10/10: Skeleton Stance
Posted by: Captain Forehead
The frame that once held the Captainesque figure of goodness and all that is juicy about justiceness rests warily on the concrete pad used to post the illumination of a billion tacos served fast food franchise. The skeleton unwilling to carry the weight of the Captain watched, wondering what the strangers surrounding the emptiness were doing with the meaning of their meaninglessness.
The figure watched as the citizenry looked through the nothingness of what was, ignoring the invisibility that could be theirs. The truth can often be seen in the eyes of the young, and a boy of about 11 stood on the sidewalk outside the glass box structure and stared at what once was — he, too, wondering.
Tires screeched. The loose skeleton turned towed the noise, instinctively. It was nothing — a failing feminine driver. The invisible turned back toward the child who watched.
Behind, a shout boomed.
“What the fuck you looking at, fucking faggot!!!!!?”
Scanning the asphalt of cars awaiting bean breeze basting drivers, there was only the kid and the invisible, but the invisible began to pulse, to flash a flesh of possibility over the skeleton of indefinability. What was invisible began to show, as the shout was heard again. Clearly, evil was present, and it was giving birth to its foe.
Unless the child was named “Fucking Faggot,” the pulsing possibility was being insulted, or propositioned. The flash of flesh thickened. An arm extended and gestured to the threatening tattooed beast — curling the fingers back toward the palm, simply offering the shouter an invitation. What was once good offered evil the opportunity to visit justice up close. The shouting repeated.
The boy watched. He saw the invisible man everyone else ignored get brighter. He saw the shouter feign jumping from the car. He saw what was once the Captain, and he pondered. The 11 year old pondered, and the glow, the pulse, the thickening of the flesh began to fade. The car burned rubber and sped away in an angry rage. The invisible man disappeared to all again, except the boy.
Against the post, the skeleton that once held the martyred mask of justice leaned once more. He pondered, motionless. What did he have to prove? Those were the harshest works evil cold muster? And when, in the history of conflict, were the loud worthy of battle, as their boisterous noise is nothing more than a desire to appear larger and more frightening than they really are in the hopes of frightening off another defeat. And what of the boy? What message is sent to one who is willing to watch when battle is worthy because of a few poorly strung words? Battles must be worthy for the good to fight.
Invisible. Watching. The skeleton sat, wondering how to set forth for another day, the day that would follow the quickly cooling night. Right here, right now, the skeleton pondered purpose, and worried. Some truths are too powerful: Even in invisibility, he who was once the grandness of the Captain is far too good looking, if he can attract and spark the homosexual desires of a raging homophobe.
The figure watched as the citizenry looked through the nothingness of what was, ignoring the invisibility that could be theirs. The truth can often be seen in the eyes of the young, and a boy of about 11 stood on the sidewalk outside the glass box structure and stared at what once was — he, too, wondering.
Tires screeched. The loose skeleton turned towed the noise, instinctively. It was nothing — a failing feminine driver. The invisible turned back toward the child who watched.
Behind, a shout boomed.
“What the fuck you looking at, fucking faggot!!!!!?”
Scanning the asphalt of cars awaiting bean breeze basting drivers, there was only the kid and the invisible, but the invisible began to pulse, to flash a flesh of possibility over the skeleton of indefinability. What was invisible began to show, as the shout was heard again. Clearly, evil was present, and it was giving birth to its foe.
Unless the child was named “Fucking Faggot,” the pulsing possibility was being insulted, or propositioned. The flash of flesh thickened. An arm extended and gestured to the threatening tattooed beast — curling the fingers back toward the palm, simply offering the shouter an invitation. What was once good offered evil the opportunity to visit justice up close. The shouting repeated.
The boy watched. He saw the invisible man everyone else ignored get brighter. He saw the shouter feign jumping from the car. He saw what was once the Captain, and he pondered. The 11 year old pondered, and the glow, the pulse, the thickening of the flesh began to fade. The car burned rubber and sped away in an angry rage. The invisible man disappeared to all again, except the boy.
Against the post, the skeleton that once held the martyred mask of justice leaned once more. He pondered, motionless. What did he have to prove? Those were the harshest works evil cold muster? And when, in the history of conflict, were the loud worthy of battle, as their boisterous noise is nothing more than a desire to appear larger and more frightening than they really are in the hopes of frightening off another defeat. And what of the boy? What message is sent to one who is willing to watch when battle is worthy because of a few poorly strung words? Battles must be worthy for the good to fight.
Invisible. Watching. The skeleton sat, wondering how to set forth for another day, the day that would follow the quickly cooling night. Right here, right now, the skeleton pondered purpose, and worried. Some truths are too powerful: Even in invisibility, he who was once the grandness of the Captain is far too good looking, if he can attract and spark the homosexual desires of a raging homophobe.
Mr.Twister wrote: