I always hate it when you read fantasy or science fiction or thrillers written in 1st person. Part of what I love about these genres is all of the action, and the most gripping part of that for the reader is fear for the main character’s life. Only, you kind of always know he is going to live. There will be some framing story where they are holed up in an attic writing their memoirs whilst avoiding fascists, or telling tales of their past heroics to their grandchildren. I’m not in Miss Franks’ attic, I’m in my life. This isn’t my written memoirs or anything like that, this is just the voice inside my head. Voice inside your head? I hear you asking. Every self respecting sane person has one. It’s the part of me that narrates what is going on in my life, even though I know what’s going on. I have eyes! I’m the main character in this story, of course. Of course I am, it’s my head.
Only, I’m not really the main character, am I. As I sit here in uni not really listening to the lecturer I think about the Black X. Not in a gay way, I’m straight, although I have heard he is pretty muscular. He must be, the way he pounds those drug dealers and gun runners. For some reason the police don’t like him. They make statements saying that someone is going to get hurt and completely gloss over the fact that he saved some teenage girl from becoming the next knife crime statistic. He doesn’t really get a chance to explain himself either, seems as how no one without broken ribs and a concussion has ever seen him for longer than a split second. I know he is a superhero though, and I’m going to find him. Why? You ask. Voice in my head, we are being rather inquisitive today aren’t we. I always wanted to be a journalist when I grew up, but I thought I would have more respectability if I studied a “real subject”, and so I’m doing English Lit. Hence the me sitting here talking to myself whilst my lecturer drones on about some book I got bored reading. Don’t get me wrong, I love reading, I do, but I think I should have just kept it as a hobby rather than trying to do it as a degree. Where was I? Oh yes I was explaining that I wanted to be a journalist, and I believe that my perfect opportunity would be if I could help The Black X tell his side of the story, like Lois Lane does for Superman. That sounds gay again doesn’t it . I’m not making a very good first impression. Anyway, I do it for all of those reasons, that and I think that superheroes are fucking awesome and I would love to meet him. End of lecture now, the walk home is always a good chance to talk through things with myself. It’s not a very long walk, or even an interesting one. It’s just 10 minutes walking through the suburban streets of St. Anne’s not looking twice at what under privileged families might think was a gross over indulgence in comfort. Detached whitewashed houses with multiple 4X4’s parked on the perfect asphalt driveways, separated by bright strips of green, green grass. I did that thing again where I was going to think about something but then got distracted by some cars and thought about something completely different. Does that happen to you? I wonder if it’s my subconscious trying to make me not think about things, or maybe I just have the attention span of my grandparents when they try to ask what I am doing at university. The Black X. I was telling you about The Black X. The last time I went hunting for him was a couple of days ago when he blew up a drug palace across town.
I was sat in my room flicking through the music channels screaming bloody murder with Sum 41. I heard my Dad calling up the stairs.
“Hey James, have you seen what's on the news?”I flicked over to the news channel.
“. . . latest reports are suggesting this attack could be linked to the terrorist known as The Black X”
They’re still calling him a terrorist. So naïve. My dad opened the door to my room and came over to sit beside me on my bed, as we watched the news.
“ . . . eye-witnesses at the scene have told police that a black figure was seen leaving the area moments after the explosion, which occurred on the Terrance estate just outside of central St. Anne's at around 3 o'clock this afternoon. . .”
The news channel continued on with their degradation of previous Black X “attacks”, before flashing up a highly blurred image of a dark shape, the sort used to “prove” the existence of aliens or big foot. They claim it was taken by a member of the public just seconds after the “attack”. The member of public in question was nowhere to be seen.
By this time I was already up and getting my things, including my leather riding jacket and my digital SLR camera. I also stuffed the usual phone-wallet-keys combination into their respective pockets in my jeans.
“Dad, I'm going to go check this out” I half told and half asked my dad, as I ran down the stairs towards the garage.
“Be back for tea!” He called after me as I entered the garage. He understands that this means a lot to me and so he doesn’t mind too much about me rushing out. I think he worries about me going out to places like this alone sometimes. Even if it’s just because mum’s not here to tell me to “be careful” herself.
“I will Dad.“ I called back and jumped onto my motorbike. She is a real beauty. A racing red Kawasaki Z1000, given to me by my uncle for my 18th birthday. Wow, I really owe that man, the drink I bought him as thanks still doesn’t seem enough. I always like to think that the thrill I get from riding it every time goes some way to showing him my appreciation. I blazed out of the garage, the engine roaring its bestial roar. The sound alone is enough to give you a funny turn (must have been another gay day) , let alone the speed. I flew down my street and around the corner. Soon I was on the freeway feeling the usual thrill as I turned the throttle up to full and clung on for dear life. The roar was now a high pitched whine reminiscent of an F1 car flying down the home straight. My open leather jacket whipped around in the breeze created as I blasted past company men on their way home from work in their comfortably slow sedans. I was on the way to my work.
Readings of this story, along with updates, can be found at www.youtube.com/3CheersForVirgins
