Even Heroes Get the Blues

A sparce wind flicked bobbing weeds this way and that. The field stretched in all directions, a sea of green and tawny brown. Solitary and still, a hulking figure sat in the middle, eyes downcast and hands idly pulling apart seed clusters.

Face red from exersion a young man trotted up, "Doctor Wonder! The city needs you!"

"I know," responded the mass of impossible muscle clad in brightly colored uniform, "I just...I can't."

"Can't what?" cried the exasperated lad.

A mighty sigh ruffled more blades of teetering grass than the breeze had all day, "I can't..." He paused and dropped the seeds. Standing, he resolutely said, "I'll just go...I mean, I'll try to help."

As his plodding steps trampled the greenery, the boy dared ask, "Um, shouldn't you...you know, up, up, and fly there and stuff?"

Pace unfaltering, he replied, "Can't. Can't fly. Just can't."

"Why? Did the Blightmaster poison you, or did...."

"Nobody did it to me, boy." A tear formed but refused to fall. "I just can't get myself...up."