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Sophistemon

Save the Day

Save the Day is a short story that I've been writing this week, starting one Tuesday, with one notebook page being written per weekday. I have four parts done so far, out of... well, I'm not sure exactly how many there will be at the end, but I'm thinking either seven or eight. So I'm nearly halfway done. I'm posting the parts here, one at a time, and leaving some time in-between the posts so that you can 1. comment on them and 2. know how it was for my friends here at school when I would bring them the new parts at lunch, with a day in-between each part. I hope you guys get some enjoyment out of this, and please leave some comments, even if it's just constructive criticism. Thanks!
Sophistemon

Save the Day

Part 1

Captain Miracle is dead. Geistman confirmed it, and heís sort of an expert on that kind of thing. The news hit all of us really hard. He was the strongest of us, you know? He was the best of us, too, with a sense of personal honor that you canít even imagine. He was six foot six of Aryan perfection, coupled with a kind heart, a sharp mind and enough power to hurl mountains into space. The fact that he could die like that, I think, reminded the rest of us that maybe weíre not so far above the mundanes as weíd like to think we are. It doesnít help that he was murdered.

Professor Dementia shot him to death. Like, with a gun. Can you believe that? I mean, yeah, it was some sort of fancy raygun, but Dementiaís famous for using those things. I guess that this one was special, though. Professor Dementia was holding up a bank to fund some more of his crazy experiments, as usual, and when the Captain flew in to stop himÖ the ray went right through his super-skin somehow and burned up his organs from the inside. Blam, pow, dead. Thatís all it took to make one less hero, one less force of good in the world. Itís a scary thought. Nobody imagined that someone could just shoot one of us to death. I even hear that Dementia looked surprised when it worked. Bastard. Heís changed everything. The rules will be different now. We can die. We can be killed. And the bad guys know it.

A funeral was held. It was a small affair, really; just the Captainís family and friends. A few of us showed up, in costume, to pay our respects. We looked ridiculous with our colored spandex and various armors contrasted against the black clothes of the other mourners. The casket was open, and I was able to recognize the Captain as a certain famous late-night gameshow host. By comparison, I make minimum wage at a Shop ďNĒ Go, so I would have called him lucky if he were still alive. I guess the gameís over, at least for the Captain. He made a good living, so I suppose that his wife and kids would be taken care of, for whatever thatís worth.

The MidKnight was there, which was kind of weird. He and the Captain had disagreed on almost every aspect of the hero business. He stood in the back, of course, brooding with his cape to a corner. He looked genuinely upset, but then again the MidKnight always looks like heís about to crap a cantaloupe. He saw me staring and scowled back at me, like I was being a nuisance. Whatever.

The funeral was nice, I guess. I donít go to very many so Iím not very qualified to judge them. All of the speakers had really great things to say about the Captain. At least, they had great things to say about the Captainís civilian life. None of us spoke, but thatís okay. This funeral was for his real friends, his real family. We were just a brightly-costumed facet of his other, secretly hidden, life. The Captain was buried on a hill, in a private section of the cemetery. It was a quiet burial, unbefitting of one of the greatest heroes that had ever lived, but I think that if he were still alive he would have told us that heíd preferred it better that way. The Captain had never really been one for big displays.

Thatís the way Captain Miracle was, to tell the truth. Despite his amazing power heíd never look down on you no matter who you were. Not even the villains. The Captain was quick to remind all of us that we werenít heroes because we were better; we were heroes because we wanted to be. Thatís the sort of guy the Captain was: one of a kind.

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