My name is Dave. And unfortunately, I have the worst superpower ever. I wouldn’t even consider it a superpower as much as a curse. You see, when I was born, there was an umbrella attached to my head. And alas, because the umbrella was an extension of my head, the doctors were unable to take it off.
So I departed from the hospital with the umbrella still attached. And as I grew up, the umbrella served as nothing but a hindrance. I couldn’t make any friends at school, as no one wanted to be friends with the umbrella boy. The bullies were even worse, picking me up by the umbrella and throwing me away, which was possible for some reason.
I couldn’t even walk into doors properly, as I was always too wide when my umbrella was open and too tall when my umbrella was closed. It was humiliating—having to walk sideways whenever I entered doors, at class and at home.
But none of that hurt as much as when I asked my high school crush to the prom. The smell of her vomit lingers on my umbrella even to this very day.
Despite all of that, I still got a degree, specifically in meteorology, the only department that would accept me. I got a job as a weatherman. It was lucrative, and my show had high ratings, but people only seemed to watch me for my umbrella.
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But one day… I was at the bank, depositing some money, when a bank robber burst in with a gun. I tried to stay hidden, but that was impossible due to my umbrella. The bank robber, clearly noticing me, walked over to me and began to sniff my umbrella.
“Hmmm… hey! You!” The robber shouted right in my face in a thick New York accent. “What's under there?”
I said nothing.
“What? Ya givin’ me the silent treatment now?” The robber continued to speak. “I know ya hidin’ some sweet cash under that umbrella of yours. So why don’t ya give it to me? And I’ll only rough ya up a little bit.”
“I-I-I’m s-s-sorry.” I finally began to speak, stuttering, “I—I c-can’t.”
“Wow.” The robber laughed. “Ya got guts. Now, give me ALL ya MONEY, or I'll SHOOT that STUPID UMBRELLA right off of ya!”
While this was something I otherwise would have looked forward to, in that moment I instead panicked and flinched. And as this happened, my umbrella opened up. It hit the man, who immediately fell to the floor, unconscious.
Immediately after he fainted, the police arrived, one of the bankers having called 911 earlier on.
One of the officers dragged the now-unconscious criminal to the police car. The second police officer looked at me.
“Thank you for your help today.” The officer said, “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Y-you're welcome, officer.” I stuttered. “B-but my eyes are down here.”
“Oh.” He said. “Sorry about that. Enjoy the rest of your day, Umbrella Boy,” the officer said as he was leaving.
That name again; it looks like I was stuck with it. But I didn’t feel as bad about it. And that night, as I was cleaning my umbrella—well, as much as I could, at least—I couldn’t help but smile. I guess my umbrella was good for something after all.