Example: "I'll edit this into the OP as an example, but I was talking to my wife earlier about how it would hilarious if a comic book author/artist made a whole slew of these "in between" comics, where superheroes were doing some really dumb stuff. Like not dumb mundane stuff, but this is where they do the most shady stuff imaginable to completely tarnish their images, but they're always kept "pristine" when the audience sees them."
Word Limit: 2000
Submission Deadline: Friday, January 27th by 11:59 PM Pacific.
Voting begins Saturday, January 28th, and goes until Sunday, January 29th at 11:59 PM Pacific.
Optional Secondary Objective: endearingly chaotic
One of your characters, one of your themes, or one of your set pieces seems to have no rhyme and no reason, but we don't care because we LOVE THEM FOR IT!
Submission Guidelines:
- One entry per poster.
- All submissions must be written during the time of the challenge.
- Using the topic as the title of your piece is discouraged.
- Keep to the word count!
Voting Guidelines:
- Three votes per voter. Please denote in your voting your 1st (3 pts), 2nd (2 pts), and 3rd (1 pt) place votes.
- Please read all submissions before voting.
- You must vote in order to be eligible to win the challenge.
- When voting ends, the winner gets a collective pat on the back, and starts the new challenge.
I'll edit this into the OP as an example, but I was talking to my wife earlier about how it would hilarious if a comic book author/artist made a whole slew of these "in between" comics, where superheroes were doing some really dumb stuff. Like no dumb mundane stuff, but this is where they do the most shady stuff imaginable to completely tarnish their images, but they're always kept "pristine" when the audience sees them.
I'll edit this into the OP as an example, but I was talking to my wife earlier about how it would hilarious if a comic book author/artist made a whole slew of these "in between" comics, where superheroes were doing some really dumb stuff. Like no dumb mundane stuff, but this is where they do the most shady stuff imaginable to completely tarnish their images, but they're always kept "pristine" when the audience sees them.
So basically like Superman on the toilet? "What does Superman read while doing his morning ritual?"
I'll consider this - I had an idea a long time ago similar to this (no, not the toilet, that was a joke) but if I don't have a great story idea I'll probably go back to the wilderness until I get another.
Hmm, nice theme - I think I may have something for this. Well, two ideas really, one fitting the example in the OP and the other a more general, but sinister, super hero story. Both will require a fair amount of dialogue though, and I'm not sure if anyone noticed, but I tend to shy away from dialogue in my stories as much as possible. Because I'm awful at it
The general rule for the challenges has been that you can interpret the theme however you like--but be aware that people voting or critiquing may have interpreted it differently.
On a side note, I just got Scrivener, and this program solves all my organizational problems. I had a huge folder filled with Word documents that I can now have all on one page.
I had something for this week's writing thread, but it needed one of my older stories [something not published, and tbh, half done anyway] cause I was thinking of doing something pulp fiction wise with a number of stories.. is that allowed or not you reckon?
Ok, after a first draft and one small revision, I'm sitting at 1547 words, but I need to fit the secondary objective in there somehow. I wrote the entire story without thinking about it and now have to figure out how to implant it.
Ok, after a first draft and one small revision, I'm sitting at 1547 words, but I need to fit the secondary objective in there somehow. I wrote the entire story without thinking about it and now have to figure out how to implant it.
Ok, I'm going to kick this off. Mainly because I wont be near Interwebs from tomorrow until Tuesday and I have an extremely busy week ahead of me next week so time for editing, revamping and all that will fall to the wayside and ultimately, I might even forget to post my story. I interpreted it quite literally as a comic book super hero in between the panes of a story. So, for your displeasure, here is in all it's raw, unadulterated beauty:
~Reluctant Hero~ 1,556 words
The smell of smoke still lingers heavily on his cloak. Pungent odors dance menacingly on his nostrils as he anxiously awaits the time away from the limelight where he can retire for the night in peace; if there ever is such a thing. Every night its the same thing; someone else needs the assistance from seemingly the only person who can truly lend a hand. Its been 5 years now since Aubrey Horowitz matched wits with an overzealous particle accelerator at the University, forever transforming him into Neo-G.
That should be the last of them, Chief, recites Neo-G as he takes mental note of each survivor recently pulled from the burning wreckage. Plumes of smoke ascend in the evening sky illuminated by the smoldering apartment building beneath. A glint of orange flashes across Aubreys eyes as he puffs his chest out in an all-too-well rehearsed version of his Superhero pose. Call me again whenever trouble appears.
With a miniscule flash, Neo-G is gone, leaving the cleanup to the respective public servants. His work there was done. Aubrey now sits in his lonely Phoenix apartment gazing around at what his life has become. A trifle and meaningless existence which only in the beginning felt exhilarating due to his new found ability to teleport himself or any object he is touching to any location he can imagine. While his ability is looked upon as super, he has become jaded because he was not given the gift of superior intelligence, or speed, or strength. Aside from parlor tricks, he is nothing more than your average 20-something college drop out.
Call me again whenever trouble appears? What do I look like, the goddamned Batman? Aubrey hisses in disdain from his own lamentations of what he has become.
Sluggishly, Aubrey tours his apartment looking for something to take his mind off of his depressed state of mind. Thinking to himself, he cant seem to figure out when he became jaded to the fact the he has an ability no one else on Earth possesses. Was it when he signed up to be a posterboy for Right and Justice? Wheres the fun in rescuing cats from trees? he murmurs. Walking towards his window, he gazes out over the Phoenix skylight. Peering down from his 15th floor window, he has an awe inspiring view of the downtown metropolis. Adjacent to Chase Field, the reason for his apartment purchase, stands one of the branches to the financial institution that lends sponsorship to the home field of the Arizona Diamondbacks. A large contemporary brick and mortar building with subtle artistic glass work, Chase Bank stands proudly against the desert backdrop. Aubrey takes in the view and as his eyes descend upon the building, where he is suddenly struck with inspiration.
Why am I confined to this role? Who deemed me Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes? Whos to say I cant live a little and indulge in a few of lifes more egregious pleasures?
Aubrey suddenly remembers that at this time of night, the blue hues of Chase Field bleed to red lights as the women of the worlds oldest profession take over. Being hell bent on taking in carnal pleasures from the seedy streetwalkers down on 7th and Van Buren will surely begin to sully his reputation. All it would take is one witness and word would be out.
The sound of white static fills Aubreys ears. He closes his eyes and within an instant, hes teleported in front of the doors of Chase Bank. He strolls down the street towards the alleyways where he is sure to find a likely candidate. Within 10 minutes, he spots a small coven of eager succubi waiting for their next enticement. As he walks up to the group, he sees one woman in particular who strikes his fancy. Long brown hair, of Hispanic descent; she will do nicely.
Whats your name, sweetheart?
Lupe, but for you, I can be whoever you want, she says with a thick Central American accent.
How much?
$120 for all night long.
Aubrey reaches into a well-disguised pocket of the hero outfit he once was so proud to don and retrieved a wad of cash. Fingering the bank notes, he quickly counts the appropriate amount. He reaches out his hand and offers the bundle to Lupe when a blinding flash pierces the night air. Reeling from the sudden shock of illumination, Aubrey swings around towards the direction of the mysterious light to find a lone cameraman with a familiar face. Doug Pennel of The Arizona Sun newspaper captured the image of Neo-G paying money to a prostitute on the corner.
Frozen, it took Aubrey a minute to process precisely what had happened, then all at once, he smiled softly, turned to Lupe and said, Thank you my dear, your services are no longer needed tonight. With a flash of his own, he was gone and back in his apartment above the street. Peering down from up on high, he sees Doug run off and return to his truck. A soft glow of light from his cameras display emanates in the cab of his vehicle. Aubrey knows the reporter is relishing his prize.
This is perfect, he says to himself. Once he reaches the presses, this persona will be seen as a scourge on society which performs lewd and lascivious acts in public with common hookers. I will finally be able to live as a man and not as their idol!
Stepping back from the window, Aubrey begins to shed the uniform of his alter ego, Neo-G. He released the clasp that holds his dark cloak across his shoulders. With a few easy snaps, his modified Kevlar chest protector falls haphazardly to the ground. Belt, pants, boots and sock make their way to the floor as Aubrey slides into bed, pats his tachikoma figurine on the head and readies for what will be his most peaceful night of sleep in years for tomorrow, he will be ridiculed into seclusion, nevermore to do the dirty work of this God forsaken city.
6:30am and the sun emits a single ray of light from the horizon, dances across the floor, up the side of the bed and rests on Aubreys face. Subconsciously he squints and moves only to be woken moments later. For a minute he stares at the ceiling, unsure of what he would like to do next. He recalls his events from the night before and a broad smile creeps across his face. Aubrey leaps out of bed, throws on a robe and races to the drop box where his morning paper is sure to be. His day of reckoning has come.
Retrieving the newspaper, Aubrey sees his tableau adorning the front page. A perfect picture of the great Neo-G handing funds over to a whore in the middle of the night. He soaks in the magic of his inked representation for a moment before allowing himself the pleasure of reading the headline.
Neo-G Helps Destitute Women in Need
Aubrey had to read the title twice before comprehending what it was saying.
What?! How could this be?
Feverishly, he begins scanning the article to find out where the confusion may lie.
After battling a blaze in South Phoenix, local hero Neo-G was seen giving money to lower class citizens who often have to turn to the streets to make ends meet. In an effort of goodwill and kindness, Neo-G does his part to ensure that this woman will be safe tonight.
Before The Arizona Sun could get an interview with the local legend, Neo-G smiled at the young woman, whispered something to her and vanished back to wherever it is he came
Aubreys face contorts with confusion and anger, No! Thats not how it happened at all!
He races back into his apartment, searching for any way to reclaim what was rightfully his. Furious, he begins plotting ways to seek revenge on that stupid reporter who ruined his chance at freedom. For fuck sake, even when I do something wrong, they think Im their savior!
All at once, Aubrey remained frozen in suspense as a cacophony of sounds broke his concentration. The hotline, a landline from the city officials began to ring. Annoyed he picks up the receiver and barks a greeting into it. On the other end is Commissioner Michael J. Copps.
Neo-G, we need your assistance. It appears that theres a gunman in Chandler. Hes holed up inside of an office building and hes got hostages. Three police officers have already been critically injured. Will you please help us?
For what seems like an eternity, Commissioner Copps listens to silence as Aubrey collects his thoughts. He is suddenly struck with a wave of consciousness overlaying everything hes been contemplating countless times past. How foolish, how selfish. Hes been given a remarkable gift and people depend on that gift, depend on him as their chance to make it through. As their chance to live in peace. That is his refuge, that is his reward and that is the feeling he can live vicariously through. That vision, that respite, that overwhelming sense of peace and harmony among his companions is what he has wanted all along. To belong, to be part of something bigger and feel better because of it.
We call him the old dictator for good reason dave. Having said that, if it were not for tim's rescue, the book club thread would have disappeared. So cyanships are worth their weight in gold my man.
Well, since I'm bumping this topic again, mgiht as well lay it out. It's called A Shift of Soldiers and it's a science fiction short film (about 8 minutes) about a girl, Samantha, who sits in a holo-room playing with floating flat screens, bored out of her mind. Time passes and she reads books, watches TV, etc, constantly checking her watch. Then she takes a nap. When she wakes up, the alarms are going off and she jumps up and is fitted with samurai styled armor and a hand cannon to defend against extra-terrestrial invaders coming to Earth.
We filmed it last year as a kind of showcase piece of our VFX/production talent, but it was sitting on the back burner until we finished a bunch of paid gigs first. So we're trying to finish it up in the next two months because we have a 40 minute VFX/compositing heavy film that we're going to be shooting starting in March. Probably won't finish that and put it out until October or November, though.
I'm halfway finished with my story. Just been busy this week doing some stuff. I should finish it up tomorrow and go through a couple edits before I post it. Or I'll do it last minute from work at 2:33 AM EST on Saturday morning.
Just wrote my entry because I didn't feel tired enough to get some sleep, so there goes having to write it last minute. Well, I guess I'll be editing it up to the last minute after I get home from work though.
"Once more, the unknown masked superhero wielding electrical powers has left the city in shock and awe..."
*BZZT*
"...today, as a family of three were rescued from the flaming wreckage of their car..."
*BZZT*
"...fighting off the assailants with electrical power summoned from his fingertips..."
*BZZT*
"...restrained two of the attackers, the third going into cardiac arrest was dead by the time the authorities arrived."
*BZZT*
"...the question on everyone's lips; who is the Electric Man?"
*BZZT*
"...but we have to ask ourselves, are we, as a society, OK with allowing this vigilante, this freak of nature to run amok on our streets?"
"Well, he's helped a lot of people, Bill."
"How long till someone gets hurt, that's my question. I say we should find him, lock him up and hand him over to the government."
-----
"Son of a bitch..." Frank exclaimed, the TV switching itself off at his disgust. He rose awkwardly from the couch, nursing the hip he'd badly bruised fighting off those goons, and not to mention the burns on his hand. Although he could induce an electrical charge that protected him from physical attack and even deflect bullets, it seemed he had no protection against flames beyond that which his armour afforded. And then there was the problem of the name. How could the people fall in love with a hero if he didn't have a name? But it was hard to come up with something that a), sounded cool and b), wasn't already a comic book character.
He grabbed a burger from the fridge and put it into the microwave, willing the machine into action. A minute later he was chomping away happily, grease running down his chin as he waited for Vincent to arrive with the real news. Although his deal was directly with Papa Felani, Frank couldn't be seen meeting at their offices, it would draw too much attention with the authorities who kept Papa Felani's visitors under close scrutiny. So Vincent, Papa Felani's nephew, came in his place. Truth be told, Frank preferred dealing with Vincent. They went way back, Frank & Vincent, and Vinnie was a lot less intimidating than Papa Felani and his men. Frank didn't enjoy working with mobsters really, but it had it's advantages. He was afforded protection from the police and rival gangs, and in exchange he stuck it to those same gangs, the Felani's providing the where's and when's he needed to hand down his justice.
It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door.
"Come in." yelled Frank, sapping the electric current that was keeping the lock in place as he did so. Vincent swaggered into the apartment. He'd gotten himself a new suit, and a very expensive looking watch. He must be moving up the world, Frank thought, but he still didn't know squat about looking inconspicuous.
"Hey-hey, Frankie!" said Vince as a way of a greeting, flashing that wicked grin. "Papa says to relay his thanks on a job well done, but suggests next time that you execute all the targets. We're sending a message here, you get me Frank? Papa don't like scum like that harassing the regular folk."
"Yeah, I ain't exactly had much experience killing fellers." Frank replied with a shrug, "Seems to take more juice for some than others."
"Well you're gonna have plenty of chance to practice soon enough." said Vince with a smile.
"Oh yeah, how so?"
"The Carmanetis." Vince replied consiprationally, leaning in close, "Seems they're trying to muscle in on Papa's territory. Only small time stuff so far, bootleg cigarettes and DVDs, that sort of thing. But word is, tonight they're planning something big. Papa wants you there as a surprise."
"Fine, no problem. Just let me know where and when. Same set-up as last time?"
"Yeah, we've got a spotter with one of those telephoto lenses on a nearby rooftop. Just keep the action outside and we won't miss a thing."
------
The jewellers was right in the heart of Felani territory, and what's more the owner was an old friend of Papa Felani's. The Carmanetis had to know that holding the place up would provoke a response. Hell, they were probably hoping for it, trying to lure Papa Felani into all-out war. Little did they know that Frank was waiting in the alleyway across the street. The side-walks thronged with shoppers, and if any of the passers by had cared to notice they would have seen a shady looking man in long coat, with ill-fitting hat and sunglasses, hovering slightly above the ground. This was a new development for Frank, and his mind was racing with the possibilities.
Each day brought new abilities as his power grew in magnitude. At first he had been alarmed, but now he was just excited. He lowered himself to the ground, carefully reeling in his electrical field as twin black vans screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. The Carmanetis had arrived, and within moments the alarm of the jewellers was blaring and gunshots rung out through the street. Frank swore and fumbled with his jacket, shedding it to reveal his armour below. Discarding his hat and glasses, he pulled his mask down over his face and ran out to save the day. As he sprinted from the alleyway he noticed the glint of a camera lens high on above and remembered he was here to put on a show. Focusing his electric field, he launched himself over the vans and landed heavily on the side-walk, half crouched in his practised pose.
Inside the jewellers, Frank saw the owner cowering on the floor as a goon held a shotgun to the back of his head. His friends were smashing the display cases and hurriedly bundling the glittering contents into their bags, and at first none of them noticed as Frank stepped through the doorway. That all changed when their shotguns were wrenched from their hands and dropped to the floor. Frank was sure he should eventually be able to manipulate objects to a greater degree, but for now had to rely on a sudden burst of force. He had no time to consider his next move as the Carmanetis rounded on him.
Two scrambled for their guns, while two more rushed at him. He took the first goon down with ease, catching his face tight in his grip and inducing a charge of such force that he was hurled through the window to crunch sickeningly into the side of one of the vans. The other threw a wild punch that Frank swiftly dodged, clutching his assailants wrists and twisting his arm about his throat, rounding quickly on the remaining two goons who had now recovered their shotguns. He felt his human shield shudder with the impact of the twin shotgun blasts, blood jetting violently from the dying goons mouth as Frank launched him toward his remaining friends.
One tumbled under the sudden weight of the goons body and fell prone, while the other quickly reloaded and sighted down the barrel at Frank. He concentrated and held out his hand as the goon fired, compelling the shot to explode before it left the barrel, blowing the last goon's fingers to mush. He screamed with terror as he looked at the ruined mess of his hands, while Frank untangled his unconscious friend from the corpse of his colleague and finished him off with a jolt of electricity to the temples. Returning to the crippled goon Frank grabbed him about the face and hoisted him to his feet. Pressing him thumbs against the goon's eyeballs, he leaned in close and whispered Papa Felani's message before digging his nails in, not realising until half an hour later just how much he had relished in the invigorating, intoxicating surge of power that now coursed through his veins.
-----
"...left a bloody mess, as the robbers came face to face with the cities self-declared protector. The shop's owner described the scene as something out of a comic book, as the electric man showed off his array of powers."
*BZZT*
"...lifting weapons from the assailants hands without lifting a finger, he then proceeded to brutally kill three and leave another crippled, blinded and suffering from severe electrical burns..."
*BZZT*
"...believed to be members of the infamous Carmaneti crime family, who have recently been taking serious strides towards eroding the power base of their rivals, the Felani Family..."
*BZZT*
"...the freak launched himself through the damn air! And did you see the state of the guy they wheeled out of there?"
"The mobster, yes."
"Yes, the mobster. A criminal, sure, but did he deserve to be brutally maimed like that? Or did he deserve to face true justice, as meted out by the courts?"
-----
It was a grim night above the city, as angry clouds beared down upon the horizon, threatening one hell of a storm. The streets had emptied hours earlier, as the tide of drunks were unleashed from the bars and sent staggering home. Lightning forked, bright and dazzling against the darkened sky, followed seconds later by a clap of thunder and within minutes the storm had set in, torrential rain flowing like a river from the broken guttering of a shabby apartment block where, inside, two men conversed, one tied to a chair.
"Y'know Bob, you're a talkative guy..."
"Well, that is my job."
"...but didn't you ever consider that it'd be unwise to slander a man with super powers?" continued Frank, ignoring the journalist's interruption.
"Why? He's a hero. The amazing Electric Man! Defender of citizens, killer of crooks. And hey, who cares if he barbarically mutilates his victims?"
"Shut up."
"...leaves a path of destruction in his wake?"
"Shut up."
"...blasts a few dozen innocent bystanders in the cross-fire?"
"I said, shut your god-damn mouth!" Frank yelled, the lights pulsing and buzzing with charge as he did so.
Now Bob looked scared. He'd been researching his piece on the connections between Electric Man and the Felani's for weeks and had clearly assumed that, without his distinctive armour, Frank was just one of Papa's goons sent to shut him up. But now realisation was dawning, and the indignant bravado had drained from Bob's visage. Still, as Frank looked into those scared, watery eyes, jumping about Bob's face in a desperate search for escape, he was having his own doubts.
He should never have revealed his powers to Vincent, never caught the attention of Papa Felani. But it had seemed such a good idea at the time. He'd wanted to help people, but without knowing the limits of his powers he had feared reprisal. So he did the Felani's dirty work and took out their competition. But Bob just had to keep going on about how Frank was a 'menace', how he was doing 'more harm than good' and ultimately, how The Electric Man was in Papa Felani's pocket.
Quite how Bob knew was beyond Frank, and whether the journalist had any evidence, or was going solely on the fact that The Electric Man had yet to dispense justice to the Felani family, Papa didn't care. He wanted Bob dead, so here Frank was, in the man's apartment in the dead of night. He'd thought talking to Bob would make it easier. The man was so damn arrogant and opinionated on TV, all outrage and scandal, but it wasn't so easy when he could see the fear in Bob's eyes. Still, there was nothing for it. He'd already killed by accident, killed in self-defence, killed in rage. What would one more innocent life matter? Frank thought darkly, as his fingers sparked with charge.
Ah, I wish I had time for an editing pass or two, but it's getting late. Oh well.
Well, I was bored and really inspired by the topic. I was kind of angry I only found this topic about an hour or so ago, since I'd like to have cleaned this up a ton. My writing here isn't so great, because I just wanted to get it down. But, I think the idea is a really cool one that could go far.
Finding Superman (1993 words)
Fuck, its ruined! Gavin yelled angrily as he saw the puddle of drool spilled all over his artwork.
Im coming! He yelled toward the door, which was practically rattling off its hinges. That sound was what woke him another spontaneous nap.
For fucks sake, Frank, tone down! With a sigh, he pushed aside his page and tried to get up from his desk. In his hurry, he smacked his knee on the crossbar and sent his two pencils rolling down the desk and into the mess of snack bags and energy drinks covering the floor.
Frank! He yelled again, The goddamned door is open! Frustrated, he sat back down on the chair and siphoned through the orange debris of an empty bag of Cheetos to grab one of his pencils. He examined the tip and determined it wasnt entirely ruined. He rubbed the tip off on his shirt and placed it back on his desk.
Fuck... He whispered again as he saw the ruined drawing. He tried blotting out the stain with a sock he found tucked between his butt and the chair, but it did nothing but smear.
Whats your fucking problem? A gruff, older voice came from the entrance to the small studio room.
Frank this isnt the time... By now his anger had turned into despair as he stared down in disbelief. Yet again, he had let his problem get the best of him. He fell asleep on the job yet again, and now his work was ruined.
During the day Gavin made ends meet by working two jobs. He delivered papers in the morning, and then worked second shift at a grocery store for minimum wage. The two jobs worked him to the bone for what may as well have been pennies. The only way he could stay sane was through drawing. Gavin did a weekly comic strip in the towns newspaper. It wasnt much, but it was his passion. He threw all of his creativity into each strip, hoping someday hed be discovered through it.
Its 3AM, man, Gavin said, rubbing his eyes, Why the hell are you over here so late again?
Some punk kids, he answered.
Again? He finally looked up from the disaster at his desk toward Frank, only to see he was covered in blood. He had a gash from eye to mouth, and multiple other wounds around his face. What the fuck, Frank?
I told you some punk kids. Frank threw his beer bottle against the far wall, sending pieces across the floor.
Frank, come on, dont... Gavin closed his eyes for a second and sighed before getting up once again and heading into the kitchen in the next room. I cant fucking believe this... He grumbled to himself as he tugged a drawer open and grabbed the first ratty washrag he could find.
Dont grumble to me man! Frank yelled from the other room. Gavin could hear his leather jacket as it slid down the wall. Then he could hear the distinct clank of another beer bottle cap as it clanged off the window. I did a good thing tonight, Gavin...
Frank! Gavin protested as he came back into the room. Youre soaked... He sighed.
Gavin, I did a good thing today, Frank repeated.
You beat up some more kids. Good for you. Youve got to stop this shit. Youre going to get in trouble.
They were nothing but thugs, Frank spit out blood as he talked.
Gavin knelt down next to Frank and began blotting the wounds with his rag. At first Frank protested by pushing backwards, but that plan was quickly stopped by the futon. He grabbed Gavins hand and wrestled for a minute, but then gave in to take another drink of his beer.
Frank, youre not superman...
Like hell Im not! Frank yelled loud enough to wake a neighbor.
Gavin tossed the bloody rag away and slumped against the futon. He stared back at his unlikely friend, Frank, studying each wrinkle in his face. Underneath the dried blood and angry, beer bottle-slinging exterior Frank was a good man. His drunken rants had kept Gavin up all hours of the night, but he still somehow felt sorry him.
Frank was, at one point, apparently a police officer. From what Gavin pieced together, apparently an undercover deal went south and his partner was shot. Frank never forgave himself for it. He quit the force, and moved back in with his mother who lived on the east side of the city. A month later she was robbed and shot. They found her body on the curb at the local Wal-Mart. Her car, or what was left of it anyway, was found floating in the river 10 miles out of the city. Like Franks life, it was stripped of everything of value.
Gavin sometimes wondered if he was just naive for believing that story. From all the actual evidence, Frank was just a wild alcoholic with wild stories. The more inebriated he was, the more chaotic the stories got. It seemed every other day hed stumble down from his apartment to both Gavin. It didnt matter the hour, either. Hed be just as drunk at 3 in the afternoon as he would at 3 in the morning.
I saw her stumble out of the bar, Frank said, taking a gulp from his beer. His hand slammed downward onto his knee, sending beer up and out of the bottle, but Frank didnt care at all. So, I followed her.
You followed some drunk girl?
I knew this hell-hole city would take advantage of her in that state.
Not everything in this city is bad, Frank... Every rant started out this way. Maybe the days trying to protect this city really did get to him.
You dont know what Ive seen, Gavin... Frank continued with another swig. She may as well have been naked out there. No one would bat an eye if her clothes were ripped off and she was raped right there in the streets. The slumlords would just close the blinds on their windows and pretend it wasnt happening.
And the police? Gavin asked.
Fuck them! Frank raised his volume yet again. Theyre corrupt. All of them. They dont give a shit about justice. Theyll take their money and hide. He took the last drink from his beer and sent it sliding across the wood floor. It clanked against the wall and spun into the kitchen, landing finally at the foot of the stove.
Anyway, Frank continued, I followed this girl knowing someone would try something, and what do you know, they did!
Who did?
She stopped to get a cab, and some guy came out of the shadows near the bus stop. I watched him talking to her, then the two left into the alleys.
Maybe she knew the guy...
Thats what I thought. But thats when I saw the gun.
The gun?

Yeah! The fucker was leading her through the alley with a gun in her back. Frank struggled to his feet and then stumbled across the room. He tripped over a pizza box, but steadied himself on the doorframe to the kitchen.
Frank, what are you doing? Gavin asked with a sigh.
Im getting another beer.
Youve had enough, dont... His voice trailed off. He realized it was an absolute lost cause. If he refused to supply Frank with his beer, then he became even more irate, and that meant Gavin would get no sleep at all. He had to be up at 5, so he wanted Frank to drink until he passed out as quickly as he could.
Frank shuffled past the stove and mindlessly kicked the bottle from before. It skittered across the floor and landed near the stairs at the back door. He paid no mind to the ruckus and lazily opened the door to the fridge where he grabbed his next fix.
So what happened? Gavin asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
Well, there were two other guys waiting in the alley. They started roughing her up a little, tugging on her skirt, he continued as he walked back into the room and slouched down on the futon. So I jumped in.
You jumped in against three guys, one of whom had a gun? Gavin shook his head. This wasnt even close to the most brazen claim Frank had made.
What else could I do? He gulped down half the bottle.
You should have called the cops, Gavin pressed, Youre not a super hero, man. Youre going to get killed. Leave the crime fighting to the professionals.
I am a professional. Frank said, confidently. I wrestled the gun away from the first guy, and then ripped her free from those scumbags.
So the girls safe?
Of course shes safe. I told her to quickly get a cab while I took care of those pieces of shit.
Frank, you didnt...
I dont kill people, Gavin. You know that... In all of Franks stories he never killed anyone. He refused to take a life. In his mind that would put him on the same level as those he hated. He didnt have any problem with breaking limbs, though, and, generally, beating people within inches of their lives. That was just according to Frank, though. Gavin had no idea how a man this drunk could realistically tell when his victim was knocked out cold or dead. 

This city... Franks voice drifted. The alcohol had finally subdued his temperament. His eyes became heavy, and he struggled to finish what was left of his beer before it slipped from his hand and clanked onto the floor with a splash.
Gavin sighed, grabbed the bloody rag, and headed into the kitchen. He tossed this one into a bin under the sink and went back for another. He sopped up the beer and gathered the bottle.
After the slight cleaning, Gavin found himself back at his desk. He took another long, hard look at Frank. Through the dried blood and scraggly beard Gavin could still see the calm face of someone at peace with themselves and their actions.
With a sigh, he opened his drawer, intending to grab another sheet of paper so he could finish his comic for the deadline tomorrow, but before he could he spotted an older charcoal drawing. The drawing depicted a stoic superhero, dressed in red, cape flowing in the gentle wind. His beard was well trimmed, and he wore a mask, but those things couldnt hide the fact that his real identity was actually Frank. Indeed, Gavin had turned Frank from a lost, alcoholic washed up cop into a crime fighting hero.
That charcoal drawing, done on another occasion when he had drunkenly passed out on his futon, wasnt the only piece in the fictional saga of Frank the super hero, either. Gavin had whole books filled with exploits gleaned from nights just like this. Sure, he spiced them up and added super powers, but behind it all was still Frank.
Many readers had seen the comics, and there was even a small cult following that picked up his hand made books down at the comic store every few weeks. They all cheered on this perfect all-American hero, but only Gavin knew what happened between the panels of the comic. Only Gavin knew of the drunken haze the real heros life was in.
With a sigh, he pulled out a new sheet of paper and started his drawing. He occasionally looked up as he drew, studying the lines in the face of his subject. Gavin wanted to write the story of the man Frank wanted to be. Or maybe it was the story of the man Frank thought he already was. He examined him as hard as he could, as though he was trying to find something, trying to find some truth in his words, trying to find superman.
Marvin McCaul surveyed the room carefully taking in all the faces, any possible escape routes but eventually his eyes returned to the woman at the bar. Redhead. Short black dress. Long legs. What fine specimen, he thought. Tonight I am not Marvin McCaul, or the Masked Maverick. Tonight I am Henry, Henry Hartz, looking to sell his family business to some investors. He glimpsed at his watch and figured it was time to make his move. He got up from his seat in the corner and placed himself beside the redhead at the bar.
Bartender, Ill have what the lady is having and another for her.
Names Henry. Henry Hartz. Who might you be, and what are you doing here on a night like this?
Danielle Dupuis, and I happen to be waiting for a date who never showed up. Might I say, you sure dont look local, Henry. So tell me, what brings you to town?
Im a butcher and Ive arrived in town to sell my familys business to
Okay, timeout Marv. Stick to the script. How would a butcher be sexy anyway? The façade of Danielle Dupuis disappeared, replaced by Stephanie Sullivan, Marvins girlfriend of three years.
Alright Like I said, Im a professional treasure hunter and Im in town timeout just next time, let me write the script okay?
and Im in town in search for the legendary artifact known as the Urn of Solidarity timeout couldnt you have come up with anything better, Steph?
Just stay on script Why, I happen to work for the local museum and we are preparing for the upcoming exhibit on the owner of the Urn, King Alexandros. In fact, I am the lead curator on the exhibit and Im very interested in any information you may have on the location of the Urn.
Why why yes, would you want to come back to my abode (really, abode?) and look over my findings, maybe over a drink or two?
Why yes, Mr. Hartz, I would love to take you up on your offer.
Looks like our game of seduction worked after all, thought Marvin, as he escorted Stephanie back to his car.
In the car, Stephanie was becoming irritated, Cmon Marv, cant you drive a bit faster?
Marv again? Wasnt this whole role-play thing your idea, Danielle?
Well, I know one way to make this ride back exciting, she said as she flashed a smile and reached for Marvins belt.
Whoa whoa whoa! Hey! Can we not do this in the car Steph! Not that I dont appreciate it or nothing, but I kinda need to pay some attention to the road here. You know how I get when you do that. And what happens when we get to a stop sign or a red light?
Fine, no sexy time in the car. Killjoy!
Itll be worth the wait. I have a bottle of 89 Express at home that I bought for tonight. We can have fun after I park the car, alright?
Come to think of it, when they do this in TV or in movies, they immediately cut to them opening the door all hot and heavy. I wonder what happens on their way home. Because it probably isnt anything like this.
Then I dont know why we didnt just rent a hotel room right, the script. Youre just lucky the traffic isnt too bad tonight.
***
As Marvin turned the lock on the front door, he paused and turned towards Stephanie. She gave him a confused look.
So no hot and heavy coming in through the door?
Oh no, were back to roleplaying.
Then what was that back in the car?
Well, forgive me for trying to have a bit of fun on the way back. Besides, its not like I wrote a conversation about lost treasures for the way home.
Well then Danielle, as Marvin slipped back into character, welcome to my abode. I am sure my findings may be of some help to you and your exhibit.
Marvin seated Stephanie on the couch and continued his Henry Hartz charade, So, Ill be just a moment as I go get some drinks and my research on the Urn and ah crap, I left the 89 Express somewhere in the basement. Ill be right back.
After a few minutes, Stephanie began coming down the steps of the basement, Im coming down Marv. Just because its called a wine cellar doesnt mean you can just leave wine in your basement.
Stephanie entered the basement only to find Marvin rooting around the basement and becoming frustrated. As she looked around she noticed a bookcase that looked out of place and began examining the books on the shelf when one title caught her eye.
Hey, you have the first edition of All my Roses? I didnt know you read that, as she reached to remove the book from the shelf.
The bookshelf began to shake and then moved off to the side to reveal a secret passageway.
Holy crap.
What happened? Did you break something? replied Marvin.
Marvin whats down there? as she pointed towards the new set of stairs that appeared.
Ah crap. Well, Ive been meaning to get that fixed (and that bookcase kind of gives it away too). Fine! I guess now is better time as any! Follow me for the tour, Steph, as he began heading down the secret passageway.
As they exited the stairway, Stephanie realized they had entered into a large underground cavern littered with large computer screens and costumes. She stepped forward towards one of the display cases with a Masked Maverick costume and quickly examined it.
Holy crap. Are you
Yeah, you can say it.
Holy crap, are you one of the Masked Mavericks sidekicks!? Is this his secret base!? Did you just bring me back to his secret base to have sexy time in!?
Oh, cmon Steph!
What!?
I am the Masked Maverick.
Stephanie blurted out a laugh in response.
Oh my god, as she fought back the laughter, seriously? Oh my gosh. Really? I wouldnt have pegged you as superhero material.
Thats kind of the point. It wouldnt be much of a secret identity if it was obvious enough to anyone that could put two and two together. Anyway, I guess I should give you the tour now that youre in on my secret.
Alright, so here is the main supercomputer. Large screens and everything; picks up police frequencies too. Even goes to my suit radio. I usually use it to analyze lots of things blood samples, computer code, Morse code, translation whatever you can think of, this computer can take whatever you throw at it. Not riddles though, I have figure those out myself on my own because Tech Trickster wont help me upgrade the OS.
And here are some of my older costume designs. Took a while for me to figure not have bright orange on a costume. Just makes you too easy to spot, day or night. Unless we get stuck in the DayGlo dimension, but we usually dont get much advance notice when that happens.
Here is my first costume. Put it together all by myself; also taught myself how to use a sewing machine at the same time.
Looks pretty beat up.
Yeah, the guy I was up against was pretty big. Threw me into a couple of skyscrapers and construction sites.
After that I started using some better material than spandex because let me tell you, after you get put through a building or asphalt a few times, it just tears too easily. And I just dont have the time to stitch it back together.
Hey! Marv! When are you going to feed me?! Im getting hungry! a voice boomed from the dark corner of the cavern.
What was that Marv? gasped Stephanie
Now for the final part of the tour. Can you keep a secret? No one, and I mean no one can no about this. If they did, it could ruin me.
What could be so bad?
I sorta have a prisoner. Let me explain, though! as Marvin flicked a light switch to illuminate the dark corner containing a man in a rather large cage.
Oh dont worry, hes mostly just hungry. Hes pretty much given up wanting to escape anyway, right Clark?
Steph, this is Clark. Clark Clarkson, meet Stephanie Sullivan. Stephanie, Clark.
Clark here was my bully throughout grade and high school. Werent you Clarky boy?
Let me out Marv! Ill take you even WITH your superpowers!
So fussy today. Now Clark, mind your temper around Stephanie here, unless you want to get stuck watching only reality television for a week. Dont worry, hes just hungry. I guess I forgot to feed him dinner before I left for the bar.
To be fair, at least he gets three meals a day not like before I brought him here. And theres really no one looking for him or anything, or care to.
That and he used to give me noogies every day, wedgies every other day, and a swirly every Wednesday.
Is that why you have that bald spot over there?
Yeah, hes a real piece of work. Anyway, I bumped into him a while back and I asked if he felt sorry about bullying me just laughed in my face, so here he is.
And that concludes our tour. Now, if you would follow me into the elevator, it leads out to behind the fireplace. Yes, I just had to get a rotating fireplace, if youre wondering.
Wow, that was a lot to take in, said Stephanie as she exited the elevator.
So I guess sexy time is off for tonight?
I have to ask how long have you been the Masked Maverick, Marv?
I think maybe two years before we met. And I hope Clark there didnt scare you.
Oh no, he definitely should be in that cage there for giving you that bald spot.
The cage is pretty roomy and he gets all the channels too.
I think, as she pushed Marvin back onto the couch, sexy time never left. I mean, I just found out my boyfriend is a bona-fide superhero. Who wouldnt find that completely sexy?
Well, there was that one girl before you that funny story for another time.
Then I think we should take this to the bedro , as a large ring from the phone in the room interrupted Stephanie.
Sorry, I have to take this.
Stephanie let out a sigh and rolled her eyes.
Will you accept a collect call from:
Great Gentleman.
Yes.
"What is it Grant? I told you not to call unless it was an emergency. My day off, remember? Uh huh. What? Seriously? Alright, slow down. Another extinction-level event? Didnt we just have one last week? You owe me, you know, right? Ill be there in ten.
Who was that Marv?
Oh, just the Great Gentleman.
Is there something wrong?
The new guy didnt do so well. Everyone thought he could handle it himself. Some guy named Green Guardian. They put him against the Amber Aggressor. Figured he thought we were joking when we told him to believe in himself and everything hes okay, though. Doctor Duality will have to grow his limbs back (if he can ever stop arguing with himself).
Sounds serious. Should I be worried?
They tell me its an extinction-level event, so sorry honey, but I guess we have to cancel sexy time tonight. Dont wait up. Or worry, really. You might be able to catch me on the news. I should be back in the morning though. Ill pick us up and get pancakes or something.
Oh, and it Clark keeps wailing, just tell him youll delete his daytime talk shows off the DVR. That usually shuts him up. I gotta get suited up.
I was totally editing this up to the last minute when I hit submit.
Also I didn't feel like I was writing a 'traditional' short story this entire time, it felt like a screenplay or something from all the lines of short dialogue I kept making.
When you sit on a cliff high above the sea, the waves look like thick ropes rolling towards the land, swallowing themselves to be reborn, to roll and swell and disintegrate again on the sands. A cycle like our cycle. That wave that crashed to the shore will never be seen again.
We came to the mountain seeking an awakening. Did we find it? I have never seen an ocean like this one; if this is not awakening, I don’t know what is. This is what I came here to feel. I look to Lyanna, and when her eyes meet mine I know she feels it too. Bert is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling in wonder. John is still gazing out at the ocean. All around us, bathing us, are the glows of every color the gods created: soft aurora violets, deep greens of the forest, bright reds of a cooling star.
Far below us on the shore, the neon huts stretch as far as we can see. A faint sound of drums reaches our ears, calling to us even here. I’m scarcely aware of how it begins, but suddenly we’re descending the mountain path in the darkness, treading so carefully on the wood and rock walkways, with each step aware of where the next one must go.
Then we’re on the beach, and the journey is done. Looking back at the mountain, I can see that what we thought all this time was a row of cliffs descending into the sea is actually the head of a dragon nestling peacefully in the shallows. As great as he is, this one is only a baby. His mother is as vast as the earth.
“Can you see the dragon?” I ask.
“What?” John looks around. “What dragon?”
“Right there!” I point out at what we had thought were the cliffs. “See, there’s his neck curving downwards, and there’s his head. He’s sleeping in the water.”
John looks at me, puzzled, then looks out towards the dragon again. Lyanna claps her hands and giggles with delight. “I see him!” she shouts. “Aww, it’s a little baby dragon!”
“Look,” Bert says, pointing up at the glowing clouds scattered all across the heavens. “The moon sneezed all over the sky.”
I don’t remember laughing this hard, perhaps ever. There are more people around us now, coming and going in groups, some walking alongside us towards the gathering down the shore, others headed for the mountain to seek their own awakening. In the distance is a giant, dancing neon cricket. When we began our trip to the mountain, that cricket was nothing but a pattern of lights in the palm trees of one of the resorts. But it’s clear now that those lights have always been a cricket. The rest of the group agrees.
“If anything goes wrong, the cricket will be our constant,” John says.
Bert wants to take a picture of the group. I put my arm around Lyana, and she melts into me. Just yesterday I wondered if I should even hold her hand. Bert starts the count, and we all smile. Flash.
We’ve reached the outskirts of the gathering, and the sound of the drum circles fills our ears as though we were seashells. Young men are sitting on the sand, beating drums of bamboo and hide with impossible skill, each knowing his part in the song. No one misses a beat. More than anything I wish I could have their certainty, the ability to know just when my part in the beautiful cacophony must begin, when to burst forth and when to stay silent.
And amidst the drumming, the circle of impossibly lithe bodies, shaping fire, weaving fire. You did not think fire could take these shapes, for in the flames I see faces, figures, mythical beasts. Dancer and flame are one, and I realize that the motion is everything; without motion the fire spirit is only burning rope, and the conjurer is just a man. I think to myself that if I could just move here, devote myself to this, someday I could be a pyromancer like them.
When I am gone, and my embers have cooled to ashes, let what remains wash ashore to mingle with the sands here. Let me always be part of the dance. Let me never return to a world without colors like these, without music like this.
Suddenly the beach grows brighter. All at once, the crowd looks to the sky, and all at once we see it: the clouds the moon had sneezed have cleared away, and the full moon that brought us from so many different lands and gathered us here on this beach on this night is finally shining down on us with the soft smile of a mother. Someone cheers, and suddenly we're all cheering. The drummers begin again with new vigor, and everyone is dancing. You have to dance, even if you don't know the moves, because none of us know what the next move is, not really. We've never really rehearsed. All humanity is improvised.
Lyanna grabs a random stranger and asks him to take our picture, for we need one with all of us in it; we need to be able to look back years from now and return to this moment. These are the pictures we will always keep, but can never show, not really show, to others. Pictures let you look through another person’s eyes, to see what for a moment spanned the whole world before them. And yet I could never show you this, never describe it to you, for even if you stood beside me in this very moment, you could not see through my eyes. These moments live only between the frames, and around them, and beyond them.
