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May 30, 2012
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  >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Action/Adventure >> ID #1544947  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
Jetman
Flash fiction: Superhero, Jetman, faces his most terrifying mission yet.
Rated:
E
by
This item has no ratings.
I stood, gaunt in the cold breeze, my black cape fluttering behind me. My mask itched like hell but it didn’t matter, I had a lot more to be concerned with than mere comfort. I looked around at the devastation, the madness that was exploding before my eyes, and for once in my life I felt helpless.

         They were everywhere, a horde of crazed lunatics, running, screaming and fighting. I saw one of them pounce on another, dragging him down to the concrete with a soft thud. It must have been drugs; it’s the only thing that could explain this demented behavior.

         One of them notice me standing in the shadows and began to approach me, bearing his ivory teeth and snarling. I had to act fast or I’d be done for. I slid a round smoke bomb out of my pocket and threw it at the ground. The grey cloud cover gave me chance to slip away undetected. I laughed at how confused he must have been when he saw me vanish in a puff of smoke. They weren’t the smartest creatures, but if a gang of them surrounded you, say goodbye to your limbs.
         I took my place in the shadows once again. I felt that it was time. Time to go out there and show them what I was made of, show them what justice really was. I decided to count myself down, one…two…thr-

         “Look, I don’t think it’s working out Mr Jetman,” croaked someone behind me. I spun around to see Mrs Early standing there, her glasses perched on the end of her pointy nose.

         “Why is that citizen?” I asked in my booming and heroic voice.

         “You’re just standing around doing nothing. Some of them are fighting!” She exclaimed.

         “I prefer the element of surprise.” I could see where this was going. I couldn’t let this be my first failed mission, “I can do this Brenda, I’m Jetman for god’s sake.”

         “Out there, maybe,” she pointed beyond the black spiked gates, “ but in Littlewood elementary you’re Mr Jetman, the lunchtime supervisor. Now get back to work.”
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