IAD2 4: I'm Lightning by Chris Leavens

Old Clever Bill from Waggon City knew better than to trust the man who kept saying he was a farmer, but whose boots were nice in that "New York" sort of way.

But, he was tired from the last roundup; and powerful-thirsty, too. So, despite the desperate pleas of his more intuitive self to not do so, he took the mug of fluid the "farmer" offered him and drank its contents down.

Bill knew pretty quickly that something wasn't right -- most flavours of Gatorade weren't supposed to taste like battery acid, after all. Still, he had been thirsty and now it was too late.

If there had been more room on his rancher's license, Bill's name would have been preceded by both the words Clever and Lucky.

Fortunately, some folks are more than their laminated, state-issued ID cards imply. Bill clutched at his throat and stumbled out of town, passing out on the one pile of dirt ringing the miserable hamlet that happened to be an honest-to-God Faerie Mound.

The Lady Of The Mound popped out from the service hatch, fluttered her gossamer wings to shake them free of dew, and stuck a Rod of Life into the dying cattleman's meaty neck.

A favour from on-high was called in and there was a rumble as the clouds gathered and the sky flashed. A single bolt of lightening arced from Heaven to the the gleaming skewer in the old man's neck. Holy Voltage mixed with his poisoned body; dozens of things that would make a church woman gasp and a regular comic book reader yawn happened in the blink of an eye.

The skies cleared, Her Serene Little Grace took her spear and went back to the depths. The desert Southwest's newest superhero, Electric Bill, got up, snapped and crackled a bit, and, in that easy cowboy saunter of his, dismissed fleeting thoughts of vengeance and started on his way toward the local DMV for his new and improved ID.

Silver Jews.

David: Two for two and the definitive period instead of a question mark. I think I may have to make the next one more difficult.