SupermanA Story by MMC
Short story of a lonely hero.
‘…and by his friends and family he’ll truly be remembered as a kind and loving man.’ He typed up the last few obituaries for the newspaper he had almost single-handedly sky-rocketed to national success.
Although every sound within a twelve mile radius rang clear in his ear, one voice stood out amongst the bustling newsroom. He turned towards the television that everyone else had either looked at with mild concern or otherwise completely ignored. The voice had been that of an anchorwoman transitioning from one story about gas prices to another story about the steady plummet of an international flight headed straight for the city. In the one minute report she mentioned all the important people on board including one local Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist.
His freckled and red-headed companion leaned over to remind him that their famous co-worker was on that flight, but he’d already vanished in a gust to the nearest phone-booth.
He was high above the city and several yards before him he could see the falling aircraft, in a second he was there. From inside the spiraling hazard he distinctly heard someone say “Oh, there he is.”
He inhaled deeply and then snuffed out the fire on one of the engines, and then he carried, with little ease despite his Atlas-like strength, the plane to its destination. Gently he set it down and pried off the door.
He stepped inside to casual conversation, unfinished meals, and businessmen working hard on their laptops. Some were sleeping, others were watching the end of their in-flight movie, and a few had come from the bathrooms, appearing to have been cleaning themselves up before disembarkment.
He put a broad smile on his face and asked in a deep voice if everyone was okay, a few answered, most took no notice of him.
A brunette, specifically, he went up to, wondering if she would ever figure him out for who he pretended to be.
“Are you alright?” he asked tenderly yet heroically.
She had been dealing with her Blackberry and looked up with a polite smile of obligatory gratitude “Uh, yeah. Thanks. “She called her editor describing how she had a huge news story for the paper about a political coup in a small South American country. She picked up her carry-on and proceeded past him not looking up.
The flight attendants shooed him from off the plane so that they could direct other passengers as well.
Once again he was high above the city but no one was in awe of his red and blue form, not even the children below. Little attention he drew these days, although faintly he heard someone say “Is that a bird…?”
-Malcolm Mandela Cox
© 2010 MMC