My Creed

I used to be like you. Sitting at home, drinking my name-brand soda with my TV dinner, watching the news. I used to slurp goopy mashed potatoes while watching politicians bang their podiums while telling me what to fear. Economic recession. Ethnic tension. Foreign market competition. Razors in the Halloween concessions. I ate it all up.

Then something snapped. I had seen it too many times: The old man put on trial for things that he did before his judge was alive. The family hiding in a cave too scared to pray while the soldiers roll by. The mother holding her child with the bombs coming down.

So I put on a suit. Invented a name. Punched out some cops. Derailed a freight train. I get a thrill from going through it unhurt, my name on TV, my face in a crowd on a child’s shirt. I tell you what to fear.

Now you come after me. Drop bombs on my lair. Punch me through walls held by my hair in prime time live. Throw me in jail. Shoot me. Stab me. Drop a building on me and say no one could survive.

I can take it.

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