500

The Boss Is Back

Why can't I stop shaking? My voice is trembling, so I don't speak. It's a good thing I've got a rep as the strong silent type. If I was one of those wise cracking superheroes, I'd have a serious case of stage-fright.

Not like I'm doing so good on the strong front. My life isn't flashing before my eyes, but my death sure is. Three months ago to this day, the Guillotine chopped my head off. Just like that. Slice. Dead.

Today, I'm not facing a badass supervillain like the Guillotine. No, I'm up against the goddamn Skateboard Samurai. His code-name should be the Human Punchline. An old lady once knocked him off his skateboard just by swinging her purse in his direction.

But I'm more terrified than I've ever been in my life.

"So, you're the Boss, huh?" he starts mocking me as he circles me on his board like a shark. "Ooooh! Scarrrrry!"

Yeah, I'm the Boss. I'm really regretting choosing that for my superhero name, but it stuck and my fans love it. I got off on it too. All these supervillains were beneath me and I was there to put them in their place.

Until I wasn't, and I ended up in a coffin.

"I think it's time for shish-kebabed superhero, don't you?" Samurai's swinging his sword while barely pulling off basic skateboard moves my daughter mastered when she was six. Why is it that I'm ready to get on my knees and beg this Z-rater for mercy?

What the hell is wrong with me? Just about every superhero out there has died and come back to life at least once. The veterans don't even keep track of all the times they've been put in the ground. It's just another day for them.

There's even more pressure on me. I'm the Boss; one of the the most famous black superheroes. "Kids look up to you," Captain Century once told me. I never really felt like a role model. Just reinforcing the stereotype that we're all tough, unfeeling and unstoppable. All I really want to do right now is run away and hug my little girl and tell her everything's going to be alright.

The Skateboard Samurai is still buzzing around me like a gnat making with the taunts and insults. I'm sick of everything right now. I lunge for him and he's polite enough to skate his stomach right into my fist. Without even trying, I send him hurling back to the ground as his board whizzes past me.

But his sword flies into the sky, hanging in the air like in slow motion. My PTSD kicks into overdrive. I can almost feel the cold burn of steel slicing my neck. I relive a second death.

But the sword clangs harmlessly yards from where I'm standing.

I hear the cheers from the bystanders that become the familiar chant. "Boss! Boss! Boss!"

I hold up my hands in a victory pose. I grin at my fans wishing they'd just go away.

Hail the conquering hero. Why couldn't it be someone else?