BP: Town Heroes #1

Tim Munn drtimphd at gmail.com
Sun Dec 17 11:37:52 PST 2006

Boring Publications Presents...

Town Heroes #1

By Tim Munn

[A Vocabulary Challenge Story]

	He was smoking like a smokestack.  He'd managed to quit cold turkey
a year ago, but to her dismay, there he was, lighting up again at the
sight of the villain approaching fast.  "Down!"
	She was no fool, wanting to wait for the villain to make something
happen.  Due to her awkward position, she flung herself down a steeper
portion of the hill than she wanted, further injuring her already
broken nose.  She struggled to remain conscious, the pain inflicted
upon her had been the pain of the century.  It was only later that she
found out, from Jim, that she'd been unconscious for nearly a week.
He'd also told her the painfully obvious point that in the fall she
had also broken her leg.
	"I remember you telling me to get down, but beyond that I can't
	Jim removed and handed to Claire a tissue from a pouch in his duffel
bag.  "It was my fault Claire, I should have gotten you out."  He
mentally kicked himself, his thinking being 'Was this the way
Super-Heroes were to act?'  His own mother had told him to at least
take a few years off, that there was more to life to appreciate.  For
his family, life had been nothing but bad luck.  To top it off, there
was going to be a tell-all (fictionalized of course, to avoid any
lawsuits) coming out next week about his family in the form of a comic
book.  Claire asked rather timidly, "What now?"
	Smiling, Jim replied, "Our boots we shall now lace."
	Looking a bit cheered, Claire returned, "Ah!, a quote from one of
the Heroes Alliance legendary members, High Master!"


	Being beaten and bloodied was not part of the plan, which was being
the bait.  This was the second botched take-down performed by the
Heroes Alliance in the last four months, both occurring at dusk.  What
would Cityland think when they read tomorrow's newspaper showing in
SPIDER!'  He could barely manage it anymore; it was times like these
that he questioned whether or not to be a super-hero, that he
questioned his life's meaning.  Before he could think any further, he
noticed a shadowy figure moving about, realizing it was Karate
Protector, his supposed 'tail'.
	Realizing his error, Karate Protector cautiously stated, "Sir, it
looks like you've been tossed around like a pizza dough."
	In a few short minutes they were in Cityland Memorial Hospital, where
a nurse quickly rushed up from behind a desk.  Noticing Possible
Man's glum look while the nurse checked over the man's wounds,
Karate Protector said, "Sir, we should put this event where it
belongs, in the past."
	Possible Man nodded slightly as the nurse said, "This is the release
form.  If you'll just sign here, you'll be ready to go."  Turning
around, Possible Man said,
	"Quick, let's make like a ghost-"  Before he could finish the
sentence, a man walked up to the duo and extended his hand, "Hello,
I'm the best lawyer Cityland has, Theodore P. Surgeon!"  Possible
Man considered the statement briefly, mentally noting several lawyers
on the bottom rung that were better than this man, and would have told
him so had not a level one trauma patient been wheeled by, completely
covered in blood.  Surgeon, being a lawyer and not a surgeon, felt
sickened and burst out the Emergency Room doors to be met by the light
of the moon.
	Theodore was met by Possible Man and Karate Protector, where he
sobbed, "Why am I such a failure?; why do I always bomb?"
	Karate Protector commented, "Do not fear.  A man in your profession
will never be a failure in this country, or perhaps planet, without
	Theodore nodded his approval when Possible Man spoke up, "There's
something wrong."
	He pointed to the well dressed man walking towards them and the man
with a camera following behind, wearing a Cityland Presidents Baseball
Cap.  Possible Man and Karate Protector immediately looked to Theodore
Surgeon, when he said, "Don't worry gentlemen, I've come prepared
with just the right stock statement!"


	Hearing that dreadful news made him squirm.  His son Gerald had been
kidnapped, apparently last seen being assaulted outside the Baron
Corporation's International Headquarters in downtown Cityland.
Drunkenly he said, "That's where the evidence is going to point!"
	He stumbled out the barroom door, knocking down a Christmas wreath.
He walked into a man, who asked if a person such as himself was drunk,
to which he replied, "You've won the sixty-four thousand dollar
	The drunken man slumped into the concerned man's arms, thus making
the concerned man call for help, "Help, call an ambulance, QUICK!!"

	He awoke, head pounding, throat burning, arms aching, but despite all
that pain, it was nothing compared to who he saw standing at the foot
of the hospital bed, a clown.  He asked the clown if he really was a
clown, the clown responding cheerily, "I do so think!"
	The clown dipped into his multi-colored vest.  He took out a pocket
Bible, silently read from a verse, and asked, "Father, do you still
think you have the Lord's blessing?"
	He angrily pushed the clown aside, "How do you expect Him to put His
blessing on me when He lays it on me so thick!"
	The clown quickly stepped back to the man who had first found the
pastor, who whispered, "That's why he got drunk, his son was
kidnapped outside the BarCo building, it mad the news paper!"
	The clown replied, "Oh man!  They probably think he's got a lot of
money, or at least the church, and they're going to dangle his son
around like a puppet!"
	The pastor blurted out, "The last time I saw him, we got into an
argument, he left and smashed our neighbor Mary Don's family
	The reverend sobbed heavily, as the clown said, "Those bastards,
cored his soul and chucked it aside like a banana peel!"
	The regular man nodded, adding, "We've got to get ourselves a hero
on t his, to work his or her way to the top of this mystery."
	The clown looked dejected, "That's going to be as tough a job as a
twelve-step graduate trying to get to the bottom of a beer bottle!"
	The reverend calmed, sucking in a big gulp of air, "As the Lord is
my witness, I George Armstrong Custer will find my son, and will not
end the search until my dying breath!!"


	"Do you have the information I've come to collect?"  He snapped
back into reality, his mind returning from wanderings in its own abyss.
 In his line of work, knowledge is power, and those seeking it would
squeeze him until there was nothing left to squeeze.  This worried him
into giving information, some of it equally personal to himself, only
until a limit.  The man on his doorstep looked unimpressed, "Mr.
Locke, I would advise you not to play mind games with me, as you're
no mental chameleon."  Suddenly, a bright light lit inside Samuel
Locke's head, prismatic like light being shone through a diamond.
Bells and whistles played in his mind, a hum filled his ear, turning
into a soft chorus.
	A woman's voice now entered into his ear just above the chorus,
"Give us all the informational glory!  Give us all the informational
glory often!"
	He didn't understand this, at least not any more, as he was now
lured into being not Sam Locke pseudo-political guru, but Sam Locke,
western gunfighter.

	He woke later in his bed, rubbing his head, "Did anyone get the
information on that brick?"
	"Hey, do you want some oats?"
	It was his blind date from last night, what-was-her-name, eating what
apparently was oatmeal, and more attractively, only in her birthday
suit, "No thanks, I'm trying to quit."
	Putting her bowl down, she climbed atop Sam, he turning to a man with
a will of stone.  She immediately dismounted, covering up in a huff,
"Last night you weren't so cold."
	The woman from his dreams' voice echoed through his head, "Last
night she could have been dead."  She could be dead, Sam thought,
this girly-girl whose hair is pink.  She could have been dead
yesterday, she's lying here waiting for the hand-off at the one-yard
line, and after a little later he'd probably never see her again,
when Sam resolved that the love they would make during the rest of the
day would be sweet.


	"Rubber glove."
	The doctor's who had worked on the patient for two six-hour shifts
had given little hope, the patients chest cavity gaping like a chasm.
All this from an unwise decision, but alas, it was the patients choice,
realigning, sewing, suturing, snipping, "Gentlemen, our patient now
can be little more than a vegetable."


Copyright 11/28/2006 4:20 a.m. by Tim Munn

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