Excerpt: Adam Strange

He could never quite shake the feeling that there was something wrong with him. Something that was a bit odd, an out-of-the-way, not-really-as-it-should-be kind of thing.

It didn’t matter if he was riding his bike to work – and it sure was not his bike’s fault, even though it was an age-old bike, a pre-historical bike with wide tires and a weight like a full-grown buffalo, a precious bike inherited from his grandfather who had ridden it during the War – or painting his part of the fence at home, or preparing what would pass for dinner when it was his turn to cook the food… it didn’t matter what he did, he always had the feeling that people passing him or people that he passed looked at him much like you would look at an unfortunate flamingo without any sense for balance, or a recent, fairly harmless car crash. Like he was… not really proper.

As far back as he could remember, this had been the case. In school… hell, in kindergarten already, the other children had looked at him the same way. He could count the times someone had passed him the ball in football practice on the fingers on one hand, and even then most of them had been stray balls he had eagerly claimed.

He often regarded those days with a certain sense of wonder. As strange as he was apparently perceived by his peers, he should have been a prime candidate for pranks, taunts and outright mobbing. This had, however, never happened. Whenever such an opportunity arose the other children simply backed off, regarded him with the same stare and were off.

Needless to say he had never had much luck with girls. Even that was an overstatement, as he actually had never even kissed one – if you don’t count the accidental lip-on-lip action that had ensued when he turned his head sharply upon hearing a sound and managed to plant his mouth on that of miss Sharpe, the school counselor, in her waiting room. She had recoiled, as had he, but he still remembered the day with fondness.