The Obsession with S
Wind's howling, the cape billowing about. The streets howl back, the bustle and spontaneity a force of nature unto itself. I'm looking out from the top of the newspaper building, metal and concrete engulfing the horizon. Someone's got to save this place.
I take a step, and the fall begins. First, another howl of wind. Then, ascension. Higher and higher I go. The urban horizon gives way to the sea beyond it. And in my display of power, I feel small.
His first encounters with these dreams were far more elaborate than the ones nowadays. Back when his fervor for reading and the impossible held as few bounds as the sea he saw the night before, there was no shortage of citizens needing saves or villains needing punishment. Here, he could be the towering mass of muscle and authority that commanded a natural respect, free from monotony and chores and the frailty. It wasn't cruelty that inspired this escapism, it was quite simply boredom.
Do these sorts of dreams ever end? Not for Tommy, despite his separation from his childhood heroes with time. At 45 and working within a cramped cubicle on the 25th floor, these sorts of aspirations were the only thing driving him to get up in the morning. So that he could exhaust, and return back to sleep. And dream.
Today, he wakes up yet again at 7:30 am, drags himself to the bathroom to clean up for the day, pulls on his brown tattered coat that could've been a prop from a Hellraiser movie, and off to work he goes. The roads are always full here, so he just walks himself to work. It's only three blocks away. He keeps to himself, trying to push the roar of the crowd as far from his mind as possible. He never did like crowds very much.
The front door to Post Plus opens meekly, as Tommy enters and heads to his desk, snaking around his coworkers and supervisor unnoticed. He's late today. Again.
Sitting in his little gray chair that he found in a yard sale the day before he moved to the city, Tommy rolls up to the desk and starts on the article that was due in 4 hours. He was always like this whenever he had to do something important, even though it meant that he would be forcibly pulled from his little world at some point or another. Like now.
Footsteps approach, and Tommy freezes.
"Hmmm..." a low rumble arises from behind him, "I get the feeling that this was assigned around last week... but I'm not really seeing much after that first sentence there."
Tommy's head whips around to see his supervisor. The deepness of her voice always got to him, no matter how many times she caught him slacking on the job. Maybe he slacked on purpose, since the foreboding tone in her voice always reminded him of some kind of super villain. The most dangerous kind, the seemingly calm one that was actually had a million plans to destroy you at any given second.
His hand moves to his forehead, as if he has a headache. You could as some say, land an airplane on there. This is what stress does to us. "Umm... I'll have to done by lunch-"
Her hand slaps on his desk, making something like a mini-sonic boom. "I gave you six days to write two paragraphs for the second page. And you can't even do that?" Her green eyes narrow on him.
Tommy's mouth opens to make a reply that he can't even begin to put into words, but now she's gone. He hears her heels clicking away against the floor.
"I keep tellin' say, Tommyboy, you're too nice to 'em," comes a voice from the cubicle beside him, "There ain't any room for guys that take that kinda shit without saying nothing."
Tommy stands up to look over. Ellis always smoked inside, but he was the best sports writer in the city, so he got away with it. A swimsuit calendar hung over his desk, along with an impressive collection of baseball bobble-heads.
"Ya see, man, you've gotta be a ass. That's the only way you're ever gonna get anywhere. I remember my first..." Ellis looks in the other direction and rambles on like a man 40 years his senior.
Tommy glances over to the cubicle directly across from his. There's rather babyish looking man there, seemingly as lost as Tommy. His name is Jimmy, but he never pays attention to Tommy. He feels Jimmy could be his friend at some point.
Tommy plops back down in his chair while Ellis's story turns into a dull mumble. He looks at his reflection in the computer screen. There are a few more wrinkles and gray hairs than he remembers.
I am walking on the streets, one among the crowd. I am unnoticed, concealed and waiting.
Then, a roar. The crowd recoils as a wave. There is a form, a woman's form floating against the tide of the crowd, driving them as an excited child would drive a flock of seagulls. There is a smile upon her face as she does this, and I jump to action.
I rush into a phone booth, revealing beneath my blue suit the red, blue, and yellow beneath it. And with lightening speed, I vanish from it and soar, ready to greet this menace.
Her eyes glow a deep green. Lazer vision. Two can play at that game.
The energy flies, and a thunderous roar dwarfing the first one erupts.
Tommy wakes from his dream right as it reaches the action. He sighs in disappointment. Maybe tonight his dreams will pick up where this one left off. A sigh escapes him as he rises from bed.
At least today is a Saturday, and he escapes the green menace that is his supervisor. The day is his for the taking, and the sun's rays fill him with warmth beyond heat.
He steps over to his window, and his gaze falls upon the top of the newspaper building with the giant globe on top. He had always had a soft spot for journalism.
A quick change of direction and a kneel later, and Tommy pulls out a tattered box from beneath his bed. There is a giant sloppy "S" scribbled on the top in red marker that's smudged through the years. Tommy smiles.
Here, on the building top I am, the world's round form rising behind me. An city stretches before me, and it is ailing. I must save it. I am but one man, but all it takes for it to all change is a single step. My foot inches out and I lean forward. My dream has become reality.