Psycho Sexual Super Hero

Posted: January 7, 2014 in Flash Fiction, Superheroes

I experience a mild thrill just picking up the cape, a tattered black curtain that hides all fear and all shame. The photo on my dresser mocks me, blowing breathless kisses. Mother. Slipping my hand inside the glove I make a fist and, hearing the leather creak, wonder if it could ever feel this good to be inside a woman. I put on the mask, my true face, a better face without lips to lie with or emotions to betray me. God has given me power. I am strong and I am silent. This is my city – – a weak, noisy, city – – and I am its protector. I open the window and leap out, gliding upon the fetid exhalations of its concrete canyons. Alighting upon a rusted balcony I begin my vigil. It doesn’t take long. A pair of tattooed thugs appear, dragging a woman behind them. Her face is bloody and she is begging them to let her go. They tear her dress and I experience a momentary pang of terror, wondering what it must be like to lose that second all important skin, to be laid bare. She screams for help and they laugh, beginning their sordid business, taking turns with her. I watch. Father. When they are done with her I rise to my feet, spread my cloak like raven wings, and glide away. Returning through the open window I hurriedly slip out of my costume, but I am already too late. The brief rush of desire I felt is fading and my hands, still inside their gloves, cannot arouse me. Angry and ashamed I throw myself onto the bed and cry like a baby, red faced and choking. I’ll try again tomorrow just like I try every night. I think of what they call me in the papers and my cries turn to laughter. Hero.

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