"Goooooooood mooooooooorning, Paragon City! This is none other than Captain Chris, your trusty DJ with the uncanny ability to instantly play the hits -you- request here on WCOH radio. It is exactly 7:35 in the AM on this beeeeeeeeautiful Thursday morning. Time to roll out of bed and put those noses to the grindstone! First on the to-do list this morning looks like a blast from the 80's to help those coffee grinders get going..."
Captain Chris, the Super DJ of Mornings, was right on a few things. It was 7:35, and it was Thursday morning, but the notion of beauty was debatable, especially if you happened to be curled up in the sheets of your queen-sized bed of an eighth story apartment. The sun peered through closed blinds onto a lump beneath the dark blue blankets while it stirred at the noise of the radio/alarm clock just a few feet away.
"Coffee grinder's not the only thing that has trouble going in the morning..."
The voice came muffled from beneath the blankets, followed by another few stirrings, and finally an arm slipped out. It raised clumsily upwards, and then came down, obviously intent on shutting off that racket coming from the nightstand. Unfortunately, with a head tucked under the sheets, aim is a difficult thing to manage, and the arm missed terribly, jerking the slumberer out of bed and tumbling into the floor.
Another dawn, another near-death experience for Roger Chase Drayton.
Roger stood up from the floor, dressed in a pair of black silk shorts, tossing his sheets back onto the bed before stretching his arms out, rising up on the tips of his toes, groaning and grunting as all his muscles locked up in unison. Then, he relaxed, covering his mouth to hide a yawn while he approached the window that had failed miserably in keeping the sun from drifting into the room. He spun the stick which danged on the left side of the window, the blinds opening to reveal the extravagant and modern sights of Paragon City. In the streets below people were already making their way to work, or home, Roger could never really tell which. Rays of sunlight were reflected off steel and glass, the entire city acting like a magnifying glass, seemingly to direct every ounce of the morning to this one window. His eyes squinted, and his hand was used as a guard over his face.
"Well, guess I better get ready for work", a rumble in his stomach distracted him momentarily, "...And some breakfast while I'm at it."
He walked out of his bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom, closed the door, and the yellow light which flashed on around the sides of the door and through the crack underneath signaled the beginning of yet another all-too-familiar morning ritual.
It didn't take Roger very long to get ready--it rarely ever did, unless he happened to be trying to impress some young lady, but given the poor condition of Roger's social life, rare was hardly the proper word. He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth to get that nasty morning taste out of his mouth. Then, he was back out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped about his waist, heading into his room to search for some clothes. His wardrobe was hardly extravagant, mostly simple tee-shirts and bluejeans; mostly the hardest part about choosing clothing was finding something clean enough to wear. After a few minutes he tossed a blue tee-shirt onto the bed, followed by a pair of denim shorts, socks, and boxers. He quickly changed clothes, and closed the door of his room to give himself a once-over in the mirror that hung on the back of the door.
The tag hanging openly on the front of his shirt was a clear hint that, even after twenty years, he still had a bit to learn about putting on clothes.
"Sometimes I think my clothes are in some kind of scheme against me", he mumbled at the mirror as he slipped the shirt up and over his head, "There we go, much better."
Roger looked over the front of his shirt, adorned with a large picture of the statesman standing proud in front of Paragon City Hall. He smiled, opened the door back up, and quickly lept back to his bed where he plucked a white baseball cap from the bedknob nearest him. It was his favorite cap, and the slight discoloration was a testament to how often he wore the hat, and how much more often he should probably wash it. But anyone who is fond of hats knows that a cap is a badge of honor; you don't go around healing up battle scars, and you don't wash your favorite hat.
He snatched up his wallet from the nightstand, dropped it into his front right pants pocket, turned off his alarm clock, and headed out the door whistling the tune he'd just heard. It would probably be stuck in his head for the rest of the day. Stepping out into the hallway, Roger paused, and sniffed the air. Walking down the hall, across the living room and to the kitchen, he poked his head around the doorway with a large grin on his face.
"Breakfast!", he exclaimed. He could smell food from a mile away when he was hungry, "What are you cooking, Mom?"
The kitchen was not extremely fancy, but it was still more than capable of serving the needs of whatever cravings might have struck your average person. The floor was of white tile, with blue tile placed in several places to break a sense of monotany. A white kitchen counter-top with a matching blue granite top was adorned with a few jars containing sugar and various other ingredients, a coffee machine, and an empty plate. Just past it was the refridgerator, and to the left the stove where a 5'6" middle-aged woman with dark brown hair stood dressed in a house gown, grasping a frying pan. She looked back over her shoulder towards the doorway, showing the wrinkles that came with a woman aged a bit beyond her time. She smiled at her son.
"I'm frying up some eggs, honey. That sound good to you, or would you like something else?"
"No, no! Eggs sound great, Mom! Could you fix me a sandwich? With cheese?"
She laughed, "Sure Roger, no problem. You want one egg or two?"
"Two, I'm starving. I want to make sure my stomach doesn't get any ideas about how my kidneys might taste."
She shook her head while she plucked another egg from the container that had been set down beside the can opener just to her right.
"Oh, and Mom, did you wash my apron for work?"
"Sure did, it took me forever to get those stains out, but it's just fine now. Should be in the hamper with the rest of the clothes I washed last night."
"Alright, thanks!"
Roger's head vanished from the doorway, and his Mother cracked the egg into the pan, picking up a skillet and began stirring it about, pouring some milk in with the yellow mixture. Looking back towards the wall where her son's head had been, she began counting.
"5...4...3...2...1..."
"Mom!", Roger's head poked around the side of the doorway, "The hamper would be....where, again?"
"Just behind the couch, hon. I haven't had time to sort through it all, yet."
"Okay, let's see if I can try this again..."
Roger walked across the carpeted floor of the living room, his eyes scanning for the elusive hamper which seemed to have eloped with his work apron. A Rest-N-Relax recliner chair sat at the far side of the apartment, with a second perched beside a lampstand, and finally a large sofa stretched out before a glass-top coffee table. There were a few magazines scattered along the top, along with a cordless phone, and the remote control for the television. Walking around the rear of the couch, he was happy to be greeted with the sight of a hamper filled with freshly-dried clothing. Crouching down beside the plastic container he began sifting through the clothing, and quickly removed an apron, holding it out in front of him for a quick inspection.
It was black in color, with a hoop at the top to wrap around the neck, and two loose strands dangling from the side to go about the waist. Turning it over to look at the front of the apron, he looked over the words typed in a red, cursive font. It read:
"PARAGON PIZZA", and underneath the slogan of the business, "The finest pizza for the finest city!"
He nodded, satisfied with the appearance of the apron. Of course, his Mom always took great care to ensure her son's clothing was clean, but part of Roger just enjoyed looking at the apron. He was quite proud of his job, though it might not have been the most prestigious, it let him make some decent money, and meet some decent people. The apron was folded up and draped over the back of the couch, and Roger glanced to the kitchen. The smell of frying eggs was almost more than his stomach could take.
"Those eggs almost done, Mom?"
"Just putting them on the bred, hon. You did say you wanted cheese on it?"
"Absolutely!"
"Alright, just sit down and I'll bring it in there to you. What would you like to drink?"
"Some juice if we have it! Grape, hopefully, but if not I'll take anything else!"
Roger bounded over the back of the couch, and flopped down onto the cushions, tucking his hands behind his head while crossing his ankles. While he was a bit of a social outcase, and a dork, if the Statesman clothing wasn't enough to tip one off to the fact, Roger C. Drayton was not a stranger to physical exercise. He had never really played in team sports during high school, since the teams were never keen about his presence. Instead, he had come to rely on an Archstretch exercise machine that his uncle had bought him for Christmas a few years ago. Since then, he'd spent quite a bit of time on it, and had made himself quite fit.
"Here's your sandwich, Roger. We're out of Grape juice, so I got you some Orange juice instead."
His Mom stood just behind the arm of the couch a few inches from Roger's head, her arms extending the plate and glass to her son. He quickly righted himself, and accepted both items, placing the glass on the coffee table while the plate was nestled ontop of his lap. His mother sat down in the recliner a few feet away, beside the lampstand, pushing down a lever which retracted the footrest.
"You didn't fix yourself anything?", Roger asked with a quirked brow, having noticed his mother's empty hands.
She smiled, "I ate a bowl of cereal earlier, and drank my cup of coffee. When I heard you get up, I got the pan warmed and ready to fix you something."
Roger had always looked out for his Mom, and his Mom had always looked out for him. They were a very close family, although the death of Roger's father due to a brain tumor two years earlier had nearly destroyed them both. His mother took it hardest, leaving Roger to step up and take on the responsibilites his Dad had left behind, while his mom mourned the loss of the man she had loved for so many years. She still wore the wedding ring on her hand, and kept a picture on her at all times. She had only recently come out of the depression she'd sunk so deeply into, and Roger was more than happy to make sure she stayed free of that dark cloud.
"Oh, alright. I was about to say, I hope you didn't just fix me something and neglect yourself", Roger smiled at her while he bit into the egg sandwich. A split second later the egg sandwich dropped back into the plate in his lap as the roof of his mouth was nearly incinerated.
"OW! That's hot!", he took a rapid intake of breath, and took a drink of his orange juice, letting the cold liquid sit against the roof of his mouth. He did not look forward to having a blistered mouth for the next three days.
"Well, it did just come out of the frying pan, Roger."
"Oh, blah blah your logic."
They shared a smile and a laugh, and then there was a pause while Roger lifted the top piece of bread and blew on the egg underneath it.
"So, what are you going to do today, hon?"
"Well, I've got to be at work at 9:30 to heat up all the ovens, and I don't want to waste all this sunshine, so I'm going to walk to work. And that means I'm going to have to leave early. Then I'll work until about 4:00, and come home...I might stop by the arcade, though, so I might not get back until about 5:00 or 6:00. Beyond that, not very much", he blew on the sandwich again, "What about you? Busy day lined up?"
"No, not hardly. I'll do some grocery shopping, pick up some more Grape juice for you. Then run a few little errands, might rent us a video or two to watch this evening, and then be back. I don't want to work too much on my day off."
Roger's Mom worked as a secretary for a dentistry office in Atlas Park. Starting today the dentist was going on a week-long vacation on a cruise, and so had extended the same break to his secretary. It was, after-all, proven fact that an employee who is given a vacation will come back refreshed and prove more efficient in the workplace.
By this time, Roger had cooled his sandwich enough to his liking, and bit into it for a second time, then washed down the food with his orange juice. "Sounds like fun. If you do rent a movie or two, make sure you pick up Saviors of Paragon. It's like a movie/documentary about the Statesman and the beginnings of Freedom Phalanx up until their battle with The Reichsman. I'd really like to see it."
His Mom laughed and shook her head, "Alright, I'll look for it. I swear, Roger, you're about the most obsessed person I've ever seen about all these heroes."
The egg sandwich was already half-way gone. He was starving, and was barely even chewing it...mostly just taking a bite and swallowing, then washed it down with some juice.
"Well, what's not to love? They risk life and limb to protect the every day citizen. They fight monsters and villainy that most people could never even imagine, and the reason we can't imagine it is because of men like The Statesman and Freedom Phalanx. They fly, shoot beams out of their hand, run faster than a speeding train, and leap over buildings. They're everything that you could hope to be! I think it'd be great to be a..."
"Roger Chase Drayton!", his Mom spoke suddenly, "I don't want to hear that kind of talk from you! No son of mine is going to strap on some piece of spandex and run around, just waiting to catch his death of cold! You do a job as a hero just fine in your normal life. I certainly wouldn't want to turn on the news and hear about you being killed by some kind of death ray!"
"Mom, you know I'm only kidding. I don't have the powers to be a superhero, besides, I could do half the stuff they do, even if I did have superhuman abilities. I'm not a hero. Just your average, everyday, normal, ordinary pizza boy."
"But you're Mom's pizza boy, and that's good enough for me."
She had stood up by now, and walked over, placing a kiss on top of Roger's head. Putting the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth, and washing it down with the last drink of juice, his mother took both empty dishes and walked towards the kitchen.
"Now, enough talk about superheroes. It's about time for you to go to work, isn't it?"
"Probably. What time is it?"
"About 8:45 according to the microwave."
"Yeah, I better head out, I don't want to have to hurry down. I want to get as much of this sunshine as I can before I have to get walled up until this afternoon. Thanks for breakfast, Mom", Roger dashed into the kitchen and kissed his mother on the cheek. Back in the living room, he walked to the front door and slipped into his tennis shoes, and then headed out the door with another goodbye.
His mother walked into the living room, and glanced at the couch before shaking her head. She leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, and started counting.
"5...4...3...2..."
Roger burst back in the door, and with a single lunge crossed the distance between door and couch. His hands picked up the folded apron which had been left draped on the back of the couch.
"You were early that time."
"Early for what?"
"Nevermind, hon. Have a good day at work", his Mom smiled while she waved.
"I will, love you, Mom!", he called out as he slipped out the door again.
His mother walked over to the door and locked it, securing the chain and putting the deadbolt into place. Then, she walked slowly across the carpeted floor in her slippers, and stood near the large window on the far wall, and looked down at the street below. She stayed there until she saw the familiar form of her one and only child emerge from the front of the building, and begin walking down the sidewalk. She was pleased to see him stop and toss a wave upwards, and she returned it, though they both were quite sure that neither could see their wave. And so, there she stood, watching until her son vanished around the corner of the block, and out of her sight.
She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the remote, turning on the television while sitting back into her recliner, quickly flipping through the channels until she found the ANN channel. Roger's mother got a rather large kick out of being able to watch a news channel that shared her name.
"And this is the latest news for today: Thursday, May 23rd, 2002..."
"Nothing new for the news, I'll wager", Ann replied to the TV, "Besides...nothing exciting ever happens on a Thursday."
Chapter 1
"Goooooooood mooooooooorning, Paragon City! This is none other than Captain Chris, your trusty DJ with the uncanny ability to instantly play the hits -you- request here on WCOH radio. It is exactly 7:35 in the AM on this beeeeeeeeautiful Thursday morning. Time to roll out of bed and put those noses to the grindstone! First on the to-do list this morning looks like a blast from the 80's to help those coffee grinders get going..."
Captain Chris, the Super DJ of Mornings, was right on a few things. It was 7:35, and it was Thursday morning, but the notion of beauty was debatable, especially if you happened to be curled up in the sheets of your queen-sized bed of an eighth story apartment. The sun peered through closed blinds onto a lump beneath the dark blue blankets while it stirred at the noise of the radio/alarm clock just a few feet away.
"Coffee grinder's not the only thing that has trouble going in the morning..."
The voice came muffled from beneath the blankets, followed by another few stirrings, and finally an arm slipped out. It raised clumsily upwards, and then came down, obviously intent on shutting off that racket coming from the nightstand. Unfortunately, with a head tucked under the sheets, aim is a difficult thing to manage, and the arm missed terribly, jerking the slumberer out of bed and tumbling into the floor.
Another dawn, another near-death experience for Roger Chase Drayton.
Roger stood up from the floor, dressed in a pair of black silk shorts, tossing his sheets back onto the bed before stretching his arms out, rising up on the tips of his toes, groaning and grunting as all his muscles locked up in unison. Then, he relaxed, covering his mouth to hide a yawn while he approached the window that had failed miserably in keeping the sun from drifting into the room. He spun the stick which danged on the left side of the window, the blinds opening to reveal the extravagant and modern sights of Paragon City. In the streets below people were already making their way to work, or home, Roger could never really tell which. Rays of sunlight were reflected off steel and glass, the entire city acting like a magnifying glass, seemingly to direct every ounce of the morning to this one window. His eyes squinted, and his hand was used as a guard over his face.
"Well, guess I better get ready for work", a rumble in his stomach distracted him momentarily, "...And some breakfast while I'm at it."
He walked out of his bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom, closed the door, and the yellow light which flashed on around the sides of the door and through the crack underneath signaled the beginning of yet another all-too-familiar morning ritual.
It didn't take Roger very long to get ready--it rarely ever did, unless he happened to be trying to impress some young lady, but given the poor condition of Roger's social life, rare was hardly the proper word. He showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth to get that nasty morning taste out of his mouth. Then, he was back out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped about his waist, heading into his room to search for some clothes. His wardrobe was hardly extravagant, mostly simple tee-shirts and bluejeans; mostly the hardest part about choosing clothing was finding something clean enough to wear. After a few minutes he tossed a blue tee-shirt onto the bed, followed by a pair of denim shorts, socks, and boxers. He quickly changed clothes, and closed the door of his room to give himself a once-over in the mirror that hung on the back of the door.
The tag hanging openly on the front of his shirt was a clear hint that, even after twenty years, he still had a bit to learn about putting on clothes.
"Sometimes I think my clothes are in some kind of scheme against me", he mumbled at the mirror as he slipped the shirt up and over his head, "There we go, much better."
Roger looked over the front of his shirt, adorned with a large picture of the statesman standing proud in front of Paragon City Hall. He smiled, opened the door back up, and quickly lept back to his bed where he plucked a white baseball cap from the bedknob nearest him. It was his favorite cap, and the slight discoloration was a testament to how often he wore the hat, and how much more often he should probably wash it. But anyone who is fond of hats knows that a cap is a badge of honor; you don't go around healing up battle scars, and you don't wash your favorite hat.
He snatched up his wallet from the nightstand, dropped it into his front right pants pocket, turned off his alarm clock, and headed out the door whistling the tune he'd just heard. It would probably be stuck in his head for the rest of the day. Stepping out into the hallway, Roger paused, and sniffed the air. Walking down the hall, across the living room and to the kitchen, he poked his head around the doorway with a large grin on his face.
"Breakfast!", he exclaimed. He could smell food from a mile away when he was hungry, "What are you cooking, Mom?"
The kitchen was not extremely fancy, but it was still more than capable of serving the needs of whatever cravings might have struck your average person. The floor was of white tile, with blue tile placed in several places to break a sense of monotany. A white kitchen counter-top with a matching blue granite top was adorned with a few jars containing sugar and various other ingredients, a coffee machine, and an empty plate. Just past it was the refridgerator, and to the left the stove where a 5'6" middle-aged woman with dark brown hair stood dressed in a house gown, grasping a frying pan. She looked back over her shoulder towards the doorway, showing the wrinkles that came with a woman aged a bit beyond her time. She smiled at her son.
"I'm frying up some eggs, honey. That sound good to you, or would you like something else?"
"No, no! Eggs sound great, Mom! Could you fix me a sandwich? With cheese?"
She laughed, "Sure Roger, no problem. You want one egg or two?"
"Two, I'm starving. I want to make sure my stomach doesn't get any ideas about how my kidneys might taste."
She shook her head while she plucked another egg from the container that had been set down beside the can opener just to her right.
"Oh, and Mom, did you wash my apron for work?"
"Sure did, it took me forever to get those stains out, but it's just fine now. Should be in the hamper with the rest of the clothes I washed last night."
"Alright, thanks!"
Roger's head vanished from the doorway, and his Mother cracked the egg into the pan, picking up a skillet and began stirring it about, pouring some milk in with the yellow mixture. Looking back towards the wall where her son's head had been, she began counting.
"5...4...3...2...1..."
"Mom!", Roger's head poked around the side of the doorway, "The hamper would be....where, again?"
"Just behind the couch, hon. I haven't had time to sort through it all, yet."
"Okay, let's see if I can try this again..."
Roger walked across the carpeted floor of the living room, his eyes scanning for the elusive hamper which seemed to have eloped with his work apron. A Rest-N-Relax recliner chair sat at the far side of the apartment, with a second perched beside a lampstand, and finally a large sofa stretched out before a glass-top coffee table. There were a few magazines scattered along the top, along with a cordless phone, and the remote control for the television. Walking around the rear of the couch, he was happy to be greeted with the sight of a hamper filled with freshly-dried clothing. Crouching down beside the plastic container he began sifting through the clothing, and quickly removed an apron, holding it out in front of him for a quick inspection.
It was black in color, with a hoop at the top to wrap around the neck, and two loose strands dangling from the side to go about the waist. Turning it over to look at the front of the apron, he looked over the words typed in a red, cursive font. It read:
"PARAGON PIZZA", and underneath the slogan of the business, "The finest pizza for the finest city!"
He nodded, satisfied with the appearance of the apron. Of course, his Mom always took great care to ensure her son's clothing was clean, but part of Roger just enjoyed looking at the apron. He was quite proud of his job, though it might not have been the most prestigious, it let him make some decent money, and meet some decent people. The apron was folded up and draped over the back of the couch, and Roger glanced to the kitchen. The smell of frying eggs was almost more than his stomach could take.
"Those eggs almost done, Mom?"
"Just putting them on the bred, hon. You did say you wanted cheese on it?"
"Absolutely!"
"Alright, just sit down and I'll bring it in there to you. What would you like to drink?"
"Some juice if we have it! Grape, hopefully, but if not I'll take anything else!"
Roger bounded over the back of the couch, and flopped down onto the cushions, tucking his hands behind his head while crossing his ankles. While he was a bit of a social outcase, and a dork, if the Statesman clothing wasn't enough to tip one off to the fact, Roger C. Drayton was not a stranger to physical exercise. He had never really played in team sports during high school, since the teams were never keen about his presence. Instead, he had come to rely on an Archstretch exercise machine that his uncle had bought him for Christmas a few years ago. Since then, he'd spent quite a bit of time on it, and had made himself quite fit.
"Here's your sandwich, Roger. We're out of Grape juice, so I got you some Orange juice instead."
His Mom stood just behind the arm of the couch a few inches from Roger's head, her arms extending the plate and glass to her son. He quickly righted himself, and accepted both items, placing the glass on the coffee table while the plate was nestled ontop of his lap. His mother sat down in the recliner a few feet away, beside the lampstand, pushing down a lever which retracted the footrest.
"You didn't fix yourself anything?", Roger asked with a quirked brow, having noticed his mother's empty hands.
She smiled, "I ate a bowl of cereal earlier, and drank my cup of coffee. When I heard you get up, I got the pan warmed and ready to fix you something."
Roger had always looked out for his Mom, and his Mom had always looked out for him. They were a very close family, although the death of Roger's father due to a brain tumor two years earlier had nearly destroyed them both. His mother took it hardest, leaving Roger to step up and take on the responsibilites his Dad had left behind, while his mom mourned the loss of the man she had loved for so many years. She still wore the wedding ring on her hand, and kept a picture on her at all times. She had only recently come out of the depression she'd sunk so deeply into, and Roger was more than happy to make sure she stayed free of that dark cloud.
"Oh, alright. I was about to say, I hope you didn't just fix me something and neglect yourself", Roger smiled at her while he bit into the egg sandwich. A split second later the egg sandwich dropped back into the plate in his lap as the roof of his mouth was nearly incinerated.
"OW! That's hot!", he took a rapid intake of breath, and took a drink of his orange juice, letting the cold liquid sit against the roof of his mouth. He did not look forward to having a blistered mouth for the next three days.
"Well, it did just come out of the frying pan, Roger."
"Oh, blah blah your logic."
They shared a smile and a laugh, and then there was a pause while Roger lifted the top piece of bread and blew on the egg underneath it.
"So, what are you going to do today, hon?"
"Well, I've got to be at work at 9:30 to heat up all the ovens, and I don't want to waste all this sunshine, so I'm going to walk to work. And that means I'm going to have to leave early. Then I'll work until about 4:00, and come home...I might stop by the arcade, though, so I might not get back until about 5:00 or 6:00. Beyond that, not very much", he blew on the sandwich again, "What about you? Busy day lined up?"
"No, not hardly. I'll do some grocery shopping, pick up some more Grape juice for you. Then run a few little errands, might rent us a video or two to watch this evening, and then be back. I don't want to work too much on my day off."
Roger's Mom worked as a secretary for a dentistry office in Atlas Park. Starting today the dentist was going on a week-long vacation on a cruise, and so had extended the same break to his secretary. It was, after-all, proven fact that an employee who is given a vacation will come back refreshed and prove more efficient in the workplace.
By this time, Roger had cooled his sandwich enough to his liking, and bit into it for a second time, then washed down the food with his orange juice. "Sounds like fun. If you do rent a movie or two, make sure you pick up Saviors of Paragon. It's like a movie/documentary about the Statesman and the beginnings of Freedom Phalanx up until their battle with The Reichsman. I'd really like to see it."
His Mom laughed and shook her head, "Alright, I'll look for it. I swear, Roger, you're about the most obsessed person I've ever seen about all these heroes."
The egg sandwich was already half-way gone. He was starving, and was barely even chewing it...mostly just taking a bite and swallowing, then washed it down with some juice.
"Well, what's not to love? They risk life and limb to protect the every day citizen. They fight monsters and villainy that most people could never even imagine, and the reason we can't imagine it is because of men like The Statesman and Freedom Phalanx. They fly, shoot beams out of their hand, run faster than a speeding train, and leap over buildings. They're everything that you could hope to be! I think it'd be great to be a..."
"Roger Chase Drayton!", his Mom spoke suddenly, "I don't want to hear that kind of talk from you! No son of mine is going to strap on some piece of spandex and run around, just waiting to catch his death of cold! You do a job as a hero just fine in your normal life. I certainly wouldn't want to turn on the news and hear about you being killed by some kind of death ray!"
"Mom, you know I'm only kidding. I don't have the powers to be a superhero, besides, I could do half the stuff they do, even if I did have superhuman abilities. I'm not a hero. Just your average, everyday, normal, ordinary pizza boy."
"But you're Mom's pizza boy, and that's good enough for me."
She had stood up by now, and walked over, placing a kiss on top of Roger's head. Putting the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth, and washing it down with the last drink of juice, his mother took both empty dishes and walked towards the kitchen.
"Now, enough talk about superheroes. It's about time for you to go to work, isn't it?"
"Probably. What time is it?"
"About 8:45 according to the microwave."
"Yeah, I better head out, I don't want to have to hurry down. I want to get as much of this sunshine as I can before I have to get walled up until this afternoon. Thanks for breakfast, Mom", Roger dashed into the kitchen and kissed his mother on the cheek. Back in the living room, he walked to the front door and slipped into his tennis shoes, and then headed out the door with another goodbye.
His mother walked into the living room, and glanced at the couch before shaking her head. She leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, and started counting.
"5...4...3...2..."
Roger burst back in the door, and with a single lunge crossed the distance between door and couch. His hands picked up the folded apron which had been left draped on the back of the couch.
"You were early that time."
"Early for what?"
"Nevermind, hon. Have a good day at work", his Mom smiled while she waved.
"I will, love you, Mom!", he called out as he slipped out the door again.
His mother walked over to the door and locked it, securing the chain and putting the deadbolt into place. Then, she walked slowly across the carpeted floor in her slippers, and stood near the large window on the far wall, and looked down at the street below. She stayed there until she saw the familiar form of her one and only child emerge from the front of the building, and begin walking down the sidewalk. She was pleased to see him stop and toss a wave upwards, and she returned it, though they both were quite sure that neither could see their wave. And so, there she stood, watching until her son vanished around the corner of the block, and out of her sight.
She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the remote, turning on the television while sitting back into her recliner, quickly flipping through the channels until she found the ANN channel. Roger's mother got a rather large kick out of being able to watch a news channel that shared her name.
"And this is the latest news for today: Thursday, May 23rd, 2002..."
"Nothing new for the news, I'll wager", Ann replied to the TV, "Besides...nothing exciting ever happens on a Thursday."