Disney, just make a gay love story already. This is getting ridiculous.
Evil Never Sleeps
…weep for wicked souls, boy, but pity the pure ones…
It always ends the same way (but it's never over).
The world has been saved again. Metro City will be safe another night.
The crowds cheer (on time, as always) as he does a victory lap around the square, blowing kisses to the people. The women scream, shrill voices pounding in his head. He winks in their general direction (he never notices their faces).
Yes, they are safe.
But his good intentions crumble just that much more. Just a day, one of thousands.
Smile stretched to breaking point, he gives his admirers a final wave and leaves. The wind curls around him, the loving embrace he never had. The one he would dream about sometimes, if heroes did that.
Finally, away from the city that loves him so much (so tightly), he lands in front of his little schoolhouse.
He looks back over his shoulder (stop, rewind and play) and sighs.
In the distance, the city is still alive even as the sky begins to fade to black, like a movie fades after the happy ending where all the good people's wishes come true. He can see the glittering towers he's defended for what seems like his entire life (and tomorrow and forever after and isn't that just wonderful).
It's dark as sin when he blinks and realizes that he hasn't moved.
As sin, he muses, how fitting.
His arch-nemesis is out there in the dark, silk smooth as any summer night and far too clever. The evil that keeps little boys and girls awake at night, and him too (oh, if they knew). A looming presence over the city lights as they glitter like metallic stars.
Cruel, distance stars that never listen to his prayers.
Tomorrow is another day. Another day of thousands and his rival will be waiting for him with green hopeful eyes and blue lips curved up into a smile. A smile that will wilt, die painfully (a terrible murder) as it always does, not when the plan fall to pieces but when he turns his back to greet his adoring, loyal crowd. They are always watching, waiting for him.
He never sees their faces. He only ever sees the outstretched hands, holding him back.
He only sees the broken pieces of a smile, glued back together, each time the pieces smaller and harder to find the proper places for (here, he wants to say). Someday, he'll turn away and there will be no hope, no redemption. No more chances.
Only his duty and the comfort of old traditions.
But he's the good guy and so he'll suffer through the desire (white hot) and the anger (cold and bitter) and never let anyone know.
We all have our crosses to bear.
(But his back is breaking, no wait, that's his heart.)