by Madam Marvelous PID# - 26130
The scent of estrogen and testosterone permeates both sides of the Tug of War tournament grounds. Six ropes stretch out with one side being held by Hamburger Aficionados such as The Avenger51, Dr. Silver Strange Surfer, and Crossroads. The competitors at the other end of the rope are Hot Dog Enthusiasts (I have to giggle. Sorry. There is no way to make it not sound like a double entendre.) like Hot Wings, Martial Law, and Macaia’s Daughter.
I can’t help but be a bit star-struck seeing so many big hero names out on the beach in one place. PAIN-GUIN is there. He made big news not too long ago, advancing quickly up to the highest echelon of League War competition. Nobody on the planet can help but know who Midgardsormr is. Shinobi 51 is analyzing his opposition, deciding whose powers to mimic as he prepares to take his place at the rope.
Anomaly is there, the only hero I know whose powers were activated by a lightning strike. I think he is still growing because of it if I am being honest, but it could just be a trick of the light. Captain Bob of the Seraphim Angels is here, as well. Of all the captains here, his name is the easiest to remember.
The Tug of War competition isn’t the only activity on the beach, of course. Many heroes have opted out of the effort of yanking on a thick rope in favor of working on their tans or playing volleyball. Some are out in the water splashing around, scaring the fish, while others are listening to music.
Every gathering has to get a bit political eventually, and the Mayor and Solomon are arguing about divisional gerrymandering or some such topic. Things get a bit heated, but from everything I’ve seen so far, it is typical banter for them. I decide to leave them to argue themselves out and go searching for some of the new initiate heroes I arrived with.
As much as I respect the older heroes, I can’t help but feel like I am part of the next generation. I have hope for the future while so many of them see only doom and gloom. Maybe Agent Leslie was right and the heroes really just need the excuse to have some well-deserved fun. A spark to re-ignite their inner fire for the work we all do. Protecting freedom. Keeping our loved ones safe. Stopping evil from triumphing.
While the holiday is strongly tied to the United States celebrating its formation, I like to think of it more as Independence Day. It isn’t about celebrating just this one country but honoring those who fought to preserve our freedoms and choice to exist as who we want to be. That has all come at a cost over time, and it has been paid in a variety of different currencies. Sometimes even in lives. What we are right now isn’t perfect, but it is much better than it could be as well.
Some of the heroes here are perfect examples of such. Some are aliens from different worlds. A few are from other dimensions, escapees or refugees from a long-lost homeland destroyed before my time. I can’t speak to everyone’s stories, but many are founded in extreme events that separate the hero from their family, in illegal treatment done without consent, and the loss of rights that no being should have to endure.
As my thoughts start to become too much like a dour civics class, I catch a whiff of cooking hot dogs once more. I spy that some of the food has finally been placed out on tables for heroes to dig into. My decision is made. I’m going to have a hot dog first, blistered and blackened just enough to give the needed flavor to an ideal summer treat. Mustard. Sweet relish. Freshly diced onions. Yeah. That’s my jam.
I work my way over to the table and construct my ideal build. I can taste the deliciousness before it ever touches my tongue. I lift the hot dog up and close my eyes to take my first bite.
“You’re a moron!” Someone yells. “You talk too much!” Another voice rings out from behind the mass of people waiting in line for food.
I manage to keep my eyes closed and enjoy my lunch a little bit before I hear the squelchy noise. A gasp of shock silences all from speaking. Opening my eye, I see that someone has thrown a metal chafing dish full of hot dogs all over the arguing Mayor and Solomon. Ketchup, mustard, and all the fixings drip down from their heads to toes.
I duck down beneath the table I am standing next to, fully aware of what two words are going to be shouted next. I am in high school, after all. This is a fairly routine occurrence.
“FOOOD FIIIIGGGHHT!!!!!”
<to be continued…>