The purpose of this blog is to provide a place for me to express the stories that boil out of me. Feel free to comment, critique, congratulate, or hate. To create is to live.

November 24, 2015

The Fight

I pushed against the darkness and something gave. There was a rumble and I felt chunks of stone bounce off my metal skin. Light poured in and I pushed harder. Broken concrete and brick fell away and I stood.
There was a massive hole in front of me but at least the rest of the building was still standing. Luckily I hadn’t struck anything load bearing. I don’t want more dead people on my conscience.
Nothing hurt, it never did, but I felt a couple new dents along my shoulders and neck. Nothing a decent meal couldn’t fix but there was no time.
I heard the sirens in the distance so I went out through the hole and stopped cold. There was three hundred feet of torn up roadway, a bunch of burning cars, and the crumpled halves of a bus scattered in front of me. There were people pulling up debris and I could hear screaming from the wreckage.
My world fell away and all I knew was panic. I checked my body, my arms, my legs, and tried to twist around to see my back. I was looking for blood, for gore, things that could only come from others. I remembered the desert, the maniac with the knife, and diving off the SUV at 70 miles an hour. Nothing, no blood, just tar and dirt. My world came back by inches.
“Just...just walk…” my voice was ragged and weak but at least I was talking.
I forced one foot in front of the other and followed the destruction.
I heard a massive roar and one of the sirens shifted into a warbling sound that seemed to get closer.
I looked up and saw the tumbling patrol car. It was bent in half and seemed to be barely moving as it got bigger. Behind me I heard people digging. I turned my head and yelled at them.
They looked up and I saw their fear but they didn’t stop. There was an arm sticking out of the ground at their feet.
I swore. I know, heroes aren’t supposed to, but if you had been there you definitely would have. I gauged my position, took a step to the left, dug my feet into the ruined asphalt, and braced myself.
The car struck and I flexed as I caught the thing. My feet didn’t budge. The car felt as light as cardboard to me and I put it down as gently as I could. I looked inside but it was empty. My relief was a solid thing.
Reploid didn’t care who he killed. Didn’t care what he hit, what he tore, or what he ate.
I took a step, then another, then another.
I was charging towards a monster...is that what makes someone a hero?

No comments:

Post a Comment