Here is the short story that came from that moment. It's tongue in cheek satire with moments of heart-felt seriousness. I hope you enjoy. If you have time afterwards, let me know what you thought and what you might have changed. Thanks.
When Nothing Else
Matters
by
Mitchell S Karnes
Here I am,
twenty years old, and my days as a superhero are over. I’ve just had knee replacement surgery after a
horrible fight. Well, I’m getting a
little ahead of myself. Let me go back
to the beginning of my tale.
I read
comics. I’ve read them ever since I was
a kid, and like most kids, I fantasized about becoming a superhero. I thought life would be easy for a superhero
… you know what I mean?
Was I ever wrong. At least I was also lucky. Not to be self-centered or anything, but God
blessed me with numerous abilities, and while growing up I tried to use all of
them. I was on the swimming team until I
thought gymnastics was more fun.
Gymnastics gave me the illusion of having superpowers, pulling off
fantastic stunts while vanquishing my foes.
I know, I know. Well, I said I
read a lot of comics. Anyway, the vault
horse became the wall, separating me from my enemies. I would charge it fearlessly as it attempted
to hide the bad guys. Then I would dive
forward, plant my hands firmly upon the top of the wall, and tuck into a ball,
so as to make a smaller target. I would effortlessly
flip over the imaginary wall and open out of my tuck in time to land feet
first. Of course, once I landed, my
enemies had no choice but to surrender.
I stayed
with gymnastics for about two years, and then went on to play football,
basketball and soccer, “like normal boys,” as my mom would say. Throughout everything I did, one—well, two
things played a big part. The first was
an uncommon dexterity, a catlike agility with a knack of always landing on my
feet. The other was luck. If you ever wish for any gift, ask for luck –
it makes up for everything else.
I got
older, but the desire to become a comic book hero never diminished. In fact, it only got stronger. Superheroes never got pushed around. Well, at least they never let the bad guy get
away with it. Too many people just
ignore what happens in the world until it affects them directly; that’s the
problem with our society today. Just the
thought of apathy nauseates me. I knew if
I ever became a superhero, I’d make people think twice before committing a
crime in my jurisdiction. The criminals
I caught wouldn’t dare attempt their evil deeds again. I would make it safe to go outside at
night. The people on the side of the law
would love me, while those who broke the law would learn to fear me. I could do it all if I only had super
powers. I was so shallow…so naïve. Of course that’s when I thought the powers
made the hero.
A few weeks
before my seventeenth birthday, I rented an old movie about an out-of-work
actor who got a job promoting a movie about a superhero. I think it was called, Hero at Large. After work
one night, while still wearing the outfit, he foiled an attempted robbery. Once he heard the reaction of the people,
about the hope they now had, he decided to continue playing the hero. That’s what really inspired me! He was an ordinary guy who cared enough to
sacrifice everything, just to give people hope and faith, something to inspire
action. It was then that I realized it
was not the powers, but the man who made the hero.
I began my
vigilant workouts, not only for strength, but for agility and balance as
well. Balance and agility are just as
important to a superhero in training. I
took a job as a night janitor for the local gymnastics club, so I could have
access to all of their equipment. I focused
most of my time on the uneven bars and the vault horse. I figured they would help the most. Within a few months, I was an incredible
tumbler, even if I do say so myself. I
also spent time in the kick-boxing room, where I practiced my fighting techniques
on the heavy bags. After about six
months, I combined both my acrobatics and fighting techniques to become an
unstoppable assault machine. The only
weapon I used, besides by body, was a sand-filled, leather blackjack. I used it only at a distance, mostly on
fleeing criminals.
After nearly
a full year of workout and planning, I was ready for action. For the protection of my friends and family,
I created a name and a costume to keep my identity a secret. My sister, God rest her soul, designed and made
my first outfit. It was a skin tight,
yet well insulated, black and blue one-piece costume, especially padded near
the more precious areas. It had enough
stretch so as not to hinder my movements.
I know, good guys are supposed to wear white; well, not if they’re
smart. Of course I wore a matching
mask. What dummy can’t see that Clark
Kent is really Superman? I had a cape at
first, but quickly learned that was a mistake.
While doing a routine vault, I got tangled up in it and suffered a mild
concussion when my head hit the ground.
I also learned, by experience, that successive tumbling in a cape can
quickly lead to strangulation, not to mention an abrupt introduction to the
first solid object encountered. So, the
cape was out. By the way, have you ever
wondered what the cape was for? I
have. Anyway, back to my story. For my name, I began with “The Bruiser,”
being black and blue and all, but it didn’t sound much like a hero. The name carried too many negative
connotations. What was my purpose? To defend the defenseless, so I naturally
called myself, “Captain Defender.” I
know. Well, I never said I had good
taste.
Unlike most
superheroes you read about, I have a tendency to brag, so I wanted to tell a
few trusted friends, but for the safety of the others, I told only my sister,
Lynn. You’d be surprised how difficult
it is to keep that kind of secret. Originally, I told my sister the outfit was
for a costume party and I had the chance to win fifty bucks. She had her doubts about the contest, but never
questioned me openly. Lynn taught me to
do almost everything when I was little, which is why we were so close. It was strange. We shared a special bond; I could always
confide in her. Why didn’t I tell my
parents? My father had too many other
things to worry about, and my mother already worried too much as it was. She had these morbid dreams about my getting
seriously hurt or dying in bad accidents.
Finally the
time came for the much anticipated night patrolling. Talk about boring, nothing ever happens in Carbondale . It wasn’t until the end of my third week of
patrolling that I finally got my chance to save someone. At seven
o’clock , when I finished supper, I went to my room and put my
costume and blackjack in the gym bag. I
told my parents that I was going to work out before I cleaned the gym. Living in the country made it easier to
change into my outfit without being seen.
Parking my car about a mile from town, I changed my clothes and hid the
car keys. I didn’t even need a phone
booth; they’re almost impossible to change in anyways…and nearly as impossible
to find these days.
I worked my
way through the darker area of town as I headed for the university campus. I hid behind bushes and in shadows as I
patrolled my route. I was crawling behind
this retaining wall with a row of tall hedges in front of it when I heard a
scream. I nearly wet my pants. But, being the hero I was, I quickly
regrouped, scanned the area, and pinpointed the source of the problem. Some guy had just nabbed this woman’s
purse. Remember what I said about
luck? This time mine was working
overtime. The man was running my way. He even ran parallel with the hedges in front
of me. I calculated his speed and said a
quick prayer. Running towards the wall
at an angle, I planted one foot on top of it and dove over the hedges. Perfect!
I landed
right on top of my unsuspecting foe, sending us both tumbling to the
sidewalk. I rolled forward and hopped to
my feet. He didn’t get up as quickly. As he shook his head and looked up to see
what had hit him, he said hello to my foot and the world of
unconsciousness. Before I knew it, it
was over. My first attempt as a hero was
a success. What a rush!
The lady, I
think she was a professor, came over to me sheepishly, thanked me, and began to
ask a barrage of questions. I gave her
the purse, instructed her to call the police, and told her my hero name. As soon as I tied the robber’s arms behind
his back, I left.
The next morning
the news was streaming over every local radio and television station. The woman told the entire story – at least she
told her version. Get this: she said, “A man stole my purse as I was
walking to my car. As he ran away, I
screamed for help. Out of nowhere, a man
swooped down from the sky, tackling the thief and knocking him out. When I went to get my purse,” she continued,
“he kissed me and told me his name. He
calls himself the Champion. He told me
to call the police, and then he flew off.”
A kissing
hero? The Champion? So much for “Captain Defender.” Oh, yeah, and I just learned – I can
fly. People are never satisfied with the
truth. You want to know something
else? There were even some freaks who
came forward that night to confess – as the Champion! That really pissed me off.
Months
passed. I graduated from high school and
continued patrolling through the summer, when I wasn’t working. I didn’t realize how big of a reputation I
had made until I heard a national newscast.
The reporter said, “In the small Southern Illinois town of Carbondale, a
superhero’s presence has been alleged.
If there really is such a hero, why doesn’t he go someplace where he’s
really needed, like Chicago ,
New York Los Angeles ?
The main question is,” the reporter taunted, “is there such a hero or is
this another small town’s way of gaining some cheap publicity? Is this hero for real, or do we have another
Area 51, Lochness monster, or Bigfoot?
Champion, if you do exist, why not show yourself to some real
competition?” They couldn’t leave well
enough alone.
Near the
end of the summer, Carbondale was introduced to some major league crime…kidnapping. A rich man’s son was abducted at a crowded
restaurant without any opposition. The
three men and their driver all got away without even the slightest
challenge. I decided that I would find
them while the police waited for the ransom call. I relied on every bit of instinct and luck I
could muster.
All of the
old gangster movies I had ever seen were coming to mind. I just prayed they had seen them and knew
their prospective roles. I went around
the outskirts of town, checking every abandoned house and barn I could find,
until Bingo! Light was coming from a
house on the old coal mine road. I snuck
around, checking everywhere, before I made my plan. I looked in every window, counting only five
people, four men and the boy. Of the
four men, one was watching a portable television, two were playing cards, and
the one remaining man was pacing back and forth, checking his watch. A plan was born.
The old
“draw one outside trick” was my first objective. I climbed into a nearby sycamore tree, and
dropped a big rock by the door. Boy,
were they suckers. The one who was
pacing earlier came out to investigate the noise. He took a few steps outside, and then turned
to walk back. I jumped. With both feet landing on his shoulders, I
leaned forward and rolled into the house.
Getting up quickly, I let the blackjack fly, hitting a man with a gun
right in the bridge of his nose. I
kicked the back of the chair as one of the two remaining men attempted to
rise. The blow knocked him face forward
into the edge of the table. He was
out. One left.
He had a butterfly
knife in his hand, and by the way he was flipping it around, I could tell he
knew how to use it. This was my first
real face to face combat, my first true test.
I had lost any element of surprise.
I let him come, standing as confidently as I could, taking a pose of a
true superhero with my hands in fists at my hips. It actually worked. If anything, I had fear on my side. I could see it in his eyes. He finally charged me. As he did, I spun sideways and fell back,
placing my feet on his kneecaps.
SNAP! I had never heard anything
like it. It was sickening. He was out of action. I stood and raised my hands in the air. Victory!
“Bang!”
I spun
around just in time to see a man falling toward me. It was the one I had attacked with the
blackjack. I had forgotten all about him. The kid didn’t; he shot him in the back of
his head. They had just untied boy,
allowing him to use the bathroom when I came in. We were even.
Together we
tied up the men and loaded them in the back of their minivan. I drove them to the emergency room at the
hospital, found the nearest police officer, said goodbye to the kid, and left
with their car. I abandoned it back at
the house where I found it and took my own car home. I called the police with additional details,
such as the directions to the hideout.
Summer was soon
over and I was on my way to Nashville.
“Look out crime, here I come,” I thought as I headed down I-24. I decided to go to an emerging music business
school in Nashville, Tennessee to double major in music production and marketing. This way I could accomplish two goals. My parents couldn’t argue that Nashville wasn’t the
closest place for music and music business, and I could also try The Champion
out in a bigger city. I know Nashville
isn’t Chicago, New York or L.A., but to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t ready for
those places quite yet.
Before I
tried anything in costume, I walked around, familiarizing myself with the
city. I noticed the flow of the crowds
down Second Avenue
and the Riverfront areas, as well as Broadway.
I learned the ins and outs of alleyways and where the major streets
connected. Then I spent several nights
and weekends watching night court, studying the areas of highest concern. About the fourth week I was there, I finally took
action down on the Riverfront area. It
was a simple attempted mugging, but it was a good start for the Champion. I quickly overpowered the young man and tied
him up for the police. Nashville wasn’t
Carbondale by any stretch of the imagination.
Every night I patrolled after that led to an encounter of some
kind. I didn’t always apprehend all of
the criminals I fought, but I always arrived to save the victim in the
proverbial nick of time. I got bruised
and cut, but I was a good Champion; no, I was the best. I fought and I fought hard. I was getting quicker and stronger and more
confident.
I lost
count of the number of people I put in the hospital…or jail for that
matter. I still hear their taunts. Some swear they’ll get me, that they’ll get
even, but a few have thanked me for opening their eyes before it was too
late. I eventually earned the respect of
the citizens of Nashville; they loved me.
If they didn’t, I’d probably be in jail myself. According to the news reports, I carried an
illegal weapon, and am what they call a vigilante. That means I take the law into my own hands. Somebody has to! Anyway, even the press won’t mess with me now
that my heroism has been established properly.
Of course you probably know what they say about pride and the fall. I learned it the hard way.
One Friday
night I had just taken my date home. It
was then that my luck finally ran out. I
was driving back to the dorm when I saw three guys forcing a young dark haired woman
into an alley. I pulled into the next
alley and got out. Great! I was so preoccupied with my date that I had
left my outfit back in the dorm. There
wasn’t any choice. The woman’s safety
had to take precedence over my secret identity.
I thought if I made a head on attack, they would just think I was a
concerned citizen, a Champion want-to-be.
I charged
into the alley just as one of the punks slapped her face. Two held her.
As I gave the battle cry, they grabbed for their weapons. I ran right through the first one before the
echo of my cry faded into the darkness of the alley. As I did, I racked him with my knee, as hard
as I possibly could. From my left, one
charged, and I turned to face him. He
was somewhat surprised that I was ready to deal with him so quickly. Putting both hands behind his head, I pulled
down. I rolled backwards and used his
momentum to launch his body across the alley and into the brick wall. His back landed flat like a dead fish on a
table and he fell limply to the ground.
As I hopped
up to look for the third guy, I felt a sharp pain in my right kidney. I lunged forward to escape the burning sensation. I staggered to my feet and searched for the
features in his shadowy face. The light
from the street behind me caught the side of his knife blade. That was all I needed. I kicked him in the gut and grabbed his
wrist. I brought the arm down to meet my
upcoming knee, snapping the joint easily.
I felt pain suddenly fill my skull as a bullet grazed my head. I spun awkwardly and grabbed my
forehead. “Bang!” Another bullet hit my right knee, shattering
the knee cap instantly. The hollow point
shredded the back of my leg. I fell back
into the alley trash can. The joint on
my right knee was gone, and my leg was useless.
As his friends ran out of the alley, the first one I had attacked, the
one with the gun, walked up with a demented grin. I knew right then he was sizing me up for the
kill. My hand luckily rested on the lid
of a metal trash can. I rolled and let
it fly as hard as I could. It struck him
between the eyes, killing him instantly.
The woman
rolled me over and asked, “Are you okay?”
She was beautiful. With quivering
lips and tear-filled eyes, she attended to my needs, wrapped her sweater around
my bloody leg, and called for an ambulance.
“Hang on,” she pleaded. My face
and side were soaked with blood and my leg was bent sideways. It was strange though; after the battle I
felt no pain. Numbness or shock took
over. I had done it without the outfit,
without the persona. “They’re on their
way. Your going to make it.”
I smiled
and added, “Never felt better.” I found
out later from a school mate that they had considered charging me with
homicide, but thanks to the influence of the girl’s father, the charges were
dismissed. Can you believe it? What a screwy society!
I had the
first surgery on my knee, and I woke to see my family, well, all but my
sister. She was raped and murdered on
the same night as my last fight. Why did
I ever leave Carbondale ? I should have been there to save her, instead
of wasting my time on perfect strangers, trying to prove I was someone they wanted
me to be.
The only
person I was ever really close to was Lynn, and she was taken from me. It isn’t fair! Why couldn’t someone else have died
instead? Someone who deserved it? I would have gladly traded my life for hers. Why couldn’t I have died instead? But no, I lay here helpless. Two months of rehab and multiple surgeries!
“Easy, Mr.
Smith” the nurse said in a gentle voice.
“That’s quite a story.”
“It’s
true,” I insisted.
“I believe
you,” she said, wiping the sweat from my head.
“Now get some sleep. You’ll
probably go home in the morning.”
I awoke
that next morning to the doctor’s prodding of my leg. He looked at the screen of his smart pad and examined,
once again, the MRI of my knee. “It
looks better this time, Mr. Smith, but you’ve got to give it time to heal. You can’t walk on it again without support.”
“But I’ve
…”
“No
buts.” The doctor sat on the side of the
bed. “You’re very lucky to be
alive. The bullet to your head only
grazed your temple, and the knife wound to your kidney was clean and
mendable. But this leg.” He shook his head. “You won’t be able to walk again without the
aid of crutches, a cane, or a walker.
You should feel blessed to have even that.”
I turned
away. I didn’t want to hear it again. He had said it all before. What difference did it make anyway? “Sure doc.”
“Are you
ready to go? Miss Stephens has your
wheelchair ready, and I believe your roommate is here to take you home.” He handed me a prescription and patted me on
my left leg. “Now behave this time.”
When I got
back to the dorm, the guys had a party for me.
Even Charlotte, the woman I saved was there. She was even more beautiful in the
light. After the party, she let me walk,
or as I should say “roll,” her home.
Back at the
dorm, I lay on the bed and sorted out the events of the last three years. I learned that life wasn’t like the movies; the
good guys don’t always win. I pulled a
box from my closet and opened it. There was
my black and blue costume, neatly folded and untouched since the night before
my date. In the half lit closet, the
outfit seemed to shimmer, to posses some sort of magic. It made me think of Lynn. I lump swelled in my throat, so I put it
away.
Several
weeks later, after I had progressed to crutches and a cane, I braved the box once
more. It shimmered again, almost as if
my sister were calling me to put it on, to trust its magic. My muscles twitched as if they too needed to
feel the fabric once again. It was
strange, once I had it on I felt stronger; even my leg felt better. I slipped out of the window and down the fire
escape. I was actually walking without
the cane!
Subconsciously,
I made the campus route of my patrol. I
was walking, and then I tried to run.
The pain soared and brought me face first to the ground. After waiting for the sharp pain to subside,
I got up, worked the joint and walked some more of the route. As I left the campus and ventured off into a
darkened neighborhood, I noticed some commotion to my left. In an alley between two apartment buildings,
a girl screamed, but her scream was quickly muffled. I got there just as they were tearing her
shirt. I couldn’t believe my eyes; she
looked just like Lynn. I made my way to
the entrance of the alley and stumbled.
My leg was too weak and gave out.
She tried to scream again as they ripped off her skirt, but one man held
her mouth firmly shut. “I’m coming, Lynn,”
I cried. I leaped from the shadows,
hoping I could at least buy her enough time to escape.
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