The Homeless Superhero (Short Story)
Part I: Alena
“I needed this,” Alena whispered to herself.
The greenery of the park seemed extra vibrant.
Her eyes wandered, admiring the scenery, while her ears enjoyed the sweet songs of birds.
After a long winter, spring felt so good.
Alena walked slowly, basking in the short break from her busy life.
Lost in her reverie, she turned onto a little trail in the woods.
The sky seemed to darken, sucking the vibrancy out of everything. Alena sensed something ominous, but brushed it off. “I need a few more minutes before I go back to work.”
As she rounded a bend, her eyes locked onto an anomaly. Her attention snapped into full alertness.
She focused her vision on a man standing on the trail ahead of her. Alena’s body flushed with terror. She wanted to turn around and run, even scream. “Maybe it’s not a threat. I don’t want to cause a scene.” With that thought, Alena forced herself to keep walking forward.
The man pretended not to notice her. He was staring off in the distance, his back to her.
She walked by silently without saying anything.
Alena breathed a sigh of relief. But before she fully exhaled, a hand gripped her hip.
“You’re a beautiful specimen,” a raspy voice said.
Alena spun to look at the man, but when she did, all she saw was a big hand flying at her face. It covered her mouth.
She tried to scream for help. She tried to thrash her body — to no avail.
The man whispered in her ear, “Here’s what I’m gonna do to you…”
“LET HER GO!” The words boomed all around them.
Alena looked up. A big, muscular man stood in front of them. He had long hair, a long beard, and old, tattered clothes.
The hand around Alena’s waist was gone. That’s when she realized… “He pulled out a gun!” Her mind screamed.
All she saw was a flash of trees, then brown ground.
Alena gathered herself and looked up. The raggedy muscular man was standing over her attacker.
The attacker was writhing in agony. He mumbled in a pitiful plea. “Please. I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t mean harm. Please forgive me.”
The man who saved Alena, with his eyes still on the attacker, spoke in a calm, comforting voice. “If you have a phone on you, you can call 911. You’re safe now. The police and I will make sure this man never harms anyone again.”
“Th-thank you,” Alena muttered, as her body trembled with adrenaline.
She pulled out her phone and dialed with shaky fingers.
Part II: Trevor
It was 3 a.m. on a Saturday night.
Trevor stumbled out of the bar.
Main Street was still bustling. People spilled in and out of venues as music played from everywhere at once.
It all blurred together for Trevor.
“Eh, I’ll walk home,” he muttered to himself. His apartment was only a few blocks away.
Trevor walked slowly, trying to maintain his balance.
With each step, there were less people, less noise and less light.
A group of guys standing on a corner stared at him, their faces cold and menacing. Trevor didn’t pay attention. He didn’t want trouble. He just wanted to go home.
It was another disappointing night out.
He replayed the last few hours in his mind. His friends laughing, chugging drinks together, attempting to talk to a woman (she politely turned him down), watching people who seemed much happier than him, etc.
“Was that footsteps?”
Trevor’s mind snapped to attention, almost sobering him up. He glanced over his shoulder to see the group of guys (the ones on the corner) walking right behind him.
His heart dropped in terror.
“Hey!” one of them yelled at him. “What’s up, punk?”
Before Trevor could respond, he heard the footsteps stop, dead in their tracks.
He turned around, afraid of what they were up to. They were all wide-eyed, staring at something…
A big muscular man stood in front of them, solid as an oak tree. Trevor looked on as the man stared right into the souls of the four guys.
He could feel the presence of this man. It was palpable — calm, but powerful — like a force of nature.
In the faint light, Trevor saw the man had long hair and a long beard.
The man slowly raised a thick-muscled arm, and pointed towards Main Street. “Go,” he said in a deep booming voice. “If you boys are looking for trouble, well, I’ll tell you this, trouble will find you. And you’re ill-prepared, to say the least. Now go.”
The “boys” nodded their heads like little kids listening to a teacher. Then they scurried off.
Trevor walked up to the man. “Thank you. I don’t know who you are, but thank you.”
The man gave him a lumberjack’s smile. “You’re welcome. I’m just here to help.” The man turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadow of the night.
Trevor put his hands on his heart. Gratitude replaced drunkenness. “Thank you,” he whispered to himself, to the man, to all of existence. Then he walked the last block and a half home.
“That homeless guy saved me,” Trevor thought as he opened the door of his apartment. “There is hope for humanity.”
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