Author Topic: Fixation  (Read 4317 times)

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Offline Kitulean

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Fixation
« on: November 09, 2011, 09:22:10 AM »
So, I've started to write again after a long hiatus of writing mostly fluff and random stuff. I wanted to write a superhero piece, but I also wanted to come at it from a unique angle. The character here IS a superhero, or at least, she'll become one. Because that's the kind of story this is. But she definitely doesn't begin out that way. Let me know what you think of this start, please.

Fixation
Part One

"The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example." - Benjamin Disraeli

Prologue

In all of my life, I will never erase the single greatest stain of my existence. A great man is dead because of my actions. And because he is gone, many, many more have died.

My name is Savannah Crest, and because of me, the world's mightiest and most incredible superhero is dead.

I know, you saw the news when it happened. It was exactly one year ago, and the media spoke of little else for days afterward. Even the disasters and devastation that the great man could have prevented took a back seat to yet another interview with Random Analyst Number 327 about how the loss of the amazing hero, Paragon, would affect the world at large. Honestly I don't even think they understood the absurdness of what they were doing, trying to analyze what the effect would be while ignoring the actual effects. There's a tragic humor there.

But you still know all this.  You've read all of the accounts, heard the analysts, watched the gathered Society of Light mourning their fallen leader. Maybe you even visited the monument they put up where he fell for the last time. The death of Paragon rocked not only the nation, but the world itself. The mightiest man of the planet, killed in battle.

You're asking, how can I possibly claim responsibility for the great man's destruction? After all, everyone knows how he died. Everyone knows how he was killed by that robot. The entire scenario has been debated, reenacted, painted, written, hell I think someone even accounted the events through interpretive dance.

I won't argue that. Everyone knows how he died.

What you don't know, what no one else knows, is why he died.

I have to tell this story. Because someone else should know the truth. I don't know if I'm looking for absolution or condemnation. All I know is that I can't lie anymore. As far as I've come, as much as I've done, I have to take this next step. As I stand here now, I have to tell you what really happened. Not just that day, though you could hear only those events and pronounce your judgement. I would accept it. But I believe that I must tell you everything. Not only my great sin, but how it affected me. My triumphs and failures in the last year have all come as a result of that day. I will explain them all, and then you may choose my fate.

Then, once you understand the entire truth, you may chose how I die.


Chapter One

365 Days Ago

"I hate my name." Someone had told me that it was always good to start out the day with a positive statement. I forget who it was, but they were pretty smart, so I took the advice.  I was positive that I hated my name.

"What's wrong with it, Savvy?" That was my best friend, Aldridge Ken. He of the reversed first and last names, and don't think that hasn't confused every teacher who has ever seen the name written down. It was doubly fun to watch a gym teacher, who typically called everyone by their last names, try to sort out which one he should refer to Aldridge as.

Exceedingly tall and lanky, Aldridge didn't tend to get along very well with any of the gym teachers anyway. They kept expecting him to be good at basketball because he was so much closer to the net than anyone else in school. At only seventeen, he's just a hair under seven feet tall. He could walk to the basket with the ball in his outstretched hand and no one could ever take it from him. But here's the problem, the rules don't exactly allow you to do that. At some point that ball has to touch the ground. Then, after it hits the ground, it has to make it back to his hand before once more hitting the ground. I'm told this is called dribbling. I have seen children as young as five do this to some extent with little trouble. But in Aldridge's case, this is where it all falls apart. Because at some point between the ball hitting the ground and reaching his hand once more, he would have found away to make it smack him in the face, rebound off his foot, bowl over a group of nuns, and knock a pile of stereos into a swimming pool of orphans.

He is not the most coordinated teenager on the planet, is what I'm saying.

At the moment, as we walked toward school, Aldridge was peering at me through a thick and unruly mane of blond hair that kept falling into his eyes. When I say he was peering at me, I mean down at me. Very, very down. Even though I'm fairly average in height, at just about the exact  mid point between five and six feet, his incredible height meant that he was still a solid foot and a half above me.

"I like the name Savannah." He said then, pushing a hand back through his wild blond hair. The hairs obscuring his face scattered through his long fingers, regrouped, and instantly fell right back where they'd been. I know rabid cannibal badgers that are easier to tame than that mop. Actually, taming the rabid cannibal badgers is a good story, but it doesn't happen for a long time yet. So just be patient.

"Not Savannah." I answered, taking the time to shoot a  text message to Gesmine, another friend. I had to ask her if we were still studying after school. "My last name. I hate it. Crest? Can you even comprehend how many people have given me toothpaste and thought they were being clever? Or quoted those stupid commercials? Or asked if my parents are dentists? There's no end to it! I want to change it."

"Okay, so what would you change it to?" Aldridge asked, before yelping as he walked right through the extended branches of a tree, no doubt startling a family of birds into thinking a random  giraffes had gotten lost and migrated across continents. He spat several leaves and twigs aside before waving a hand as he continued. "If you could."

"Given the choice?" My own brown eyes, a match to my hair, moved away from him as a blush touched my face. "You know what I'd change it to." My phone gave the short, sharp tingling bell noise for the incoming message from Gesmine. Apparently we were still meeting up at the library, though she was going to be half an hour late. That was okay, I had plans.

"Yeah," Aldridge's tone was lightly teasing. "But I don't think 'Mrs. Paragon' has a very good ring to it. Besides, it's probably not his legal name. He looks like a Grant, or a Roddenberry."

Still blushing, I had to squint at that. "Roddenberry?"

"Hey, he was a great man too. A visionary." Aldridge was a big sci fi fan.

"He's not a Roddenberry." I argued. "He's got to have a good, strong last name. Like Dyson or Ford. Maybe Grant. But definitely not Roddenberry."

"Lucas?" He offered with a goofy little smile. "He could be a Lucas, that's a pretty strong last name. Savannah Lucas. Hey that one even sounds good." The boy grinned, proud of himself. "You could totally pull off Savannah Lucas."

"It's not bad." I admitted. "Still, I'm not sure it's exactly right. I want it to be his name. Because he has to notice me. He has to see me and not look through me. I want to be special." When the boy opened his mouth, I shot him a glare. "If what you're about to say can be summarized by an after school special, don't even think about it." Aldridge obediently closed his mouth, and I kept going. "I want to be his kind of important. I want to be special to him."

We were almost to school, and Aldridge stopped at the next corner. "That's a pretty tall order." He relunctantly cautioned. "I mean, he's the most powerful superhero on the planet. The guy can shotput tanks, Savvy. You know I love you but..." He paused to examine his words. "But I just think you might be a little too focused on this." His hands came up quickly. "I'm not saying don't reach high. You want to be the kind of person that Paragon notices, that's great. But don't be in such a rush to become someone else, that you completely abandon everything that's you." That same quirky little smile then. "I kinda like the you we already have."

Both of us were blushing then. Aldridge and I have been friends since the fourth grade, back when he was only around the height I am now. We've never had any kind of romantic thoughts about each other. I can say that with one hundred percent certainty on my end and almost the same amount on his, considering we told each other everything. Obviously, he knew about my incredibly stupid but unrelenting crush on Paragon, and I knew about his crush on Laine Gavin, the school's resident track and swim star. Say what you want about his crush at least being our age, but I've seen Laine in a bikini, and we're both reaching far beyond our means. But just because we aren't about to start pining after each other doesn't mean we don't both occassionally say something to make both of us blush. It's complicated.

"Yeah yeah," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Shut up and go already. You know you want to get there in time to see Laine get in from the morning run."

His face brightened at the thought, then he frowned. "Savvy, you don't have to go into town today. Just because he's speaking at that opening..." Trailing off, the boy heaved a sigh. "But you aren't going to listen to logic, are you?" He asked, mournfully.

"Would you listen to logic if Laine asked you to take her to the next swim meet in her own stupidly expensive porsche just because someone pointed out that you still can't drive?"  I shot back.

"Hey, I resent that." Aldridge sniffed. "Just because I've never driven before doesn't mean I'm incapable of it. Maybe I'm a hidden prodigy. I could be the next Dominic Toretto."

"He's imaginary." I noted.

"The next Speed Racer."

"Even more imaginary."

"The next Optimus Prime."

"I really think you're failing to understand the concept here."

"Nah," He said with a grin. "I just think it'd be really cool to be Optimus Prime."

"Goof." I shoved him, trying not to laugh. "But I'm going. I have to. It's my chance to get him to notice me. I mean, how do we know exactly where he's going to be? I have to go."

Giving me a long look, I was afraid that, somehow, Aldridge would figure out what I was planning. He'd stop me, if he had any idea. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I wish he had figured it out. I wish he had forced me to go to school with him that day. But even as good of friends as we always were, even he couldn't read my mind. "Okay." He said with a sigh. "Just be careful. I hope you get an autograph or something, Savvy. Let me know how it goes."

"I will." I smiled and leaned up to kiss the highest point I could reach, somewhere around the middle of his chest.  I guess Laine has a step ladder in his imaginary make-out sessions, because she's at least an inch shorter than me. "Now go to class and cover for me." I gave him a push once more before stepping back. "I've got a bus to catch and a superhero to whoo."

"Why do people always say things like that?" He wondered. "Cover for you? What am I supposed to do, crochet a hand puppet and pretend you're sitting in my lap? Arrange your books on your desk and inform the teachers that you're invisible and mute for the day? Rent a monkey and tell everyone you had a terrible allergic reaction to your new vitamin supplement?"

"Uhhh, pick one." I waved before turning to run down the street. "Gotta catch that bus!"

"But I don't even know how to crochet!" His shout echoed after me.

****************************************************************************

An hour and three buses later, I was downtown. The great Paragon, he of such incredible strength, power, and kindness that my heart tripped all over itself whenever I saw so much as his name in print, was scheduled to appear at the opening of the new hospital that had been named after him. I had to be there. Well, more to the point, I had to be near there. I had to be within what I knew to be his earshot. Because I had a plan. A stupid, selfish, horrible plan, to get the man to notice me.

I was such an moron.

After leaving the last bus, rather than pressing in with the thousands of people gathered around the hospital, I made my way instead to a nearby building. Housing the offices of one of the nation's biggest insurance empires, the building was fifty three stories tall. Fifty three stories at about ten feet per story was about five hundred and thirty feet. Plenty of time for what I had in mind to work. And if it didn't... Well, It would. I had absolutely faith in Paragon.

It should have been harder to sneak past security in the building, but everyone was watching the side windows to see the moment the man himself arrived. I was able to just walk past the desk that the guard should have been sitting at, hit the up button at the elevator, and then step on when it arrived. All without being noticed. I felt like a super spy. Really, I was just a stupid little girl who was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

The entire ride up to the top floor, I was psyching myself up. "You can do it. He's right there. He's going to be amazing. You know he can hear that far. Hell, he'll probably see it from there. No problem. This is like taking an old lady across the street for him."

Moving off the elevator once the doors opened, I looked around the empty corridor. To the right was a plainly labeled door. Roof access. That's just what I wanted. Quickly, before anyone could notice me, or before I could lose my nerve, I ran to the door and pushed through. Finding the stairs, I made my way up and out the door there onto the roof of the building. There was a piece of concrete next to the door that I guessed people used to prop it open so they could go out here for their smoke breaks. No one was here currently. Thank god. I'd hate to have my monumental idiocy prevented.

God I wish someone had been out there.

Stepping to the edge of the roof, I looked down to where the hospital courtyard was. So many people had gathered around the place to see the great hero that I had thought that the central area would be hard to see. But the people planning the event had cleared a large area around the grass in front of the new hospital for him, where they had set up a podium. Everyone eagerly awaited his arrival.

I didn't have to wait long. A shout went up, then another, as a bright blue and white blur shot over the heads of the gathered crowd. A second later, he set down. Paragon. The crisp white of his uniform with its blue accents and his symbol. That glorious blonde hair, amazing smile. No I couldn't see it from where I was, but I knew he was smiling. He really was an example of perfection, just like his name.

With both feet on the edge of the roof, I watched for a moment as the great man moved toward the podium, giving everyone a friendly wave. I didn't want to wait too long. As certain as I was that he'd be there for me, that he'd save me, I didn't want to push my luck by letting him be distracted in his speech.

"You can do this, Savvanah. Do it, Savvy." I told myself, looking down at the ground to see how high up I was. That was a mistake. Vertigo swelled in me and I nearly toppled over right then. I felt a violent burst of nausea and tried to keep it down. "Do it." I repeated. "Just do it." Taking a breath, I shook in fear and shot a glance toward the man I thought I loved only because I had only a pathetic little child's understanding of love. A schoolgirl crush.

Seeing the man that I knew would save me steeled my resolve just enough. Still nearly throwing up, I stuck one foot out over the open air. Almost crying in fear already, I rocked forward on my remaining foot. Swaying a little like that in hesitation, I finally let go. Pushing off the rest of the way, I let myself fall. And I screamed. I don't even think I said his name, though I had planned to. I just screamed, incoherently and in absolute terror.

Yeah, it's me.

I'm the girl that Paragon caught that day. The day he died.  I'm the girl they never found afterward.  The last one that saw him alive.

More importantly, I saw who was responsible for his death. Who besides me was on that roof. I saw which of his supposed friends and allies was there that day.

I saw who betrayed and murdered the greatest superhero in the world.

Offline Phoenix004

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Re: Fixation
« Reply #1 on: November 10, 2011, 06:45:40 AM »
Great to have you back Cerulean, I love your work even though it puts mine to shame, lol. Brilliant start, looking forwrad to reading more.
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Offline Kitulean

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Re: Fixation
« Reply #2 on: December 22, 2012, 05:22:35 AM »
A year? Yeah that sounds about right given my pathetic output these days. Good lord. I swear I am going to try to be better. Let's see how that goes with this update.

Chapter Two

365 Days Ago

In my dreams, in my plans, in my childish little imagination, I had pictured the moment that I fell from the building only to be swept into the powerful, strong arms of the world's most powerful superhero.  After all, the movies made it look easy. Some screaming, and who wouldn't scream at that point, and then you were nestled perfectly safely against a perfectly sculpted chest. Surely that was worth a couple seconds of terror, right? There was more potential danger just by going onto some amusement park rides. The Colossus of Fear rollercoaster didn't come equipped with a man that could fly up and catch you if anything went wrong.

Or so I kept telling myself when I came up with this brilliant scheme.  No problem. Fall for a few seconds and then sweet, blessed relief.

In reality, I'm sure I didn't fall for that long. Maybe a few seconds. But here's the thing. You can fall a long way in only a few seconds. Pick up a ball and hold it above your head, high as you can. Then drop it in front of yourself. See how long it took that ball to hit the ground?  Most likely less than a second. So round up to one second to fall roughly six feet from a dead stop. Physics majors out there are already sharpening their knives to cut out my liver, so I should probably add that this is not a scientific method by any stretch of the imagination. That's something like nine point eight meters per second squared or some such.  I just want to give you the right general idea. In four seconds, I fell a lot further than I had thought about.

I also screamed a lot more than I'd planned on. In my daydreams, a single cry of my hero's name had brought a rush of wind and then his arms around me. Crisis over, he would hold me a bit longer than he strictly had to. His eyes would find mine…

But that was a sick, childish fantasy. This was reality, and as I fell, I realized for the first time that I might die. I might never see Aldridge or Gesmine again, or my parents. I could really, truly die.

My screams tangled in my throat, caught in the rush of my sobs. I didn't want to die. Please. Oh god please don't let me die. I'd never do something that stupid again. I'd take any punishment they wanted to give me. I'd pay a fine, go to some correctional school, anything. I'd do anything, just don't let me die.

It would not be the last time, nor the worst, that I wished for a time machine. Sadly, I remained DeLoreanless.

My mistake, my idiocy, would be etched upon the pavement, for an eternity in my soul, for a few hours until the street cleaners hosed my moronic self down the gutter in reality.

I was going to die.

At least, I would have, had the very man that I had been so stupidly obsessed with that I nearly killed myself simply to get close to him not caught me just as I gave up all hope. Paragon was just as heroic, just as fast, and just as gentle as I had imagined. Not that his being what I dreamed excused my own stupidity, of course, but props where they belonged on his part.

The arms of the most powerful man in the world slipped around me, and we continued to fall for several seconds until he had slowed our momentum gently enough that my neck wouldn't instantly snap. We did a sort of loop like you might find on a rollercoaster, rising higher to the top of the building I had just fallen from. I honestly think that he was trying to see what or who had pushed me off the building to begin with.

The man was saying something, but my brain had completely shut off when his arms had closed around me. Not that there's overwhelming evidence that it had been working prior to that moment either, to be honest.

We landed on the roof, and he turned me to face him. His deep, forest green eyes were full of concern as he repeated his question, "Are you all right? Can you tell me what happened?" 

I wanted to answer. Really, I did. But all I could think about was that for the first and probably only time in my life (God do I know the truth of that now), Paragon was looking at me. He was focused on me. He was worried about me. His broad shoulders, that shoulder length blonde hair, the beautiful green eyes, I was able to see all of it right up close and in person.

"I…" That was as far as I got before my throat closed up and I felt sick. The world spun around me and I nearly collapsed. I would have collapsed, if his hands hadn't quickly caught my shoulders.

Paragon was holding me up. The look of concern in his eyes had doubled, and he lifted me off the ground. He just lifted me up like I was little more than a doll. "You're going to be okay," he assured me, clearly having decided that I was in shock. "Here, sit down for a minute and catch your breath. Don't try to stand yet."

Before I realized what was happening, the great man had set me down, as gently as possible, on a couple of wooden pallets that had been stacked up. My back was to the air conditioning unit. He smiled reassuringly while I gaped up at him like the grand fool that I was. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Paragon!"

No, I wasn't quite that stupid at the time. The voice wasn't mine, and nor was it his. I recognized the voice, but I couldn't place where from at first. There was a slightly muffled component to it.

"Whiplash." Paragon said with clear surprise. "What are you doing up here?"

Finally I knew who had joined us on the roof. It was Whiplash, the masked girl that happened to be the fastest person on the planet.  Some part of me had always suspected that she was my main rival for Paragon's affections. Don't ask, in the mind of the obsessed, such things make sense. For all I knew, underneath that green and black mask, she was Paragon's daughter. Okay, maybe sister. He wasn't quite that old, obviously.

"I wanted to make sure everything was okay." The voice came again, from slightly closer. "It is okay, right? What happened? Where's the girl?" Apparently she hadn't seen me as I sat behind the air conditioner to my idol's left. "The police want to talk to her."

As with everything about the man, Paragon's peripheral vision was perfect. He clearly saw the look of absolute panic in my eyes, though he never looked my way. "Do they?" His voice was the picture of innocence. "I'm sorry; I put her down in the alley. I didn't think it would be a good idea to bring her all the way back up to the place she fell off of."

Understandable enough. But I was still about to speak up, not wanting my perfect Paragon to sully himself by lying for me, when the girl spoke again. "Oh, thank god. I didn't want even more blood on my hands."

As perfect as he was, it still took even the world's greatest superhero a moment to comprehend that. His voice was tinged with confusion as he blinked, "What?"

Whiplash isn't called the fastest person, not just the fastest girl, but the fastest person on the planet just as hyperbole. In spite of all of his powers, even though he was looking right at her the entire time, Paragon never had a chance. Maybe if he'd seen her for the enemy that she was instead of the trusted ally that he thought her to be, he could have done something. Even then, I'm not positive that he could have stopped her.

The knife that plunged into Paragon's chest seemed to materialize out of thin air. The blade was violet tinged with white, and the dark green gloved hand attached to the bone hilt clearly belonged to the girl who had been his teenaged ally for years.

For just a moment, life was frozen that way. Paragon's eyes were as wide and shocked as I'm sure mine were, and the gloved hand that held the knife, attached to a thin arm that was all I could see from my vantage point, remained firmly on the knife.

As with all things, Whiplash was the first to act after the moment of still silence. Her arm was a blur that no human eye had a chance of following, as she stabbed the great man again, and again, and again. All told, the media reported that Paragon had been stabbed thirty seven times. The reporters that analyzed those secret moments in the weeks following this tragedy all claimed that the attack must have taken between ten and fifteen seconds. I can tell you right now that it took only two.

Paragon's once crisp white uniform, a testament to the civility and perfection that he stood for, was soaked through with his own blood. He'd barely had a chance to realize that he was under attack before it was too late. Completely and utterly too late. Betrayed by one of his own, by another hero.

This was wrong. This was all completely wrong. It couldn't be happening. Only my utter disbelief, combined with my shock, saved my life then. Paragon was the most powerful, most amazing, strongest superhero the world had ever known. He couldn't simply be stabbed to death. Bullets, hell, rockets and missiles did nothing to the man. His biggest worry upon being shot at was whether the round would ricochet away and hurt someone else. A knife? No. Never. He could never be hurt, let alone killed, by a simple knife.

My hand had covered my mouth as I stared in horror. The bile that rose in my throat was almost pushed aside by my scream. It was only through some miracle that I do not understand to this day that I managed to remain silent.

"Confused?" The mask-muffled voice asked with more than a hint of smug superiority as the great man fell to his knees before her. For a horrible, terrifying moment, I thought she was speaking to me. But her focus was fully and completely on the man, the legend, that she was in the middle of murdering. "Magic. Yeah I know, cliché. Anytime something doesn't make sense, explain it away with magic." That purple blade was drawn back and then thrust one more time, drawing a horrible, pained grunt from the already blood-soaked man. "This time it's true. The knife is magic. Should I tell you how it's magic?"

Paragon brought his hand up. I think he was trying to punch the girl, or at least shove her. But by that point, he could barely lift his arm. He was kneeling there, every last ounce of his strength relegated to keeping himself conscious and upright. The punch, if that's what it was, missed by a mile and Whiplash just laughed. She continued to speak as if nothing had happened. "It's magic because it can steal your power, you pathetic idiot…" Withdrawing the blade, she shook it out to the side.

 Some of the blood, some of his blood, sprayed off the knife as she shook it demonstratively. The wet, sticky liquid splattered across the side of my face. I hadn't lost my mind and started shrieking like a banshee when Paragon was first stabbed, but this nearly broke me entirely. My eyes were full of tears that half blinded me, and the man's blood was on my face.

I wanted to stop her. I swear, to all that has ever existed or been said to exist, I wanted to. I wanted to scream for her to stop. I wanted to run into her and knock her off that building. I wanted to save the man that I idolized. More than anything, I wanted to stop this from happening.

But I was too afraid.

"It steals your power." the smug voice repeated as Whiplash brought the blade up between them once more, "and makes you weak."  I could see her better by then. She looked just the same as always. There was nothing to give away her complete and total betrayal. The full face mask that obscured all of her features was dark green, highlighted with black accents, along with black eye concealing lenses, looked the same as it did in all the photographs and footage that I had ever seen of the girl working side by side with the man she had just fatally wounded.


"I had a friend make it for me," that muffled voice bragged, content in her superiority over the great man. "It took a little convincing, but I can be very persuasive. Now, your power is going to be mine. I'll be the one that everyone loves. I'll be the one they adore. I'll be the one that stupid, silly little children have crushes on."

Okay, one, that was a low blow. Not that I didn't deserve it at the time, but still. Ouch. And two, why in the world would she use idiots like me having crushes as a positive? Was Whiplash, who clearly had a massive following all of her own if the things I'd heard boys say about her were any indication, really jealous of Paragon? Jealous enough to spawn a betrayal like this? This was insane. She was insane.

"And you can die an insignificant footnote." She snarled and shoved him backwards.

The last thing that Paragon said was, "Hide."

"Oh I'll have nothing to hide from anymore. Not after this." The one-time superhero boasted. "I'll have your power. Nothing is ever going to hurt me now."

But I knew the truth. I knew that the man hadn't been talking to her. He had been talking to me, warning me. He was dying. He had no hope, and was losing the last little bit of strength that he had still been clinging to. And yet, it was still so important to him to save others that he had prompted me to hide, to get out of her sight. Because all this crazy **** had to do was turn her head slightly and I'd be in her view. He was still trying to save me.

It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I managed to make myself move. As silently as possible, feeling like the worst human being who has ever lived, I slid around to the other side of the air conditioning unit.

I hid. I hid myself away and watched while the greatest superhero in the world was dying. I was a coward, a pathetic, useless coward. I'm sorry that this story that I tell is not one of the true hero, but of the girl who survived by hiding while the hero died. All of the things I've done in this year, everything I've tried to do to make up for that day, are nothing. I will never, ever erase my mistakes and my cowardice.

The truth of that was cemented forever into my mind as the girl lifted her leg. Resting her foot against the man's shoulder, she gave him an utterly contemptuous snort before shoving hard. Weak as he was in that moment, the man who once had the strength to lift a tanker truck with one hand was pitched over backwards into thin air. His powers had been stolen, and he was about to fall to his death, the very same fall that he had just minutes earlier saved me from.

He fell out of sight. He was gone. My hero. My idol. I couldn't hear the screams from up where we were, but I could easily imagine them. I knew the scene even before I saw it repeated over and over on the news for so many weeks afterward as the media latched onto the tragedy and proceeded to suck any real meaning out of it. I saw it play out in my own mind behind closed eyes as I drew back into a ball and shook violently, fighting the urge to throw up. My revulsion and my terror were physical things by then, each nearly giving me away. I hugged myself and tried not to sob, as the girl I had once seen as a hero looked impassively over the side of the building.

"Good enough." She said to herself, before lifting the knife. "Now, let's get you home, shall we?" I could hear the smile in her voice as she lifted the bloodied blade to examine it. Reaching up, the girl tugged the green mask off and kissed the blood on the blade before turning to walk back toward the roof entrance.

She only walked for three steps before vanishing from sight, running so quickly that all I saw was a blur of motion.

But those three steps had been enough to change my life even more than the long, torturous moments before that had. Because they brought her unmasked profile into view. Those three steps exposed the murderer of the world's most beloved superhero and champion to my view, unmasked and exposed.

The view at that distance was good enough that I could have picked her out of a lineup for the authorities.

Or I simply could have taken out my phone and texted her.

Gesmine. My second best friend after Aldridge.

At least now I knew why she'd said she'd be late to study.
« Last Edit: December 22, 2012, 03:28:22 PM by Kitulean »