He was older when I took his pelt.
That’s why it was an easy kill. Why tearing his jaw off wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been. In that moment, I wasn’t akin to Hercules, not like I wanted to be. Instead, I was only proving that I was a brute. Strong, yes.
But not like a god.
Not like the son of a god.
People stopped believing in the beasts forever ago. Lost faith in the lore. Took to science, to thinking that superpowers were a thing of biology. Left mythics behind. Left it to crumble, to rot. Do whatever it was that old, abandoned things had to do in order to cease.
They were fools.
In their lack of understanding—their strive for solid, concrete knowledge—they cut themselves off at the knees. Made themselves weak. Turned off a faucet that granted power, that granted real, true understanding.
But, not me.
When I killed the lion, I still had to rip the fur off his body. Still had to skin him. Still had to prove I had enough strength to pull even the invincible apart.
On that day, my proving began.
And it continues.
Even now, it continues. Continue reading “One Raging Lion”
It was dispassionate.
People lived their lives, moving like ants. Robotic, focused. Standing in line, following orders, doing what they were instructed. Moving wholly and completely within the confines of what was created for them.
As I said:
Moving through an ant farm.
This world created falsely. A controlled environment.
The world isn’t like that.
Not at all.
The world wasn’t meant to be so dispassionate. So hungry.
Man was not mean to be so greedy.
And when the skies fell?
When the earth shook?
The mountains flowed with bubbling, roiling rage?
They realized that.
We were not meant to be so dispassionate.
We were meant to be more.
We weren’t meant to watch for saviors, or wait for hope to be delivered on a platter. Weren’t meant to be idle, or vacant.
We were meant to be heroes. Continue reading “Inferno”
I’m not sure how to handle this. What I ought to do. Where I can go from here. How to recover.
What do you do when everything you built was a lie? When the house turns out to be made of glass and then—surprise, surprise—it shatters? What foundation can survive on sand? Who builds a house that washes away with the shore?
What do you do when you live like that?
What can you do to save yourself? To save what you’ve stored away? What you’ve built?
Could there ever be reckoning from a betrayal that runs foundation-deep?
I don’t know.
I don’t think so.
How could you ever trust that broken ground again? What could you ever build there? What kind of dangerous contraption could stand on something like that?
What can I recover?
Continue reading “Spirit Unrested”
Being a hero was no easy job.
That’s why I never really wanted it in the first place.
Fighting crime? I was okay with that. Getting shot at? Again, not something that really concerned me. Running into dangerous situations? Fiery buildings? Crumbling structures? Yeah, I can do that. I can do all that, no sweat. Easy as pie.
This part of the job?
This was why I was so reluctant. Why I, in part, kind of hated being a hero.
Because heroes do all the dirty work. Continue reading “A Hero’s Mercy”
Time is running.
It is running.
Forward and forward and forward.
Faster than lightning. Faster than bullets. Faster than planes, trains or anything man can make.
Time is always running.
And where is it running to? Where does it go? Where does it intend to stop?
I don’t know.
And I won’t find out.
Time has been here before me. It was here before my father, and his father, and his father before him.
And it’ll be here after.
I’m no fool.
I won’t be able to outrun time.
But I can’t stop trying, you know? I won’t give up, because it isn’t time for that yet. If I gave up now, it wouldn’t be right. Nothing would be right.
All I can do is try. Continue reading “A Fine Race”
I’ll never forget the last words of that man. The one who stood above the rest. Who called himself a man, while others claimed him a hero. He was the type of man that would stoop to tie your shoe for you, even if you were older than five. The type of guy who didn’t mind picking trash out of parking lots, even if no one asked. He was the type of guy who listened before he spoke, thought before he acted, and only raised his voice to shout encouragement.
It was only one word.
In the end though, that’s all I needed to him from him. Continue reading “Lion Rising”
Let me ask you something:
If something is broke—so broke you can’t fix it—what do you do with it?
That’s what I’m saying.
Granted, the same thing shouldn’t apply to people. It shouldn’t work the same. Especially when people claim to be for the greater good. Claim that they stand for something more. Stand for better times, or hope, or peace, or whatever. You’d think that they—of all people—would be a little more patient. A little more forgiving.
Let me tell you something:
Continue reading “Broken Revision”
I’ve always had a lot of fight in my bones.
When I was born, they say I picked my head up. Yep. Right out the womb, I had my whits about me. Had to have a look. Had to squirm, had to move. If I could’ve, I probably would’ve punched out at someone. Hit ’em square in the jaw or something. Anything, really.
Because I’ve always—always—had a lot of fight in my bones.
And, if you were born with something in your bones, you might as well be remembered for it.
Continue reading “Rubble Rouser”
There’s a misunderstanding I want to clear up. That I want to obliterate. That I wish would go away forever.
It’s not that the misunderstanding is bad. Or dangerous. This isn’t one of those types of misunderstandings. Not something earth-shattering, or life-altering. At least, not for me.
See, I already know about the misunderstanding. I already understand it. Know it. Am trying to fix it. The misunderstanding doesn’t effect me because I’ve got it. I’ve already nailed it down.
No. Clearing up this misunderstanding won’t do anything for me.
It’ll do something for them.
I hear the sound of a thousand footsteps. The army of the villain comes calling. Comes to destroy. To take us apart.
A perfect opportunity to clear up the misunderstanding.
I stretch my legs. Stretch my arms. But only for a moment.
I launch. Continue reading “A Hero’s Favorite Tune”
You know what’s stupid?
Giving up just because. Just because it got harder, or became more tiresome, or because it wasn’t as smooth a road as you thought it’d be.
Give up because you don’t want that path anymore. Because your goals have changed. Because you’ve found something better. Give up because what you want is something else. Give up when you’ve reached a point where you understand yourself better, understand your goals better.
Yeah, sure. That’s fine.
But giving up just because?
Stupid, and pointless.
Where’s the assurance in that?
Continue reading “Ambition is Not for Quitters”