Look, up in the sky there was a bird, but he settled on a low branch of the tree across the street; warbling his disgust at being disturbed by the commotion. There was a plane, too. Several, in fact, soaring majestically overhead; off to the bliss of faraway places; unaware of the pain and suffering below. There was, however, no Superman. No tights, no cape, no fancy emblem, no truth, no justice, no American way. Just pain and anger; blood and tears.
“Help me! Please! Help!”
Time slowed as the lines of reality merged on that rectangle of cement until nothing concrete remained. Metal and rubber and flesh became one; each entity lost in the embrace of the other.
“It hurts! Please help me…I can’t get up!”
The boy’s voice was delicate compared to the speeding locomotive rumbling along the rails, shrieking its warning in the distance, and, yet, his cries struck faster than a speeding bullet. Help arrived, not by leaping over tall buildings, but with feet firmly planted on the ground.
The boy squinted through the tears and sunlight at the looming shadow. Hands of average strength reached down to disentangle metal, rubber, and flesh. Arms of exceptional normality scooped the boy off the sidewalk. Eyes, gifted only with the ability to see through fear, examined the bloodied, dirt-encrusted knees. Lungs, powerful enough to blow out candles, exhaled five quick, calm words: “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Back muscles, powerful enough to support the weight of fatherhood, carried the mangled bike and bruised ego of a young boy six blocks home.
“I fell, daddy…it hurts.”
“I know, buddy…you’ll be okay.”
The bird, having quickly forgotten the recent upheaval, resumed its cheerful chirping. The planes, never faltering in their flight, disappeared into the clouds ahead of their pitiless roar. Time regained its traction as the boy relaxed in the arms of his super man.
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