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The Night Wanderer (rewrite)

The reason that no one knows a super is a super, is because they never look anything like one in the real world. Clad in armour or lycra, it’s easy to throw away your personality like the cape you throw off at the end of the night.

I’m a prime example. Under the sun’s light I’m a freak in the sixth form of a state school in the rough part of Cardiff. I match maroon tights with blue dresses, and wear woolly hats in the middle of summer.

Yet, when the sun sets over the city horizon, the glasses come off and the boots slide up my legs. The last trace of the girl I am disappears when the mask goes on, and the Night Wanderer is born.

It started two years ago; all in a single night I went from being a pathless, worthless girl to an integral part of the city. No longer would I be the victim: I would be the hero. The delusion didn’t last long.

I still spend those dark nights on the prowl, but then the mask leaves my eyes, and the girls spit on me as they pass gossiping about the Night Wanderer’s latest feat.

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