wedding dress

k, so here's a poem i thought up on the way back from getting immunizations at the clinic.
it has nothing to do with the clinic....or immunizations....
...

anyway, here.

In my wedding dress
I'm all alone, there's no one home
There's no one here to take my hand
To dry my tears, to help me stand
To help me leave this wretched place
To save me from this life of pain
To bring me to a home that's kind
And all i can do now is cry

Where is my shining knight so brave
Where is the one who hides in dreams
What do i do, or should i wait
Or is there anyone for me?

that's all i've got of it...can't think of anymore. the end!

League of Heroes

I was a happy child growing up.

I was born in the big city, surrounded by people on all sides. Noise constantly battered my eardrums and I grew used to it. Silence disturbed me; I felt like there should be sound always.

My life was peaceful; my mother was kind, my father was gentle, my older sister not only tolerated me, but often gave me a kind word. Everything was great, except for one incident, and only the one.

I witnessed a murder attempt on my father when I was 6; it horrified me, but I knew everything was okay. Because he didn't die. Someone saved him. And not just any someone. One of the League of Heroes. I'm fairly sure it was Maximum-he wears blue and grey.

After that day, I became obsessed with the League. I never had many friends, so my attention was completely focused on the League of Heroes. They were like no other-a group of twenty-some men and women who watched over our city. They were well known, yet not known at all. Everyone knew at least who they were, and many were familiar with some of the heroes.

When I was 13, I started Hero Hunting. I wandered all over the city, searching for them or for the crimes which would draw them. I got myself into a few tricky situations, but I caught many glimpses of my heroes. With my handy-dandy camera, I snapped photos of them in action. Granted, they were pictures of hands or blurs or half-people, but it thrilled me to be able to see a hero like that.

It wasn't until I was 16 that I could take them seriously. I had come upon Maximum, my favorite hero, finishing up with the police in a case of theft. I grabbed his arm and told him how he was my hero and how he saved my dad when I was little. And his reply was, "I'm glad I could help, kid," and the expression on his face struck me, and when he left I only stood there, confused.

His voice was tinged with sadness, and in his eyes was the weight of the world. I couldn't understand it; why would he be so sad? He was one of the greatest heroes! He saved the city everyday, earned the respect and love of the people. What could there be to be sad about?

My obsessions focused now on discovering that sadness. Yet for the two years that I researched I could not find it. No, I did not understand until the day of my 19th birthday. The fateful day when I answered the knock on the door to find Maximum, Flite and Rush standing on my doorstep.

"Michael, we would like to invite you to the League of Heroes."