Just a Random Blurb Thing

It grips your heart. Fills your lungs like a burning liquid, until your head sways and your vision blurs, your eyes blaze and your jaws clench. Your face itches where your mask should sit, and you can’t feel your cape, tugging at your shoulders, floating free … yet.

You long to once again be a hero!

Some people say that super heroes are stupid, retro, cheesy. They have no place in this complicated world. That you should sit down, fit in, accept things the way things the way they are. Bullshit, you say. You, and a few others, are filled with the energy, the drive to do something. Because something is better than nothing, right?

You have powers, but you know it doesn’t matter. Other heroes build gadgets, others know weird incantations in ancient tongues, and others simply have the drive until they might as well be superhuman. You all belong to societies and teams and leagues, but more than that, you’re part of a culture, a movement, that celebrates and protects and fears absolutely nothing.

You and your friends don’t always agree on what needs to be done. In fact, you fight a lot. You have to do it right, you all insist, because every action matters. That much is clear to you. Every action matters, and every person matters, and everything is beautiful, in motion and changing, turbulent and sweet, and it always will be, forever.

Other people oppose you. Their way is darker. You embody health and happiness, and they bring sickness and decay. Wounded by the world, they pick at the wounds until they fester, and lash out. They destroy, corrupt, steal, assign blame, skulk. Nothing is ever good enough, until it’s theirs, until they can destroy it and remake it in their own image. Control and entropy. Villains. Sad, twisted, hopeless, you wish you could bring them the bright and shining truth, but they would laugh and spit on it and call you a fool.

And then, you see the sign. You hear the call. You’re needed. Away!

Monsters, invaders, something unexplainable, it doesn’t matter, you’re needed. Fighting, as always. You’ll probably get hurt, badly. You might even lose a friend today, if the fighting is bad enough. It happens. Too often. Each time, it’s like a white-hot wound that never goes away; you miss them, and know that they died nobly, saving someone, and you know without a doubt that next time, it’ll probably be you. But when you see yourself shining in someone’s eyes, someone you saved, you’d do it again. You can’t trust your powers to protect you. Power armor can’t always protect against some intangible guy ripping out your heart. Mutant muscles are no help against disintegration rays.

No, the powers help, but it’s your courage that makes you


Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.