October 3, 2010
By Jackson Abascal BRONZE, Wellington, Florida
Jackson Abascal BRONZE, Wellington, Florida
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

All his life Bob had dreamed of being a hero. Not just any hero however, a superhero! He didn't really care much for justice or the greater good of humanity, he just simply enjoyed beating people up, and dramatic inner monologues. With all his dreams clouding him, he wasn't so much on the same channel as reality however. He breezed through school with average grades, and managed to get a small job at a local pharmacy. One day was organizing the numerous bottles and pills when a particularly normal customer arrived at the drive-thru window.

“What is your prescription?” inquired Bob.

“Excuse me?”

“I said what is your prescription?”

His reply was “Oh, yes of course, Ill have a bottle of Tylenol please.”

“One moment,” Bob muttered as he slipped back into the maze of shelves. It was his turn to work the night shift with his coworker Dave. Of course Dave was always sleeping on the night shift. Not to mention the day shift too. So Bob was pretty much alone. It was a dark and stormy night(If I'm not sounding too stereotypical here) and lightning flashed in the distance.

He Finally found that pesky Tylenol and reached to grab it when he unknowingly tipped a strange unlabeled pill off the other side of the shelf into his coffee mug. He handed the customer his prescription and watched as his silhouette faded away in the gloomy sheets of rain.

He waddled back over and plumped down in his chair. Wasn't life meant to be lived better than this? Is everybody so content with it that we don't ask for something more? What will happen between Chloe and Brad in the latest episode of 'Between our days'? Put in simpler terms, he was contemplating some of the most elusive and meaningful questions of life. As he pondered deeper, he casually took a small sip of his coffee and exploded.

Well, he didn't technically explode. Okay, so nothing happened at all. But it was still an extremely historic moment in the history of the known universe and in at least 3 or 4 of the unknown ones (nobody knows how many).

After a while nobody came, and he decide it wouldn't be too irresponsible to get out a couple hours early. The only people that come out at 3 in the morning are weirdos anyway. And they're all at laundromats, so he figured he was pretty much covered. He got his umbrella, and decided he really didn't want to take a taxi. Besides, he was saving up for a ride into space with the president of India. He dodged from alley to alley, trying to navigate his way back to his apartment. When he was cornered by two very large men.

“What you got on ya'” One of them asked in a deep voice.
“Sorry I don't have anything.”
“Hear that Sloth? This kid don't got nothin'” his buddy interjected.
“Oh yeah?” Said the Sloth again “Well were gonna get somethin' whether you got it or not!”
He shoved Bob down into a nearby wall and raised his fist. As he struck down Bob instinctively shot out his arm in defense and managed to hit Sloth right in the jawbone. Bob watched in amazement as he was taken of the ground and slammed face-first into a nearby dumpster.

“Holy noodles!” Bob exclaimed as good ol' thug #2 stared in amazement at him. Then the thug ran away before properly introducing himself. How rude. Unfortunately, Bob didn't notice as Sloth grabbed a metal bar from the dumpster and heaved it at Bob. Suddenly, Bob sprung into action and flipped over, slamming Sloth in the face with his Sketchers Z-Straps. Bob landed quick on his feet as his opponent toppled to the ground. “How did I do that?” He wondered out loud. He started to walk away, but turned back and placed a few dollars in Sloth's hand for sincerity. After that, he ran all the way home.

Realizing what had happened, he wasted no time on putting together a costume. His lifelong dream was coming true. He was going to be a superhero. He wondered if superheroes wore underwear, yet at the same time he didn't care. He was stumped on the name however. He needed something sleek yet mysterious, something that had never been done before, and was complex, something that concealed his identity. He finally decided on the grand inconspicuous title of “SuperBob”. That way his identity would be concealed and the name would be entirely original. As for his grand costume, he ended up using some old bedsheets for a cape. Now it was time to fight some crime (which happens to rhyme).

At first he felt quite strange walking around in his new outfit, although he then realized he wasn't alone among the other strange people around him. In fact he though he saw Elvis at least 2 times, although definitely not more than 3. Right about when he was going to give up he heard a sheik in the distance.

He perked up and darted in that general direction, pushing people aside. He heard a gunshot, but it was soon muffled by the pounding in his ears. This was his calling, and he was going to answer it. As h turned around the last corner he stood in amazement for a quick moment. The ominous screams were coming from the very pharmacy he had worked at.

He regained his might and burst through the door to see Dave hurriedly giving a masked intruder money. The thief turned around.
“What'a you doin' here? Get out!”

Bob advanced a step. “I don't think so.”
“Wrong answer buddy,” he stated as he drew a pistol from his back pocket. Instantaneously Bob jumped to the side. He rebounded off the window as it shattered behind him and he got a good shot at the robber right in the jaw, landing him on a table. Bob punched him and the table collapsed underneath him. Bob quickly grabbed an oddly convenient pair of handcuffs and slipped them around the thief's hands.

Proud of his catch, he marched down to the police station, ignoring the gaping people he had left behind in the pharmacy. Of course Dave was gaping because he was sleeping, but that's a different story entirely.

When he entered the police station, many became immediately aware that Bob could just be some random wacko from the streets, and likewise made their guns easily accessible. Bob had never really thought this part out, so he sort of spit out words uncomfortably

“Here he is... loyal citizens” He exclaimed trying to deepen his voice.
The police stared in disbelief.


“Loyal to who?”

“Why's he have a blanket on?”

“Oh my gosh Brad broke up with Chloe!”

“Who's that?”
Finally all the chatter quieted down and the police chief came stood up.

“Excuse me, but who exactly are you?”
Trying to sound as heroic as possible Bob managed to say “I'm Supe-” but his voice cracked.
Everyone started talking again

“What just happened”

“Did he say he's stupid?”

“Does he have a voice issue?”

“They're getting back together!”

“I don't get it.”
Finally Bob got it out: “I'm SuperBob!”
After a long moment of silence, one of the policemen exclaimed “Look who that is! It's Tony Gallo!”

Bob had to ask. “Who?”
“He's responsible for over 17 murders and made away with thousands of dollars! Nice work kid! Your a hero!”
“Don't thank me. Thank justice!”
He darted out after momentarily realizing how socially impaired he must have looked just about then. As he walked home he couldn't stop thinking about what the one policeman had said. 'Your a hero' After all, he had wanted to be a hero in the first place. So that must mean he should start practicing his inner monologues now.

Nobody knows the real difference between right and wrong anymore. I hate this city. I defend and keep it alive, yet it doesn't welcome me. It's not about whats fair anymore. Its about what's right. It's about hate and fear, and how we might someday live without fear in a doomed world

Eh, Needs work. Of course he would have an abundance of time to truly further establish this enterprise of a character he created. He smiled and whistled all the way home.

He wasn't however very smiley when he opened the door of his apartment. He found the place had been ravaged and everything was smashed along the floor. On the walls was written “You take Tony, we take you”. Bob shivered slightly. Was this the mafia he had after him now? How deep had he dug himself into this? And could he get himself out?

The next morning Bob went to work as usual. Yet he was very distracted, and his mind wandered. The repairmen were working all day, and for once Dave was awake, telling them about how he “fought off” the mobster and “taught 'im a thing or two.” Bob was quite frankly getting tired of the whole thing by the end of the day. He trudged home and was about to try and piece his bed together to turn in early when he heard an scream nearby.

Bob changed into his costume as quickly as he could, (which was actually not very fast at all) and rushed into the hall. The screams were coming from the room next to him he burst down the door, even though he knew nobody was going to congratulate him on his dramatic entrance. As he tip-toed around somebody hit him right in the back with a baseball bat.

Even with Super-strength, that's gotta hurt. Bob was doubled over in pain and multiple other mobsters jumped out and started kicking him all over. Finally, they bought him upright, yet he could barely stand. Bob wiped the blood off of his mouth. A voice rang out in the dead silence. “So, you want to mess with our business eh?” the voice was piercing and yet so coldly familiar. Bob stared in horror as Dave stepped out of the shadows laughing.

“Dave? I don't mean to be racist or anything, but how are you Italian?”


“Dave doesn't sound very Italian”

“Well some local mafias are trying to be less biased to new recruits from various ethnic “backgrounds” he replied.

“Well that's very sweet of you, always thinking about other people”

“Thank you. But I'm still going to have to kill you.”
At that moment Bob sprung up and began pushing off as many people as he could handle at once. Yet it seemed every time he drove one off 1¾ more kept on piling on (keeping correct ratios averaged of course). They were driving him farther and farther toward the open window, and ultimately toward the city streets far, far below.

Dave stood before him watching with cold, unforgiving eyes as the final punch was made Bob was thrown towards the window and shattered through it like ice. As he was there time seemed to freeze. He looked at the city from different eyes, and no matter how contradictory his inner monologue might be, he loved the city and everyone in it. He stared back at the mobsters as they walked over to the window in shock. Wait a second! He was flying! He was actually flying! He hovered in midair for a single moment longer before diving right back in to catch those mobsters. He fought with a renewed strength in his fists and his heart.

Eventually they were all taken care of and out cold, but one. Three guesses who. As Bob approached Dave he pleaded. Bob thought over two options in his head. He could either kick Dave off the the window while exclaiming “For Sparta!” or respectfully turn him in. Maintaining his civility, he chose the latter option.

In the following weeks, Bob's life changed in many ways. For example he quit his job at the pharmacy, and became a professional comic book writer. He created dozens of new fictional characters, and became a huge hit. He doesn't go out regularly as SuperBob, but whenever a citizen needs him- good ol' SuperBob will usually sometimes be there to save the day.

The author's comments:
This is humorous story about a modern suburban superhero

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