Memoirs of old writing days

heroes

Written in 12th Grade

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SUPERPOWERS

When you're a superhero, you tend to get philosophical. You reflect, unwind, or dissociate after a great big battle, or losing a civilian who was supposed to be safe under your watch.

You start to question. Not about the should've, could've, would've — in this business, those types of things can break you. But you do start to think about why. Why you? Why this power? Being a super wasn't genetic, even though there has been circumstances to prove otherwise. So why you, why do you have this type of power?

You wonder about which comes first — the power or the personality. If someone has super speed, does their energy come from their power or is there something, somewhere, that gave them this power match their heart.

Does a hero want to save the world because of their strength, or are they strong because they were supposed to save the world?

If a person who was shy had the power of invisibility, it would seem almost like a curse, instead of a gift, to tempt someone so shy into retreating in themselves, so that they ceased to exist to the naked eye.

If a super could fly, was their power to gift them the dream they've had since they were a child, or was it to ground them into using it responsibly?

Were the superheroes nothing but host for their powers, or were they given to them because of who they were?

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STORY

"I sent my son off to work, and they gave me back a superhero," his grandma sobs, and he could do nothing but hold her hand.

Her grandson looks at their hands, long and hard. His was young and smooth while hers was mangled beyond repair. He thinks of his father's hands, always clenched. Never shattered, because steel lined his bones and power was soaked in his muscles until he had godly strength.

He was a son on the battlefield, not knowing his own strength as he fought against the enemies swarming him to see his own mother again.

The grandson wondered if his grandma considered the man she sent away and the man she got back the same person.

Didn't even really matter in the end?

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PTSD

He curls his knees to his chest and buries his head in the space between, trying to block the whole world out.

In the bed right next to him, his spouse is sleeping, and in the room next door, his children are snoring away.

He knows this, he knows, but —

But his heart keeps beating too fast, and his pulse is racing, and suddenly he can't breathe —

Logically, he knows that this is irrational, but his mind is back there, and his body is responding.

He wakes up in the middle of the night with a hummingbird heartbeat, panic filling up all the space in his lungs leaving no room for air.

And for the life of him, he can't get it to stop.

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REMEMBRANCE

"It hurts, doesn't it?" The villain raises the hero's head to look them in the eyes. They're smirking arrogantly. "There's nothing more powerful than a blow to the heart."

The hero knows. After all, this isn't the first time they've had their heart broken.

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HELP

The sidekick bit back a snarl as one of the evil minions grabbed them from behind before they could plunge into danger and fight off the villain.

The minion yanked them back and the sidekick spun around, fury in their eyes.

"I." The sidekick slapped them across the face. "I am not! Going to! Ask! For! Help!" Their punches and kicks weren't doing anything to the minion, and as they were being dragged away, the sidekick swallowed their pride.

They looked to the hero, who was busy brawling with the villain and cried out,

"HELP! HELP!"

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I'M GOING TO NEED A HARDER DRINK

"Why are you going through my trash?" The goofy bartender blurted out, sweating nervously at the menacing figure in front of him.

The villain's lip curled, expression splitting six different directions before settling on disbelieving disgust. "I'm sorry, but do you really take me to be a petty mugger? And to rob your dumpster of all things?"

"Well, no, but maybe you're just down on your luck?" He offered weakly. To be fair, it was pretty likely he was down on his luck, seeing as the villain was number one on the country's most wanted list.

"I am not down on my—" the villain sucked in air through his teeth, squeezing his eyes and massaging his temples.

The bartender stopped quivering, staring at him a little bit curiously. It didn't seem like the villain was here to harm him, so ...

"So, are you just a garbage guy now or something?

"I AM NOT A GARBAGE GUY!"

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