The Thing About Choices…

67Shamrock.jpg

I’m becoming famous!

I’m the artist who paints in the sky, in 3-D, with her hands. The only one on this Earth.

Art is my passion and motivation, they call me Shamrock.

Trouble is, they’re startin’ to wonder how I do it.

Fook, even I wonder how I do it. Imagine it’s to do with dear old dad, somehow, whoever the hell that is. Poor Mama was raped by a stranger, I’m afraid. Doesn’t say much for the seed I’m from, does it?

Now years later in Connamara me widowed sister Annie is assaulted and made pregnant by a wicked beast who vanishes forever into the night.

First my mother. Then my sister.

The Irish Constitution forbids abortion unless the woman’s life is in danger.

The Old Judge denies my sister Annie’s petition.

There is one more chance, a clause that includes the likelihood of suicide as a reasonable exception.

But Annie cannot convince the Judge that she is going to kill herself instead of “…having a healthy child.” And again an abortion is denied.

Then Annie, desperate to get the monster’s seed out of her, hopes to convince the judge by harming herself just short of death.

But the plan goes wrong.

When Annie dies…

…I explode.

I find the judge and I explode.

My hands and fingertips and powerful bio-magnetic field interact with airborne nitrogen molecules to generate sheets, ribbons, balls, swirls, swathes and beams of molecular interference waves that solidify the nitrogen in various degrees, projecting a cold kaleidoscopic art that lasts several long minutes.

My left hand pushes forth a black, chilling silt. My left forefinger shoots a cold red mist. My left middle finger blasts a freezing brown dust. Icy orange crystals tumble from my left ring finger. Frosty yellow gravel splays from my left pinkie. My my left thumb causes a wintry green snow dust.

My right thumb fires turquoise ice drops. My right pinkie ejects frigid intangible particulates. My right ring finger makes frozen purple hail while my right middle finger produces glacial flower-petals. The right forefinger makes something similar to pink polar sand. And the right hand creates a stretchable wall of momentarily solid frozen nitrogen.

I unleash the full force of my hidden, freakish abilities on the old judge and his defenders…

…freezing them instantly to death.

Did I kill them on purpose? I didn’t mean to go that far. Who’ll care?

It wasn’t them entirely, was it? Someone else made and passed the law. Everybody else elected them, or didn’t care enough to stop ’em. But who could be rational?

Charged with murder, I travel the world incognito, on the run from Garda Síochána. Evading them won’t be easy.

I make it to the states. Everything is quiet for me, hiding in a Boston underground network of like-minded and sympathetic Irish. Until one night…

I’m havin’ a smoke outside the flat when a shot is fired.

The bullet zips past my face.

I should have been scared. But I got angry. Not again. Guns. Of course – again. Always again…then another shot.

My final moment?

There he is.

Crazy eyes. Calm? Aiming. I wonder why I still feel no fear even as I lunge.

A flash!

I duck, still rushing at him. I don’t dare use my powers. I can’t let anyone see that.

I get close enough to reach him. Struggle ensues.

The police find him with a gunshot wound to the face.

Unusual positioning of a shot for a suicide, yet so ruled. DNA proves there had been a scuffle with a long-haired woman. But no woman ever came forth, or was identifiable from grainy security camera snippets.

Someone new survived that night. I did not recognize her.

But now pressure builds in the states. I leave Boston for the west. More space, less people.

That’s where I meet the old man with the death wish.

Old enough to be my granddad, Merle Butler finds me being a waitress in a fry house in Wyoming. It’s a slow night, and after two pints Merle tells me his story…

“No child or animal shall go unavenged.” Thus retiree Merle Butler swore as he set out on the road to finish his life in a meaningful way by protecting the innocent. He hated getting old but what choice did he have? Still, he wasn’t feeling it yet -well, not too much, anyway- and he didn’t want to wait around for old age to happen. Someone would stop him sooner or later. Meanwhile? Technicalities will not protect the obviously bad.

His road handle is Blastarm Bluewheel.

Blastarm built and owns the only Bluewheel Two-wheel magnetic levitation motorcycle; with gyroscopically balanced wheels that don’t touch any part of the bike itself but are attached magnetically, capable of…

…climbing iron and steel vertically…

…riding upside-down on metallic surfaces…

… skimming over water as wheels are held up by Earth’s magnetic field…

…executing amazing jumps under the right geomagnetic conditions…

…and executing 180-degree midair turns using rocket thrust.


Blastarm Bluewheel CoverHis arm blaster fires electromagnetic pulses capable of kayoing an elephant at full power; and a firearm called Right-Hand Man shoots heat quanta causing 2nd degree burns.

Blastarm is an expert fist-fighter, barroom brawler and liquor holder. He takes to me for some reason and I take him up on partnering against injustice here in the west where many crimes against the innocent go unnoticed.

I don’t tell him I’m in shit because my sister wanted an abortion.

Don’t think it would go over well…

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