As far as everyone was concerned, she had been there from the beginning.
She had always been there; you could've asked anyone, whether they had been to the 'Field or not, and they would all have the same answer for you. She was a staple in the neighborhood, especially in and around the entire 'Field. You didn't hear of her? Blasphemy. She was everywhere: flashing a nonchalant gaze at you from the mirror, or pushing the boundaries of perfect for her killer line drive out on your front porch, or reaching a pale hand inside you head and twisting up your perception of what's good and bad, twisting up your perception of what you thought you were. Sometimes she disappears; she stayed away as long as she wanted, whether it be for only a day or an entire three weeks. No one dared to complain; with a single look of her pale eyes that burned with an intensity to melt you on the spot, you had the whole town become your worst enemy in a heartbeat.
She was Panda Hero.
She didn't need a proper name. No one was sure if she had one anyway, and no one was dumb enough to ask if she did. She was Panda Hero, and calling her by any other name would earn you those smoldering eyes as she silently blurred your idea of good and bad while you stood, frozen like a marble statue.
Everyone hated her.
Whenever she strolled up to the 'Field, her metal bat gleaming like a second sun, they all jeered and laughed about how odd she was inside their heads as they tugged their caps as low as they would go on their heads, making false hopes that she wouldn't read them like good books with those eyes of hers. But when it came time for baseball, she was a goddess. She could've been a hitter or runner, or both if it was a good game and she was in the mood. The others scrambled to have her on their teams, fighting like two PMSing women on whose team she was supposed to be on. Why? She was a trump card; in good games, she would come up to bat, and look at the pitcher right in the eyes. It didn't matter what kind of ball he threw at her. With her eyes ready to ignite with passion, with her metal bat shining as if to replace the sun, she swung and hit that ball with more determination than someone's dying will. The bat and the ball would meet with the power of a thunderclap, and the ball would soar so far that it wasn't even worth counting the home run; the game would automatically be over, just like that.
Everyone loved her.
And then there was that one fateful day. With the sun beating down on her pale skin that never tanned, she had taken a glance at the scoreboard that screamed that it was a tie, with the game in the ninth inning. Only one base was loaded; the next hit would determine the entire outcome of the game. Panda Hero, taking off her cap and stuffing her hand in her pocket, looked at everyone all at once with those smoldering eyes of hers and said the longest sentence everyone's ears had been graced to hear her say:
"Well, it seems like no one's going home today."
And everyone hated how much they loved her.
