac. This wouldn’t be too hard.

A leap and a grab, and then Caveman was climbing, meaty fingers gripping, dextrous toes splayed. He never stopped moving, each action providing him momentum for the next, swinging and bouncing up the tower, brachiating his way to the chaos in the sky. Along the way, he caught glimpses of unassuming life through the windows…

…a woman ironing her blouse, clad in her blue business skirt and simple white brassiere…

…a small dog, perched on a barstool, licking at a butter dish on the counter…

…a man with a small baby, awkwardly holding a bottle to the child’s puckered lips…

…two Filipino woman in plain grey uniforms, one dusting, one cleaning a mirror, both chatting gaily…

…a television showing an all-sports channel, and a man with a day’s worth of stubble sprawled on the couch, staring but not watching…

…a bowl full of fruit, and a half-finished canvas on an easel…

…two children playing a video game, arguing over something unseeable on the screen…

…a portly man with a towel clutched around his waist, water dripping from his hair, racing to reach a telephone…

…a Roomba, bumping off the baseboards and cleaning a spotless floor…

The images played like a frantic, disjointed music video, with the sound replaced by the wind in his ears and the low thrumming that emanated from the disturbance in the sky.

Toucan sat down across the table, his tray clattering against the steel surface.

“That’s all you’re having for breakfast?”

Caveman looked up from his bowl, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his wrist.

“Fifth bowl.”

Toucan smiled and scooped some eggs. “Five bowls of… Sugar Smacks?”

“No, all different.” The crunch-crunch echoing from Caveman’s massive jaw filled the space between them. “Cheerios, Vector, Shreddies, Shredded Wheat….”

“All healthy stuff, then this?” Toucan jabbed his toast at the extra-large bowl. He realized Caveman was eating with a serving spoon.

“This is dessert.”

“And then they pull this goddamn crap!”

A hard-helmeted head nods slightly in recognition, but the owner just listens, says nothing.

“It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is.”

Honest dust is released from his heavy work coat as the speaker moves his arms about, agitated. The two men tramp on, down the street, headed perhaps for a drink and some TV at a nearby sports bar, or maybe just for the SkyTrain station and home.

Above them, two other men cling to the twelfth story, locked in a desperate struggle. Caveman is all hair and big hands, with his legs and one arm wrapped around his foe, and the other arm gripping the closest sill. Squatting like a silver spider, three of Technarch’s ancillary limbs have drilled straight into the brick. A fourth hangs limp. Technarch’s legs kick at the air, trying to find purchase, but his arms are pinned at his side, energy crackling at his matte-black fingertips.

Both of them grimace, faces mere inches apart. Yet neither hero nor villain makes a sound.