Forgotten Hero

Forgotten Hero I was awesome; destined to be rich and famous when I grew up. Until that happened, I settled for being a superhero… And I was! I was untouchable. Bulletproof. So fast you couldn’t even see me, and faster still in my special shoes… which was a good thing because I had underwear on my head. I was the picture of heroism posed before the oscillating fan which billowed my bed-sheet cape and modulated my voice to mimic a pre-pubescent Optimus Prime. With a giftwrap-tube in hand I was armed for any conflict. Yet for all my power, I was incorruptible. My faith was absolute… in the certainty that good always triumphs over evil, and I never intended to lose. I sought the distressed damsels because that was the right thing to do… not for any reward; certainly not for their cootie-infested kisses of gratitude. I was great beyond everything I knew, universally loved and adored. I was the greatest hero the world had ever known, and everyone wanted to be my friend… …until they didn’t. Because wearing fruit of the loom helmets is for weirdoes and losers. Because children need to stop daydreaming, and focus on their studies. Because not everyone can be rich and famous, and it’s impractical to chase after foolish dreams. Because there is no such thing as “special shoes.” Because everything isn’t black-and-white, and standing for what you believe to be good is intolerant, and unacceptable. Because superheroes aren’t real, girls don't have cooties, and it was time to grow up. …and I have. 07/31/15