Sonic Blastman's Dilemma, Vol. 2

Tue, 10/12/2004 — Fasteriskhead

God, what--what the fuck am I even doing with my life? Every day I wake up, put on the same dumb outfit and the same dumb boxing gloves and go out with the same dumb smile plastered on my face to fight this week's supervillain and his endless hordes of costumed minions. Christ, it never ends, and what do I have to show for it? Every once in a while in the supermarket I run into someone who says something like, "Hey! You're that guy who stopped the invincible cyborg army back in '92!" And I maybe get to nod and say "well yeah but it's not like the cyborg army was really all that invincible" and then boom it's back to laboring with no thanks and no change in the world.

My superhero friends seem to appreciate what I try to do every once in awhile. Sometimes they'll yell "hey nice job taking down your evil twin" or whatever, but I can never shake the feeling that after I leave they all LAUGH at me. Maybe Captain Choyear makes fun of my outfit while I'm gone. Maybe Sonia secretly thinks that I lost my touch years ago, or that I never had any talent whatsoever for fighting evil in the first place. Maybe they only tolerate my efforts to save the world out of some perverted sense of pity, like they're afraid of hurting my feelings if they told me the truth. Maybe in reality they completely despise me, they think I'm an embarrassment, that the world would be a better place if I just hung up my gloves and scarf and left it to someone better suited. And I'm too terrified to even ask them about this, because if they confirm it then my life is a lie and if they deny it I'll just conclude that they're trying to protect me from the truth.

The fears and doubts eat away at me, day after day, so I get smaller and smaller until I know that someday I'll be too crippled to do anything anymore... and yet somehow, despite everything, I can't stop fighting crime and saving the world. I've tried to free myself, but it all pulls me back in. I look out the window and see people disintegrated by death beams and crushed under the boots of alien armies and I know I shouldn't do anything because I'm a hopeless, pathetic excuse for a superhero, but at the same time I can't leave it be because there's no one else to turn back the tide of evil and restore freedom and save the kittens from trees (or whatever). And so, on go the gloves day after day and bang go the thousands of rapid-fire punches day after day, and I hate myself for every minute of it.

Comments

Post new comment

  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Allowed HTML tags: <a> <em> <strong> <cite> <code> <ul> <ol> <li> <dl> <dt> <dd> <hr>
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
Robots ain't welcome around these parts.
t_inklestarsprites:
©2004-2010 The Andore Seven