Another First Time

Breathe out. Squeeze the trigger. A green hole appears in the figure in the scope. Time to move. When I get back to base, I’ll celebrate my hundredth kill. One less greenblood, one step closer to Earth’s freedom. Hooray.

Settling into my waiting routine in an empty warehouse when three greenies ‘ported in. The Cherenkov shine gave me enough warning to drop a grenade and roll out the window. I counted those as fifty-three, -four, and -five, not that I went back to check.

Thirteen was after the Battle of Brooklyn, that fiasco. Was fleeing, separated from the rest, when I found a greenie climbing out of a dead power suit. Tackled the fucker and beat its head against the ground until green brains came out.

Sergeant gave me a rifle and pointed at the greenie in the cell. Shoot, she said, get a feel for killing. Okay, done. That was number two.

The first time I killed, it was a knife. Just me and the target, no ceremony, just in the neck and out, and blood on the ground. Moments later, the ships appeared above our cities. No ceremony, just lasers.

God damn, what a time to be alive.

Thought It'd Be Easy

I thought it’d be easy to be a superhero. Find out you’re super strong, super tough, and bam! You’re a superhero. At least, I thought so.

But I can’t fly, and I’m not super fast. It turns out bad guys don’t just fall into your lap. They don’t just run up and start fights, and I’m never in the right place when bad things happen.

I walked through dangerous neighborhoods for a while. I stopped doing that when I yelled at a mugger to stop, and he stabbed the victim before he ran. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it just went everywhere and… I couldn’t. I didn’t go back.

Thought maybe I could join the police, do some of their really dangerous stuff. Get some of their folks off the line of fire, y’know? But I wasn’t any good. I kept failing their tests. I wasn’t any good at crisis situations, kept losing points on reckless endangering. They gave me extra chances, probably because-

Oh. That’s lunch break over. Demo’s not bad work, y’know? The pay is good. And hey, I don’t need a hard hat. They make me wear one, though. Good luck with your news story.

My First Time

The first time I died, I forgot what had happened. Trauma, I guess. I just woke up on the slab in the morgue, and freaked out because I was stuck in a coffin-sized box with zero light. I pounded and screamed, but it must’ve been the middle of the night, because no one heard me. I beat the inside of that box until my fists were blue. At some point, I think I passed out.

Woke up when I heard noise, and I yelled until they pulled me out. That was a freakin’ awkward conversation. Me and the morgue lady were both yelling, asking questions that no one answered. Eventually we both threatened to call the police, but she actually had a phone, so she won that race.

When the cops showed, they straightened things out. First time they’ve ever been useful, in my book. Morgue lady wanted to book me for B&E on federal property, but the cops had me on file as dead by a mugging the night before. Stabbed through the heart, even. Checked the toe tag and everything.

If I hadn’t died again a week later, I might’ve gone on thinking it was a fluke.

Lash Out

“Really,” I shouted, “You’re telling me this now?” I was gesturing angrily. I knew I looked violent, and I didn’t care.

She leaned into my rage and yelled right back. “It’s not my fucking fault that you got fired-”

“I didn’t get fired! They eliminated my position!” I emphasized the jargon protecting me from misery.

“Sure, if that makes you feel better!”

“It’s different!”

“Fine! But it’s not my fault, and I’m not obligated to baby you! I’m moving to Oakland, and I’m moving on!”

“Why can’t we just talk about this?”

She screamed in my face, harsh and primal. “We had plenty of time to talk about this. You never wanted to talk about this.”

“You never asked!”

“I did! It was always a bad time!”

“If it was that important, you should’ve made me talk about it!” On “made,” I punched the wall. It was stupid; the brick wall could’ve broken my hand.

The wall broke instead. The whole thing fell in, and I stood dumb in the rising dust, absently brushing powdered brick off my fist.

“Um,” she said. “You want to talk about this?”

“No,” I said. “You go to Oakland. I think I’ll be okay.”