My city in sight.

How many prayers become lost in the city's screams? To wither in the gray smoke of the sewers,and never reach another ear, or be ignored. The night is cold and frost coats all metal. The snow falls like grace,and gives this place a false sense of a wonderland. Push the snow away and you will see the rust and blood that builds this place. The city is wrapped with the ancient vices of us. The streets are lighted with damp lights and the sky scraper's peaks become dark in the night. The rats and snakes come out at this time. Ready to eat what they find.
My cigarette keeps me occupied,until some poor soul's scream calls for me. I must admit, I am not the perfect hero. I do what I can and help who is within reach. I don't push my limits. I realized no matter how many lives you save there will always be the unlucky few, and the world will always yell to you,”why couldn't you save them?”. When you offer food to the starved, they all grab for you.
I cant blame them. Its their nature. Survival is basic instinct, and when its threatened, you do what you must. I can see the thugs come out now. Out of the dirty pool of rooms they call homes. They look around with smiles and relaxed bodies like they have nothing to fear. Here, not even the police can turn such moods. And why should they? Authority here is a joke. Justice is closer to fiction, and whoever calls for it better hold a bible and a prayer.

My legs dangle from the buildings edge, and if someone saw me they would just think of me to be some kid. How wrong they would be. My knuckles have seen more blood and bone than a butcher.  The heavy beats of the nightclubs begins to vibrate the air. Even with such death and tragedy in this city people somehow still want to venture out at night, looking for a good time. It baffled me. But who knows, maybe the city isn't aware that its eating itself alive. I sure know. Sometimes I wonder why am I doing this. Here sitting on this roof waiting to save some immoral b*****d from another immoral b*****d. I didn't have some burning desire for justice, or felt like I owed the city. I know I owe them nothing. But still. Why am I running around like some f*****g bat out of hell and bashing the life out of ' the bad guys'? Guess I cant go living on knowing people are dying when there is something I can do about. Also when having powers like this how can you go on not using them?

Reviews

[Chris]

An anti-superhero?

This was a beginning to - what? Where do YOU want to take this? - to reality or fiction? to fantasy? You character has anger and hasn't decided who or what to be yet...

[Mr. Lou]

actually i havent decided yet. just wrote it. but fiction yes

[Chris]

I look forward to the "view"!