(#1) Roommates by Day, Enemies by Night

Chapter 39

In the film world, we can all be heroes. In the real world, where heroism can cost you your life or the life of the ones you love, people aren't so willing to make those sacrifices. When they do, they are set apart from the rest of us.~ John Rhys-Davies

Dedicated to the incredibly wonderful and amazing LadyAditria, for being a sweetheart with the votes. Thank you so much!

Dylan

Being a hero is an exhausting, and frankly, quite an annoying job. I mean, we can't really complain all that much, since the hero worship is always nice, but when all that gets pushed aside, we're just a bunch of girls or guys running around in costumes trying to stop other people from destroying stuff, stealing stuff, and killing people. I get the last one, I'm not upset about that. But what about the other two? Isn't that the police's job?

I may seem a little bitter and out of character for a hero. You're supposed to feel and endorphin rush, or an adrenaline rush, whatever. Well, let me know how that works out when you're home nursing your wounds from get your ass kicked by your mortal enemy. Everyone knows villains have more fun. In the end, we're usually the suckers.

I know heroes are supposed to be there for people to realize that it's not a good thing to be bad, or do bad things to people. Frankly, it doesn't really work, does it? Kids are still going to make the same stupid decisions as ever. That's how they learn not to.

The life of a superhero is far less glamorous than one might think. Especially that in New York. I don't think I've gotten a solid night's sleep ever since Christmas, and it's been two weeks.

I slipped out of the house again, trying to exhaust myself so I could sleep. Ever since the incident with Siena at the bridge, I've slept even worse. Constant nightmares at night that wake me up at 3 in the morning, and even then, I don't sleep well during them. I found out that the only thing that helps me fall asleep is sitting on the roof of my building and just staring at the Manhattan skyline.

I clambered up the fire escape down the hall with silence, trying not to step on any rusty rungs or metal bolts that would let out squeals and tell anyone I was here. The top was just below the roof of the building, so I grabbed on and pulled myself up, avoiding cuts and bruises on my legs as much as possible.

I scrambled up straight on the roof, standing up tall so I could see the skyline. I sat on the edge, my legs dangling over it, and staring south, seeing all the lights. In a small town, like back home, this entire expanse would be pitch black, very dark. But here in the city, it was shimmering, with lights and and sounds ever-present. There was something very constant about New York City. Like after everything else was dead and gone, there would always be a piece of it left. In that way, it was very comforting. After the whole world was demolished, there would always be the city left. Destroyed, rubble, maybe, but it would always exist. There would always be some part of it left. Its influence and size just couldn't be taken down.

That sounds really idiotic. Of course, New York City may not be around forever, but while it existed, there was one thing about it that was attracting, and that was its consistency. No matter where you went, how old you were, how bad or how well-off you were, there was just something so human about the city. As if the city had a heart, a life itself, like the millions of people running around in the streets. Like New York always had the promise of a better tomorrow.

Everyone stereotypes Americans, like we stereotype others. But New York is the one place in America where you will not find a typical American. Go to any smaller town in the world, what will they say about New Yorkers? Rude, ungrateful, loud, annoying, mean. You know what? That's bullshit. New Yorkers can be so kind sometimes. Yes, yes, I know. All of you there being like, "um, actually, I went to New York and people were really rude to me."