Normally, this is where I’d put a recap of my life story, but let’s make this short. I’m Atlanta Inaba, and I’m a superhero, sort of. I just started two weeks ago, and I’ve only had one real fight, almost died, and spent those two weeks in recovery. However, now that I can finally move around without hurting myself, it’s time to start essential matters. A hero is nothing without proper training, so I’ve taken it upon myself to prepare myself for this new life.
I stood in the center of my tiny apartment. All my junk was shoved into the corners, and my single coffee table was rested vertically on the wall. I had barely enough space to swing my arms around, as long as I stayed perfectly still. One careless swing and I’d smack my computer or a lamp or the wall, so I’d best be careful.
I briefly considered wearing my costume, after all, my curtains were drawn, and it would be wise to get used to it. Especially since it enhanced my strength and the like. My only problem was that to summon the costume, I had to use the transformation belt, and I recalled it made a lot of noise when I used it. So rather than set a world record for exposing my secret identity, I decided to practice in my usual sweat pants and t-shirt.
“Alright, first and most importantly,” I mustered up all my strength and…struck a heroic pose. I pumped my right arm forward with a closed fist pointed up. It gave me that strong but guarded look. “Nah, doesn’t really go with my…err…colorful costume,” I shook my head. I mean, I don’t hate the costume, but I would have chosen a more subdued look personally.
“How about this?” I crossed my arms together like I was about to do a double karate-chop. “They wouldn’t even use this in a crappy kung-fu movie,” I realized. It needed a more dramatic flair and to be a little more complex. Something that compliments my aesthetic.
“Let’s go with this,” I crossed my arms again, with my right rested on my left, just before the elbow. My left arm was parallel to my body, with the hand faced right. Meanwhile, my right arm faced straight ahead, with my index finger pointed at my imaginary enemy. “Actually, I think this one’s taken,” I vaguely recalled, “or something similar, at least. I’ll leave it in the maybe pile.” After a couple more failed attempts at making a cool pose, I dropped the topic and moved on to the next.
“Now, some heroic dialogue,” I stated to myself, “first things first, a catchphrase.” I brainstormed a few ideas, but I wouldn’t know which worked until I said it for myself.
“The cool hero has arrived, I am…No, that doesn’t work,” maybe if I were the mysterious type of hero, I could do that. But I think I’m firmly in the ‘plucky underdog’ category.
“There’s no need to fear, I’m…No, that isn’t it either,” I think I took underdog hero too seriously.
“In the name of the…Crap, that’s taken too, isn’t it?” I groaned. Let’s start over. What’s this catchphrase going to be for? Is it my entrance? Is it my pre-ass kicking one-liner? Will it be the last thing I say before I disappear into the wind?
“Ah, forget it, let’s just practice my hero voice,” I changed gears. If I come up with a good, dramatic voice, I reduce the chance of someone recognizing me. Not that many people would, but it’s a small world. You never know if you’ll run into some lady whose purse you returned at the grocery store.
“Do not worry, citizen,” I said with a slightly deeper voice, but I quickly realized that would work better if I were a guy. Plus, it made my throat sore. “Ahem, don’t worry, citizen,” I said with a bubbly voice. “No, maybe if I were 5 years younger and prancing around in a miniskirt or dress.” In the end, my heroic dialogue training went no better than posing.
“This is going nowhere. I’ll just workshop my superhero name and call it a day,” I decided. “Now, Luna is a good start for a name, but it feels kind of bare. It needs to be Luna Something or Something Luna…Lady Luna? Nah. Luna Light? Maybe. The Lunatic? I’ll save that for if I turn into a supervillain.” Suddenly, my cell phone started to buzz and wrecked my chain of thought.
“Who the hell would call me at this hour?” I looked at the clock. It was 2:37 pm on a Wednesday. “It’s probably just spam, but...” I checked the screen, and it said Mary Fleur. “Since when was she in my contacts. I really don’t want to answer it, but she’ll probably break down my door if I don’t.”
“Hello,” I answered the phone.
“Ms. Inaba, I’m calling to confirm your complete recovery,” Mary’s stoic voice came over the receiver.
“I’m still a little sore in places, but I’ll be good by the end of the week,” I half-lied.
“Very well,” I couldn’t tell if she bought my lie or not, “have you been studying the document I left you?”
“Uh?” I looked at my computer desk, said document was still in its folder, collecting dust. “A little.”
“Don’t lie,” she replied immediately.
“Not at all,” I admitted.
“I figured as much,” I heard her sigh. “It seems I’ll have to take a hands-on approach.”
“Oh really?” I tried to sound confident. “Hey, whatever happened to sending people to check up on me?”
“They have been. They just never made contact with you,” Mary explained. Well, that’s not creepy at all. I guess I’m never opening my blinds ever again. “I’ll be there at the end of the week. It’s time I give you some proper training.”
“Well, I’ve already been doing that,” I boasted.
“I meant actual training, Ms. Inaba, not whatever the hell you’ve been doing today,” Mary countered.
“How’d you know about-?” The line went dead before I could finish my question. “Well, there goes my weekend,” I commented. That night I resolved to cover every computer camera in my room with a piece of tape and disable my laptop’s microphone.
~~~~
When you have no idea where to start with something, you'll often find yourself drawn to surface level aspects and neglectful of the core qualities.
Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy
~~~~
No comments:
Post a Comment