Somebody Dies In The End

A Story by Devinouse

Someone Dies In The End

Thales once believed that reality is water and, honestly, Evergood Man couldn’t help but agree--with the world relying on his super hearing, super voice, super strength and his ability of flight, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was constantly drowning in eyes and expectations since publicity, media monkeys and businessmen and women were his reality.

So jumping into what reality was made up wouldn’t really be so absurd, right? It would be like jumping into a portal that had ripped-up the time-space continuum. Evergood Man shook his head with a rueful smile gracing his perfectly plump lips. Now that was something he was used to doing.

Staring into the water, deep navy blue and showing nothing of what lies beneath its surface, his feet, attached to those large lumps of muscle and flesh he called his ‘calves’, dangled like a school girl watching koi swim about as they scrambled for the bread they took in.

Nevertheless, it didn’t seem like shape shifting would be a superpower the almighty would grace him. Evergood Man hoped not. That would defeat the purpose of drowning, of escape. And then after that…

After that, the world would finally learn to be independent without their favorite super-powered circus monkey. To finally close his eyes and not worry about the world burning for more than two seconds, to listen to music without having to pause the track to make sure he didn’t hear the wailing of a hostage victim, to finally do the dishes, clean his bare apartment, watch T.V. and have a routine that didn’t contain flying to Washington, D.C. and Tokyo, Japan.

Everybody wanted to see Evergood Man but if he hung the suit, he would just be that intimidating 7’1 weirdo with a baby face in that no-name, stock photo of a company he worked in. Everybody wanted to be Evergood Man but that wasn’t true, despite what social media would say. They didn’t want to be him. They wanted to be super.

Superpowers werelike baking. You wanted the cake but nobody wanted to clean up the mess. And sadly, he was the societal-appointed French maid that would visit rooms every ten minutes because the children couldn’t help but step in mud every two seconds. If he let the children play, he would get scolded by his boss because the house was a mess. If he scolded the children, he still would get scolded by his boss because two-year-olds couldn’t comprehend the words “please don’t make a mess and make trouble for me” but only the tone and the volume.

A living legend is what he was. The climax everyone wanted to read about but a prologue nobody gave the time of day to. As if they cared about his ‘secret identity’. A story is what they wanted, the play and not the actor. However, the secret was that he didn’t have a secret identity. There was nobody inside him, nobody that was hiding. It was always him, a body that nobody came to see.

But no! The press needed to bite something down! A riveting tale that would keep the audience at home something to tell their neighbors to despite draping a rug over the macabre details of hostage situations and serial-killers whom struggled with love and discontent! Today, maybe, they must’ve been waiting for Evergood Man to make his appearance, something that would twist the plot dramatically again, as if expecting Evergood Man to have been taught by Shakespeare himself in the act of dramaturgy.

Now he was ready to finish this terribly written satire! In the front lines, waving his white flag high and proud, to where he was going, he didn’t need a script anymore yet the news would somehow weave a tale of phantasm and strife to keep the audience burning for more.

Evergood Man stood up, dusting off the gravel from his suit that highlighted every tendon of his body. Rolling his shoulders, he gazed at the ocean as he heard the silence of the abandoned bridge.

It wasn’t silent, however.

His neck snapped to his left, hearing the faint sounds of shoes tapping against the concrete road. Using his super vision he could make out a man�"or a boy with how short he was, walking towards him.

A child who had been jabbing his hand into the forbidden cookie jar could’ve acted better than Evergood Man that day. Instead, he spluttered like he hadn’t talked with a politician he absolutely didn’t vote for. With wide eyes and hitched breath, he looked too casual, leaning on the steel railing of the crimson bridge that held a thin sheen of rust that would be a pain to wash off from his suit.

“H-Hello, citizen! What brings you here?” He stuttered, making sure his voice was the correct timbre and held that masculine tenor.

The too-short-to-be-a-grown-man-but-too-tall-to-be-a-teen looked up at him with a dazed expression, his black, tousled hair and equally dark eyes turned into a perfect example of a right angle as his short frame had to tilt his head just to look at Evergood Man in the eyes and not in his abdomen.

Shorty McShortson gave the blonde superhero a look as if he was lower than dirt and, because of Evergood Man’s super hearing, caught his snide and back-handed “friggin’ cosplaying looney” Shorty had muttered.

“Excuse me?” Evergood Man had spluttered voice incredulous. People can be so rude these days! “Don’t you know who I am?”

Shorty gave him that up-down look, like an artist assessing modern art. It just so happened that the sculpture had used toilets and rotten potatoes instead of the usual marble and stone. Sneering, Shorty replied with a quick “No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?!” Evergood Man demanded. “Don’t you want to know who I am or what I’m doing here?”

“Oh my gosh. Get over yourself.” Shorty spat out with venom that would make a cobra weep with shame, proving that genus and genetics isn’t all that it was built up to be. “Just ‘cause your tall ‘n wearing a onesie in damned public doesn’t mean everyone the world’s revolving around you. Looney.”

Evergood Man couldn’t believe his ears! This man! This BRAT! Of all the things he could’ve called him…Looney. Looney?!

“Listen here, buster, I didn’t bottle up twenty-two years of angst just to get called a looney by some two-inched brat that couldn’t find a comb if it suddenly animated and bit them on the shin!”

“Coming from a guy that’s wearing a yellow, blue, red and white onesie?” Shorty replied with a glare. “Rich.”

“I have a name, you know!”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the most mature reply Evergood Man could muster but he was stressed okay?! He was about to jump into the water and reach Nirvana or whatever awaited him in the great beyond and then this brat rolls around like he owns the bridge which was legally impossible considering the government owns all of the public pathways.

“Oh really? What is it?”

“It’s Evergood Man, jerk.”

“That’s a title not a name.” Shorty snorted, rolling his eyes. “Oh Lordie, don’t tell me that your mother, with her whole body and soul, told the doctor to name you Evergood Man!”

“Hey, don’t insult my mom.” Evergood Man slightly slumped, his voice a pout. “And of course she didn’t name me Evergood Man, nimrod.”

“Then what is your name?”

“…Larry Johnson.” He shifted a little bit sheepishly, betraying his normally menacing and intimidating physique.

Surprisingly, unlike most others that would hear his cookie-cutter, unseasoned bread and sauceless pasta for a name, Shorty didn’t go onto hysterics. “Well, Larry, what were you doing in front of a river?”

Larry Johnson frowned, guilt rippling throughout his chest like an emptiness swirling. He didn’t want to unload his angst, despite what he said a few seconds ago. It was all for the sake of a witty retort!

“N-none of your business.”

“That wasn’t what you were saying a while ago.” Shorty gave him a disbelieving look. “But whatever floats your boat, loony.”

Annoyance clicked in Larry’s chest as his lips turned into a frown. “I gave you my name. I expected you to use it.”

“And I chose not to. It’s pretty easy. Having free-will and all. You should try it sometime.” Shorty bent his neck down and checked his watch before raising his head up again. “Anyway, it’s been nice, Loony Larry, but I have food to make and dishes to clean after I eat.”

“O-oh.” Larry blinked. “I shouldn’t keep you, then.”

“Hey, you know what?” Shorty snapped his fingers, his eyes wide. “Why don’t you join me? It’d be a nice change of pace.”

Larry’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure what Shorty was playing at. Could have he been a villain? Trying to trap him and learn his innermost secrets? “You would invite a stranger that you’ve been antagonizing?”

“I wouldn’t call it antagonizing but it sounds like fun.” Shorty shrugged.

There was a safety lecture bubbling up Larry’s chest that he wanted to spill out but he saved it.

“Well, if you would want to have me.” Larry said, shifting a bit uncomfortably, not used to these kinds of situations. He could punch through walls but damn the man that would undo him via his one weakness, everyday social interaction.

Even if this specific situation didn’t count as “everyday”.

“Yeah. Sure. You seem like a fun guy. You gotta work on your trash-talking, though.” Shorty said, walking paces in front of Larry. The taller man walked behind Shorty, like an oversized puppy, following him.

“Hey, what’s your name anyway?” Larry asked. “I’ve been calling you shorty in my head.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And so the plot continued to twist. The end that Evergood Man had yearned for had died away into a new beginning like the sunset over the horizon that gave way to nocturne bliss. No, Evergood Man was dead. He truly was. The titular caricature that he was actually held a substance that he forgot he had. A personality that was derived not from saving lives but from petty trash-talk and childish remarks.

Larry Larson took in a reinvigorating breath and continued walking with Alexander, looking forward to their dinner that was just instant noodles with the side of eggs.