“Good Morning residents of Peach Trees Park. Please rise to recite the pledge of allegiance” came from the loud speakers outside the apartment my parents and I lived in. Mechanically, I hoisted myself out of bed for the pledge. It was a cold November morning so as soon as I left the relative comfort of the blanket my mother had sewn for me over a decade ago the cold air rushed to greet me with vigor and ferocity. I by body began to shiver, but I stood up and turned to face the flag proudly hanging in my room despite the cold and my own body’s protest.
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the League of Super Heroes for which it stands. One nation above all false idols for peace and safety for all.” I had said those words so many times they came as naturally to me as breathing.
“Thank you. Today is Friday November 21st 2076. All school, work, and church related activities are scheduled as normal, but at 7 o’clock there will public trial in Blue square. Attendance is mandatory. Have a productive day.” Boomed into my room as I began getting dressed. I shuffled over to my dresser. It was a solid wooden structure that was supposed to have 4 drawers, 2 long drawers on the bottom and 2 smaller drawers on the top, but one of the long drawers and one of the small drawers were missing. None the less I was glad to have it.
I opened the long bottom drawer and pulled out a pair of pants. They were too large for me and very baggy, but they held in heat and they didn’t have any holes, so they were as nice as pants got for me. I slid them on over the long wool underwear and socks I wore to sleep and I tied the string waist band as tight as I could. They still hung down past my ankles and dragged on the ground, but after I put my boots on they fit fairly comfortably. Next, I grabbed a shirt from the same drawer. It was a long sleeve black polyester shirt with several button holes down the front. There would have been buttons for those holes, but I had volunteered the tin buttons, along with several other metal items, when the state had called for metal to be donated to help with the building of some new defenses a few years ago. I put the shirt on, but because of the lack of buttons my chest was fairly exposed, so I decided to put on a shirt under it. I reached in and pulled out a white polyester shirt. On the front of the shirt was the national flag: red and white bars supporting two hands shaking, one hand was light blue while the other was dark blue. It was the same symbol that was on my flag, on buildings, and in the top right hand corner of all my history books.
With my outfit complete I looked around for my school bag. I was a small faded green bag my father had used when he was in the army. He had fought against the Canadian and Mexican invasions into the United States. He fought so well in the wars that the state rewarded him with a plus sized apartment for him and his family, which was where we lived. Thought the army had been disbanded several years ago after the Super Hero League decided that “human lives are too important to best spent in war. They are much better suited to work long hard lives building and creating the pillars of society”.
My room was about 4 feet wide by 5 feet long and about 6 feet tall, which was perfect for me. I could fit a small desk, my single bed, and my history book collection in my room comfortably. Looking around I saw my bag under my desk on top of a stack of books. I lifted my bag off the books and checked its contents to make sure I had everything I need for school. Two pencils, one note book, one transit pass, one scholastic pass, and one lunch voucher.
Looking down at the stack of history books my bag had been resting on I saw my favorite issue: Captain Millennium and the Super Hero League battle the South American Hall of Justice. In this issue Captain Millennium and the rest of the League had to defend the southern border of the United States from an invasion by the South American Hall of Justice. This issue centers around the beginning of the war when millions of South American Soldiers and Super ‘Heroes’ surge into the United States seizing parts of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, and Louisiana. They burned our buildings, raped our women, salted the land, and killed millions. This issue ends with The League, led by Captain Millennium, charging head first into the invading force and beating them back one punch at a time.
This issue was one of my favorite for 2 reasons: 1. The last 10 pages are home to some of the best fighting scenes in history and 2. My father was in a panel next to the Captain Millennium. In the panel my father, the war hero, was driving his bayonet through the heart of an enemy soldier. This, if nothing else did, solidified my father as a hero in my eyes. I put the book into my bag and left my room. I entered the largest, and only other, room in our apartment.
This larger room served as the kitchen, family room, and master bed room. My parent’s bed was next to the oven, which also served as their heater. At the foot of their bed was a small dinner table with a singular wooden stool opposite the bed. Next to the oven was a small sink, but it was mostly useless at this time of the year because the cold had frozen the pipes and they wouldn’t thaw till late March or April.
“How’d you sleep honey?” asked my mother. She was standing by the oven toasting some bread. She was a smaller stout woman with a perpetual smile on her face. She had long brown hair and a tan even though it was winter. Not that anyone could see any of that under her layers upon layers of clothing she had on.
“I slept well mom. How did you and dad sleep?” I asked warmly. Her smile faded a little as she turned her head towards the solidary window of the room. My father was sitting at the window nibbling on a piece of toast and holding an unlit cigarette. He seems to be in a different world.
“He had one of his dreams last night, but I calmed him down and got him back to bed. He’s fine now” she said tenderly.
“You need a light dad?”. He didn’t respond. “Dad?” I repeated. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my most useful position in the world, my lighter. I had found it in a gutter near the school when I was in 9th grade. There was no easy way to get lighter fluid or anything that valuable, so I had modified the light to work as sort of a make shift mini torch. I flicked open the top exposing the worn down flint and burnt wick. I walked over to my father and began trying to get the lighter to light and after a few tries a small flame was present at the end of the wick. I lit the cigarette in my dad’s hand and waited for a response. My dad did nothing for a few moments, but after the smoke had a chance to rise and hit his nostrils he snapped out of his trance.
“Hmm, what? What’s going on?” said my father in a semi-confused state.
“Nothing honey, your son was just lighting your cigarette”. My mother sighed and laughed. My father looked down to see the cigarette burning in his hand. He raised it to his lips and took a puff from it. He seemed to savor every second of it.
“Thank you” my dad said in a clear concise voice.
“No problem dad, but we have to get moving. We’re going to miss the bus into the city if we don’t hurry.” I said with some urgency. My father looked at his watch and nodded. My mother and father got up, grabbed their jackets, and we made our way to the street.
Getting to the street wasn’t too bad for us. There was an elevator in our building, but it had been “out of order” since I was born, so the stairs were only option unless you wanted to try and fly. We lived on the 6th floor in a 20 story building, so we were very lucky. I had friends who lived in the top 5 stories of their buildings and it would take them almost 30 minutes to get to the street.
Our commute to the city wasn’t too bad. It only took an hour. First we would pass the apartment buildings where most people lived. Row upon row of square grey buildings. 20 stories tall and 10 apartments wide on all sides, every single one indistinguishable from the others. Occasionally someone would open a little stand to sell food or clothing, but those kind of entrepreneurial ventures were few and far between. With one of those stores there was an overwhelming likeliness that one of the block gangs would come by and help themselves to everything in your shop. Block gangs weren’t bad in my block because we were so close to the bus station and that meant more people and more witnesses and more trouble than anything was worth, but the buildings further away from the stations were another story. The ones miles away from the station. The ones over grown and all-consuming plant life. Those blocks were more feral than the forest. It was kill or be killed out there. Every month or so one of those buildings have a riot or a fire or a mass killing. I felt for them, but I’m just a person. I’m not a super hero. I can’t help them.
As we came to the end of the apartments I noticed something, several patriotic motivational posters had been vandalized! One Poster of Captain Millennium had his eyes crossed out and several phallic symbols drawn on it. Another with Dash had "Run Home, the Super Heroes will get you" Written over it. The last in the line was a poster of Elixaria, clad in her bright green leotard and her hands glowing with healing power, her was covered in "super whore" and "super slut" and several other horrible slurs. If the transit system hadn’t been automated the guards would have had a lot to say about that hooliganism.
After the apartments we passed the farms. Massive fields of produce like cabbage or cucumbers or carrots or potatoes or turnips. It looked like enough food to feed everyone, but with a population of over 3.5 million in a single city food was always in short supply. No one ever tried to steal the food though, well no one sane. Besides stealing being immoral, the fields were patrolled by the Synthetic Security System, the security system that replaced the police back in 2050. According to issue 107 of my history books, Dr. Roswell created the S.S.S to patrol Super Hero compounds and keep them safe while the hero was off doling out justice, but he realized the common man needed this security too, so he allowed the S.S.S to replace the ineffective and corrupt police forces around the United States. They stand about 8 feet tall with dark black skin. They had four arms and held two high powered anti-personnel rifles that could hit and kill a man from 100 yards away easily. They also had 4 huge legs that could crush a man as easily as you could crush a peanut. The only part of them that was remotely human was the face. It had two ocular receptors, eyes, that glowed light blue normally, but they would turn bright red if someone stepped out of line.
The last thing we passed before we got to the city was Old Town. This was a thin ring of destroyed buildings around the larger city. It was left in ruins to remind every worker of the destruction that could befall us all if the heroes did not fight for us. Some people still lived in Old Town, the ones too sick or old to work or earn a living. It was the city’s eternal graveyard. I would always say a small prayer as I ended and exited Old town. I prayed to the Elixara, the super heroine of healing, that they would die quickly or recover and join the rest of us.
Finally entered the city, well the outer city. The city itself was split into two parts: the outer city and the inner city. The outer city was for the common man and was full of factories, mills, a few schools, and Super Hero League certified shops where we could buy tools or batteries or anything we couldn’t make ourselves. It was usually an expensive trip, but we didn’t have any other options. According to the Super Hero League these were the best products they could find and they would only allow the best products for their people, but the best products didn’t come cheap. Hearing this made me feel sorry for the people around the world that didn’t have our super heroes to look after them.
The inner city was made for the Super Hero League and any visitors they may have. No common man had ever seen it, but from the rumors I heard it is like heaven. Gold and Diamonds everywhere. Too beautiful for words. Some people didn’t like this though. Once a man questioned why the heroes got to live like this while many people suffer every day. Captain Millennium, one of the founding members of the Super Hero League, answered saying “We choose this life style because we need to be able to rest and recharge as fast and efficiently as possible. If we lived like the common man it would take infinitely longer and be infinitely less effective. While I see why you would have a grievance I promise it if for your benefit that we live like this for if we did not the results would be catastrophic.”. The vast majority of people took this answer to be satisfactory and it made sense. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be fight villains and save people very day in and out.
The bus pulled up to my school at this point in my train of thought.
“I’ll see you later dad. Be productive and safe at work” I said. My father noticed and nodded adding a faint smile to the gesture. He meant well, but his job took a lot out of him. He worked in a metal refinery. Most people worried about the massive pots of boiling hot metal or the morality rate for the workers in the factory, but not my father. He did his job without a complaint. My father was a good man. Almost a hero.
“Have a good day at school honey! See you at the trial!” yelled my mother as the bus pulled away. I waved and smiled.
Going to school was the second best part of my week. Between seeing my friends, going to classes and the state funded hot meals; what was not to like? I entered the school’s court yard and looked around for my friends. The court yard itself was fairly large, about 50 yards long by 20 yards wide. It was encircled by an old chain link fence that had rusted to the bone, but the razor wires the rode the fence was replaced every year.
“Nothing is more important than your safety” said the principal when someone asked about the razor wire and how often it was replaced.
A single concrete path lead from the gated entrance to the school. The concrete was cracked and missing in some places, but it was kept from being overgrown; not that the grass could have over grown the concrete. The grass was so brown and dead that it was a miracle to me that it wasn’t just dirt.
“We can’t waist our precious water on aesthetics like grass when we have crops to grow” said the principal when someone brought up how the grass could be a fire hazard. I mean he was right. We had to pump in water from the surrounding rivers and lakes to facilitate life here in the city and the pipes had a pension for leaking, which is how the forests near the apartments thrived.
“Hey Eric! Over here!” came a voice near the school’s main door. I looked up and saw Connor and Alexi, two of my friends, standing there. Connor was about 6’3 with a broad muscular build and short brown hair. Alexi was smaller, maybe 5’10, with a slim build and medium length black hair. Connor was wearing a tan, or what used to be tan, over coat with a white shirt under it, jeans, and tan colored shoes. The cold never seemed to bother Connor, so he could get away with wearing fewer layers. Alexi was bundled up though. He was wearing a gray over coat, gray inter coat, and probably another layer or two that I couldn’t see. Even with the layers upon layers of cloths he had on; Alexi still looked very put together and so did Connor. They, along with several other groups of students, stood around the entrance to the building.
The school itself was a building with great dignity and grace. It was a 10 story tall gray building, similar to the apartments, large banners of Super Heroes on any surface that wasn’t a window. One of the banners depicted a non-descript masculine body with the national flag on his chest flying head long into enemy gun fire “we defend you”, it read. The one next to it was a feminine figure, with the same logo on her chest, healing an ailing civilian. That one read “we heal you”. The last one in this row showed several images: the first was of a man in a factory, the next was of a man in a mine, and last was a woman working a field. That one read “So you must work”. I had seen banners every day for as long as I could remember. The message always rang so clear in my heard that I owed something to the super heroes. That they risked their lives for me, so I had to work to repay them. Simple economics.
There were also several statues flanking the entrance, each of a different super hero doing an act they’re famous for. The largest of all these statues was, of course, Captain Millennium. He was depicted doing what most people would consider the most important event in world history. He was depicted grabbing the last US president by the throat, lifting him off the ground, and choking the life out of the corrupt self-centered bastard. On the pedestal of the statue read “the day Captain Millennium created the Super Hero League to replace the corrupt, self-centered, bourgeoisie, and ineffective government.