After a lifetime of minimal physical and mental activity, Milton often felt that he had saved up massive reserves of strength, power he could almost feel surging through him, begging to be let out. He refused it as he had always done, knowing without evidence that there was some secret, crucial task the universe would call upon him to perform.
And that day came: two cars crashed at the intersection outside Milton's dwelling. One passenger was stuck in the twisted wreckage of one of the cars and the fuel was leaking. He heard all of this information, rather than seeing it, because he had remained seated even after hearing the impact and the screams.
Milton prepared himself, now. He would become a perfect vehicle of fate, surging up and out and freeing the trapped passenger before the fuel ignited. Now. Well, that didn't quite work. Try...NOW! he thought. But to his horror, Milton found himself unable to even get to his feet.
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