Young Writers Society

Mayor Ezra Harris was not a frightening man. It was part of what made him so dangerous.

He was short and flabby, with the corpse-pale skin of a creature best suited to dwelling underground. Although he wasn’t particularly old, his head was completely bald, and so shiny I wondered if he polished it.

When I came in, he was standing with his back to me, watching the sun go down through a large window behind his desk.

It wasn’t a real window, of course. A screen mounted on the wall showed a beach of sugary white sand and a sea gilded in the warm light of a stunning sunset. As I watched, the first few stars appeared in the darkening sky.

For a city kid like me, such scenes of nature were like wild fantasies. Even knowing that I was deep underground, this still felt like the closest I had come to a world I had only seen in pictures and read about in books.

I wondered if there was really anywhere so pristine left in the world, or if this footage was a relic from the past.

The mayor turned around, a smile rearranging his features around eyes that remained as cold as a stone statue’s.

“Miss Wyler! How lovely to see you. And may I say you are looking as charming as ever!” As long as I had known him, Mayor Harris always kept up an appearance of jovial good humor, even in his more illicit dealings. It was as though he was canvassing for votes even as he cheated the system.

“Please, sir,” I said politely. “Call me Maisie.” I knew it would make him happy to see me play along with his pageantry.

“Wonderful, wonderful, Maisie! Please, take a seat."

I didn’t move from my position by the door. I felt like a schoolgirl standing in front of the principal’s desk.

“Sit, sit!” The mayor coaxed cheerfully, gesturing towards a heavy wood chair in front of his desk. His smile didn’t waver, but his stone-colored eyes gave a dangerous glint. There was nothing the mayor hated more than not getting his way.

Trying to suppress a grimace, I lowered myself painfully into the chair. My broken ribs sent up a flare of pain so intense it made me dizzy for a moment. I repositioned the ice pack the doctor had given me and tried to take shallow breaths. After a moment, the pain in my chest died down to a dull throb.

The mayor pretended to notice my ice pack and stiff posture for the first time.

“Oh dear, Miss Maisie! You’re hurt!” He said, fake concern dripping from his voice like blood from a knife. “However did this happen?”

“Y’know, just, um, fighting bank robbers? Like you told me to?” It came out sounding like a question.

This was what I hated about Mayor Harris. Even when I knew what he was capable of, his fake friendliness always knocked me off balance. Everyone knew to avoid a poisonous snake, but what did you do with a snake that smiled at you?

“And an excellent job you’ve done of it!” The smile was back, all signs of concern for my well being gone. “People will be positively buzzing! A return to the golden age of superheroes! A new era of hope and prosperity! Yes, they’ll lap it right up!”

“I’m sure people will be glad of some optimism, sir,” I said, carefully keeping my expression neutral.

“Optimism, exactly! Do you mind if I use that in my speech tomorrow?”

“Not at all, sir,” I answered.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Yes, you’ve done an excellent job. All the news channels are covering it.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied.

“A success like this deserves a reward,” The mayor continued. I felt my heart lift. Perhaps he really would keep up his end of the bargain.

Mayor Harris reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses. 

"A little treat, to celebrate a special occasion," the mayor announced. 

But I had already treated myself to a sweet sip of hope, and had found it went down bitter.

“I’m not old enough to drink,” I said quickly. With my head already spinning from pain and exhaustion, alcohol was the last thing I needed.

The mayor smiled at me conspiratorially. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Mayor Harris popped the cork on the bottle. I flinched at the loud bang, remembering gunshots ricocheting off metal. He poured two glasses and held one out to me. I looked at it blankly.

“Take it, Maisie,” the mayor whispered, a thread of a warning weaving in his voice. “I paid 500 credits for this champagne. It would be ungrateful not to drink it.”

I reached out a shaking hand and gripped the slender stem of the glass. My hands felt too clumsy to handle the delicate crystal, as though my callouses would scratch the smooth surface, as though the dirt under my nails would stain the polished crystal.

I looked at the carved crystal glass, finer than anything my family owned. Droplets of condensation dripped down its surface like the tears that had coated my mother’s cheeks when the doctors told her how much the surgery would cost. Tears she had held back when she got the diagnoses.

The money spent on this glass of champagne could have bought my family a month of groceries. It could have bought my sister new shoes and a new coat, it could have paid off the rent we owed. And to think the mayor guzzled this stuff like he guzzled up the tax money we scrimped and saved to pay.

I remembered the day my little sister came home crying, because her school art class was dropped due to budget cuts. A special about the mayor’s new private jet had been playing on the news that day.

Now my mother was dying, and I was betting all my chips on a crooked man’s promise of help. If I was going to wear this costume, the least I could do was save my family. Whatever it took.

I opened my hand and let the glass fall to the floor. It shattered, shards of crystal like spilled diamonds on the floor. The shards caught the light and threw little gleams across the floor, like shadows in reverse. They were beautiful, even though they were broken, just like my city. Just like my family. Perhaps just like the whole world.

I leaned forward, feeling every bruise, cut and scrape I had acquired that night in his service. I’d held up my end of the deal, now it was time to collect on his.

The mayor wasn’t smiling now. His flat gray eyes were as fierce as a stone gargoyle’s.

I had his attention now.