My Apologies for a Lack of Posting

So as you are aware, I didn't post my weekly Gaming News of The Week this last Friday.  I was very busy and Friday was a day full of belligerent callers at work so in a way to make up for it, I decided to share with you guys a short story that I wrote a couple years back.  Feel free to leave me any feedback!

Death of a Superhero

By: Steven Wallace

Looking down over the city, the people look like periods on a sheet of grey paper, written in ink, each one looking only slightly different from the other.  Some are larger than others, some elongated, resembling that of a comma...All different shapes.  

I suppose most of these people resemble a period more than one would expect, if you really think about it.  Each one is created with different emotions...some with love, some with uncertainty...some from fun or excitement.  I suppose most wouldn't know unless they read their stories.  All of life is just a long string of stories, just forming one never-ending tale of human emotions.  

Why is it that I feel a lack of emotion now, here at my darkest hour?  I feel no shame, no regret...no love.  The "love" that these people once showed me aren't that of true care and affection.  They only "loved" me for what I represented.  When they see me on the street during the day, they pay no attention to me.  How could they?  They do not know who I am, much like I do not know any of them.  During the day, I am just another wandering "period" in the sea of texts that make up our history.

My cape feels heavy and a breeze hits me.  For a moment I lose my balance as the cold winter air blows the cape some; an easy problem to rectify, as I shift one foot slightly further back to counter the loss of balance.  I should probably feel slightly embarrassed, but there is nobody here to see me, the big tough vigilante that the city has crowned a "god," lose his balance over something so simple as the wind.  I suppose the real question is: Would I feel embarrassed even if someone saw me?  

I remember feeling embarrassment; It is an emotion that I haven't felt in many years.  The day that I was jumped by a group of bullies in highschool...the day that I really realized that the world is full of angry, evil people.  That day was also the day that I decided to learn to fight back; to protect myself.  Since then, I hadn't had that feeling of embarrassment.  

Now we look at the present and I'm not that child getting bullied...I'm a professional bully.  I have no badge, but I have put enough people behind bars single handedly...men and women that we as humans deemed evil, myself at the front of that line, judging them where I see fit.  I am only human, though.  What if I was wrong about these people?  What if the "evidence" against them was not evidence at all?  Maybe I now feel that bit of embarrassment that I have managed to avoid all these years behind this mask.  Maybe I feel that sharp pang of guilt that I haven't felt since...no, I can't let myself think of that.  I try to tell myself that "to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs" or whatever that old saying is.  Did that family really have to die in that explosion that I caused?  Could I have found them and evacuated them before taking down that maniac bomb expert?  How was I supposed to know that he had a family and was ignorant enough to have them living in the same building?  

I'm thinking about it again...

There is a man and a woman coming out of a movie theater with a large crowd of movie-goers.  They all look happy, but these two stand out the most.  The man leans toward her and moves one hand to her hairline and slowly brushes her hair with his fingers, moving his hand toward the back of her neck.  She looks up at him and with what I would imagine as soft lips, kisses him deeply as the crowd of people walk out of the theater, splitting up and conforming to the two people standing in the middle of the sidewalk, leaving them in their relatively romantic peace.

Romance...love...it is something I have never had the opportunity to feel...not for very long.  There have been a few women here and there...a hooker to curb the loneliness at times, I'll admit.  Heh, I guess that makes me just as deplorable as some of those that look up to me.  Maybe this is why at this very moment I feel no emotions.  I have no right to feel all those feelings that make a man human.  

I remember one time I thought I felt that emotion of love.  She was an average height...very beautiful skinny blonde woman.  I met her in a department store while I was looking for new clothes for a job interview.  We looked at each other, and just like in some sort of fairy tale, we "knew" that we were meant to be together.  We got engaged and she found she was pregnant.  We had a simple life, myself supporting her and our child on my meager salary...but she didn't know about my real job.  She didn't know what I did at night and she thought I had been unfaithful.  I went home one night to find her in bed with another man...someone else who could give her the love and attention that I could not during my nightly duties.  She didn't see me...I snuck out of the house and left for good.  I never seen her or spoke with her again, only sent her money now and then to support her and our child.  I knew why she did it and I had no right to be angry.  I knew that whatever love that lived in her heart for me had long packed up and moved out, and i just called it the "price you pay for being a hero."

A bird chirps next to me, a sound that you rarely hear at night unless you have disturbed their nest.  I turn to look in the direction of the sound, but barely see past the edge of the eyeholes on my mask.  Just one of the few downsides to wearing a mask to hide my identity...It also obscures my vision of the world, both physically and mentally.  How many times have I walked down a dark alley and thought I had seen some sort of demon...not your ordinary demons that you imagine from bibles or crude stories, but the real demon; a man with a heart full of pure hatred and evil.  Many times have I restrained myself from killing a man based on their outward appearance, reminding myself that I too have at times appeared to some as an abomination straight from the gates of hell itself.  By day, I look exactly like that man, a broken shell of a man, taking warmth in an alley by a barrel with a fire lit inside, being spat on or ran away from by those that I protect.  Who would ever suspect that a homeless man would be the man who puts their minds at ease at night?  Well, at least at one time in my life I did.  

I look down once again at the street.  Cars are driving by still, however it is late.  The cars are less frequent and only a handfull of people are on the sidewalks below.  A couple men stumble out of a bar down the street arguing.  You can hear their slurrs and cursing all the way up on this 20 story building.  I can hear a sudden wet slap as boney knuckles hit flesh.  The sound continues repeatedly as the two men beat each other with their fists, some of the sounds more of a dull hollow thud.  I make a step back and reach down to my belt to clutch the tip to my grappling hook...the police arrive no sooner, forcing both men to the ground, guns drawn.  Shortly after, the police have them handcuffed and placed in the squad cars and are hauling them off to jail.  I ease up and let go of the hook.  This city doesn't need me...They seem to be able to handle themselves.

Days ago a crowd of protesters rallied at the courthouse.  A man accused of murder was set free due to lack of evidence.  Everyone knew this man was guilty...but I had destroyed what evidence the police could go off of.  I had located him in his 27th story penthouse suite and made an appearance.  Plenty of armed guards stood in between me and Todd "Ten-penny."  I got careless and got shot...I was losing quite a bit of blood and was teatering on the edge of unconciousness, but I took every single one of them hired thugs down and arrested Todd myself...but not before knocking over a kerosene torch that he has been using as decoration in a careless attempt to weaken that murdering scum.  The torch fell over and caught some decorative rugs on fire and spread rapidly across drapes and ceiling fixtures.  Luckily we escaped and the fire was contained by the local fire department and noone was killed except a handfull of Todd's thugs.  My injury was severe, but I managed to avoid going to the hospital until I could manage to get my suit stashed away and fake a gunshot in an alley, alerting nearby police to investigate and find me wounded and bleeding out, cold and naked on the wet ground.

The protesters weren't just protesting Todd "Ten-Penny."  They were protesting against me as well.  Signs declaring their hatred for vigilante justice were scattered throughout the crowd while other signs showed their fear and anger for having a murderer back on the streets.  They had considered me just as much a criminal...no, a murderer, as Ten-Penny.  The nickname "The Caped Convict" bitterly slipped through their teeth as if they could do better...

I am not Superman.  I can't stop a speeding bullet with my chest.  I can't stop a car from hurtling itself into a crowd of people.  I am only human...

I sit down, dangling both feet off the edge, holding my head with both of my hands.  I unclip my cape from the front fasteners on my suit and let it blow away as the wind catches it.  A "nobody" has no use for a cape.  The streets are clear now, save for one lone man pushing a shopping cart filled with odds and ends.  His shelter is a box behind some building around the corner, crumbled under the weight of a struggle between him and a few gang-bangers looking to start a fight - probably to earn a newcomer his colors.  No one came to the poor man's aid, he was lying there taking a beating until the thugs heard sirens and they got spooked.  They had no idea the sirens werent for them, but for a robbery up the street.  The poor man lay there for days, nursing himself with a bottle of whiskey that he snuck out of a convenience store, drinking the pain away.  The homeless don't help each other...it is a broken "family" of people who would do anything to have a home, a family and some resemblance of love.  They would turn on each other in a moment just to get that or any other form of escape.  They are just like me, and that is why I found my place amongst them only natural...

...Only the homeless do not feel how I do.  They have not seen what I have seen or been criticized as much as I.  They live without much responsibility except to themself, they survive by watching their own back and the citizens turn a blind eye to them either because they feel bad for them or because they don't want to look at the ugly blemish that they represent to civilized society.  Those same citizens look at me as a terror, a dark cloud over their heads, not as a protector anymore, but as much of a criminal as those that I put behind bars, and that isn't even accounting for the man I portray during the day.

I place my hands on the roof below me.  I realize now that they do not need me to protect them.  It is the human spirit that will protect them.  The men and women behind the badge and the men overseas holding guns and tending to cities that are under seige by their own families.  Everything that I have done would have been done by someone else, but better.  The people who protect this land don't need fancy gadgets or flashy suits and a cape.  All they need is their heart and soul, two things which I lost long ago by my own hands.  I push myself off the edge and watch as the ground appears to come faster and faster toward me.  For a moment I remember something of comfort - the look on my father's face when he told me he was proud of me...and I suddenly feel regret...some sadness for my decision.  Finally an emotion that I have been looking for for far too long.  Is this the death of a superhero?  No, the death of a vigilante...or maybe just a man who has nothing else to stick around for, either way, this is how the story ends, in the blink of an eye.