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I Had Been an Ordinary Boy

By Tyler R


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I had been an ordinary boy, like any other, just trying to find my way in this confusing world. Unfortunately, my father’s occupation, along with his immense egotism, insecurity, and eccentricity always seemed to interfere. Although I don’t suspect he would have ruined my life any less had he had a different job, it was just easier and more efficient being the President of Earth. And so, as of now, I am hiding from his inescapable reach, feeling him getting closer all the while. I have lost every friend I’ve ever known, to his never ending wrath, so the only place left to hide is in a studio basement owned by my twin brother Greg. Unfortunately I ended up with all the brain cells between the both of us, and I find myself working for the mentally unstable Greg who has employed my skills in the making of an extremely under funded film called The Semi-Invisible Man. And for some inexplicable reason we’re not getting anywhere! As far as my fate is concerned, it has been said my father can find anyone, so I am not that hopeful, but the prospect that frightens me is what he’s going to do to me then. I hope he has his schedule is jam packed so all he has time to do is send a SWAT team down to kill me. Or maybe he’ll be a little more ingenious and frame me for a triple murder, and just after I win the case, have me die of a freak nuclear disaster. Then he can make a couple more hundred million in the making of a dramatic tragedy about his son’s unfair trial, and unfortunate death. Either of those deaths would be merciful, especially considering I have discovered and eradicated eleven of his undercover spies. I though he would have found me by now, but as I said, he’s a busy man. The first actual memory I have of him goes something like this…


I was playing a sort of soccer scrimmage for the mental institution – showing the kids there how it’s done. I was having the time of my life, especially seeing that most of my team was incapacitated due to exhaustion or injury. The other half of the team had switched over to the opposing side, having learned that I never pass the ball. Needless to say, I was losing, but I didn’t care. Now the reason I was playing for a mental institution was, of course, my father. He thought that if I grew up around obvious inferiors, when I was an adult I would assume everyone was my inferior. In fact, the exact opposite had happened, and I felt not necessarily superior, but rather, alone and detached – this is why I have such an odd emotional imbalance. Anyways, back to why I was so happy – the simple reason that my father was out in another galaxy somewhere was enough to make me ecstatic. Plus, I was finally beginning to appreciate life after my great depression. And as if this all wasn’t enough, I had scored two goals! However, it was now moving swiftly toward the end of the game and the score was 4 – 4, so I desperately needed to score. I would be the one to score that goal, I knew it. I dribbled down the whole length of the field without error, while some of my former teammates looked on in awe, and the rest of the audience yelled cheers.  Some kids that had switched to my team only minutes ago to make it fair, now changed their minds again and lined up with the mass of the other team. Getting past the first line of defense, a wall of kids covering the whole field, took some fancy footwork and serious skill, but after, I was a mere twenty feet from the goal, only one defender and the goalie left - so I chanced it. I looked down at the ball for a second to align the target and then WHAM! It went straight off both the defending players’ heads and right toward the goal - people screaming all around me in envy and expectation. I closed my eyes and hoped for the life of me it would go in, and when I looked again it had! I was amazed! A former teammate tackled me in joy and others jumped o top of him – this was the happiest day of my life, although I was hurting all over. Nothing mattered to me for those few moments, and then out of now where this barely recognizable voice comes over the loud speaker. I never knew we had a loud speaker, and then I realized who it was, of course, my dad…he was arguing with the coach, hovering thirty feet above the crowd on his presidential platform. People stood around the coach looking up while he told my father – rules are rules sir. Then my father came back in his usual demanding voice, but a little softer than I expected – but don’t you understand, coach, it’s twice as hard to score on your own goal then the opponents – there’s twice the defense, and you have to admit, my son was pretty good. I finally understood everything and what I had done! I guess I had gotten confused in all the chaos and team switching, but even so I thought my father had a point.

“I never said anything about your son, mister President, frankly your son is an excellent player, but it’s just not fair to the other players.” “They won’t even know the difference!” my father shouted in all his ignorance. I suddenly hated my dad – why couldn’t he just let me face my own utter embarrassment alone? He started arguing again, but I had had enough! I picked up the newly shot soccer ball and threw it straight at him. His primary hololazer shielding vaporized it instantly and his private guards shot me all in the same instant. Two instants later the guards were dead and the kid next to me was laughing. My father shot him to, and then airlifted me to his ship, cursing. Don’t be mistaken, I love my father, and was glad he shot that stupid kid with the dreadful laugh, it’s just that most of the time my dad’s an asshole.


My life is a living hell because of him! And now he wants to kill me because he doesn’t think I deserve the hereditary title of President of Earth, even though I don’t want it. That only makes him more upset. So here I am, because of him, unable to walk or play soccer ever again, and still he continues to haunts me! To get on with my story - here comes my brother right now, the younger, more deserving brother - who has two perfectly good working legs and a brain he’s “saving” for when he really needs it. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want to be President either – so he’s helping me hide to avoid telling our father directly. So, just to make use of me, he’s put me to work on a movie he’s been dreaming about since he was seven. So now he must have come up with some new ideas.

“Ok, on second thought, he’s not really invisible;” he began “he is more non-existent than invisible. Cyrus, are you listening?”

“Uh…ya, in fact, I agree. He’s definitely not invisible, but we’re going to call him the invisible man anyways, ok?” I was confused.

“Ok, fine.-“

“But does he have the ability to turn invisible?”

“No, definitely not. What would be the point? It wouldn’t be cool if you couldn’t see him got through the walls and stuff.”

“Sure, but he has to have an accomplice, like a flying dog that can go invisible.” Now I was just playing with him, but he was serious.

“No, no, no! You’re missing the point!”

“Can he have a pigeon?” I was determined to make him believe a pigeon was necessary for the plot by the time our conversation had ended, and leave him satisfied.

“A pigeon…why would he need a pigeon?”

“It’s his secret weapon. You know – when the superhero gets caught or trapped, he always has a backup, a secret weapon. A pigeon will do the job fine.”

“But…but, why a pigeon? What is a pigeon going to do? Why not a chicken? If you’re going to be stupid you might as well give him a chicken. And that will appease the Pigeon’s Rights Group.”

“Um…ya, but you’re not thinking about something…”


“The Chicken’s Rights Group! Not just that, but chickens are overused. Pigeons actually have a chance to surprise both the enemy and the audience.”

“You’ve got a point, but why wouldn’t the bad guys just shoot it?”

“Because they’re in a different mode of thinking. They’re going to think it’s a gun, or a bomb, or something really cool and unexpected. When they don’t get vaporized or blown up – they’ll be happy, confused, and surprised! It will take them about two minutes to realize it’s a pigeon, and by that time our protagonist will have made a flashing exit!.”

“But wait! What will they do once they realize it’s a pigeon?”

“I don’t know, probably shoot it.”

“Shoot it? Does Non-Violent film mean anything to you?”

“What? Ok, but the pigeon’s only there to serve one purpose, we should dispose of it or the audience might expect it to reappear during the film. But if you want we can just go the next scene and leave the mystery alive…maybe we’ll bring the pigeon back later on, who knows.” He smiled solemnly and finally walked away, realizing this was all too much for him to think about. I went to my office and started to write. I wrote random stuff about myself and my miserable life that happened to pop into my head. I told my life story, and how much I regretted throwing that soccer ball at my father. He might have accepted me if I wasn’t a cripple. I might have had a chance at presidency. I kept writing. I wrote deep stuff, I wrote my prejudices, my opinions, ideas, and anecdotes to go along with each one. Yet I got absolutely nowhere – I needed a miracle. I stopped writing and realized how pointless it was. I looked down. I looked up…nothing came to me…nothing mattered anymore. I wrote anyways. After a minute or two I stopped, and my life flashed before my eyes. I tried to write again. I had the strange feeling that my life had been slowly deteriorating all along, and was now slowly coming to an end. Then all of a sudden a luminescent light lit up my page and I wrote the most genuine writing ever written. I wrote pure genius. I wrote for minutes upon minutes until they melted into hours, and then days – but I kept at it like a mad scientist throughout it all…and then I finally figured out what this life was all about. I had written the meaning of life, calculated it all right on paper. It was amazingly awful. I looked up at the sky in disgust, reached into my drawer, pulled out a gun, and reluctantly lifted it to my head – and then I lost the thought! So I put the gun down and thought a little more. What the hell had I been thinking? What had I been doing? Oh ya…I remembered now. I picked up the gun again and shot myself right through my hard, hopeless skull and out the other end. Surprisingly, as I lay on my desk bleeding violently, I discovered I could still move, so I threw myself a few feet for the dramatic effect. For a second I wondered what I looked like, and then quickly closed my eyes, and began to think some more…just lying there, not dead, not even dying, just thinking. In reality this was a desperate reach out to the cruel world to see if anyone actually cared. I knew they didn’t though – because not even I cared. I mean if I were to walk in to find myself lying on the floor dying I’d say – wow, he finally did it! Then once I realized I wasn’t actually dead, I’d probably shoot myself a couple more times and then sigh in relief. Next I began to think that maybe I had deep emotional and psychological problems. Like the recurring fantasy to inflict fatal damage on my head and live through it. Then all of a sudden in a rather gradual way – I discovered something – I could move my legs! It was a miracle – there was a whole new reason for living! I wasn’t crippled anymore. Unfortunately half my head was missing – so when I stood up I was a little unbalanced, but I was feeling just great. Just then my father walked in with a pulverizer gun and just before he had the nerve to use it, a heart attack shot straight through him. Then all of a sudden, people started to notice to me, and everybody began to care. I became President of the Earth shortly after and started to boss people around. It felt surprisingly good. Ten years later, I was exactly like my father had been - the happiest man on earth.


What do you think of my attempt at a happy ending? A little superficial, unrealistic even? Please let me know by calling the number below…

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