"Next question for Senator Kerry. What do you believe needs to be done about National Security?" Jim Lehrer spoke with a confidence few men attained in life, addressing the Democratic Candidate positioned merely feet away. John Kerry was a tall man, whilted by the years that had played a heavy toll on his existance. His clothes were pressed and confident, showing a very genuine attitude of cleanliness for the man. He wore a clean suit, red tie, and white undershirt, which made him very generic. He was a Vietnam Veteran, a father, a Massachusettes Senator, and, now, running for the position of the President of the United States. Kerry was not very lovely to look at, his wrinkles and greying hair proving that he was on his way down the metaphorical hill, yet there was something attractive in his eyes. He had a winning smile, a commanding voice, and an overral aura of appreciation wherever he went.
And he didn't scream like a lunatic.
"First," began the Senator, "I, too, along with my opponent, send my deepest regards to the families that lost loved ones to the Attack on New York City last month." Kerry was very poise while speaking, a slight quiver of sadness indicated in his voice. The Chrysler building had fallen only weeks prior, but it felt undershadowed to the terrorist attack on the World Trade Centers that not many people gave a damn anymore. He mentioned it for the families. "I believe in a stronger America," continued John, "A country where we don't need to live in fear of someone harming us, some aggressor, be it terrorist, evil villain, or a hideous beast bent on destruction." Kerry turned to the man across the platform, George Bush, junior. Mr. Bush was a very intelligent man, and, much like Senator Kerry, had shown the miles he had traveled in the sagging aspects of his facial skin. But Bush, too, had a sort of warmth to his character that people liked. George was a hands-on type of guy, if he had not ran for a government position, he'd probably be showing the kids around the block how to adjust a carburator. He had proven to the American People that he would not hide in a bunker during an attack, but instead came along during the rescue effort on August 20th. And the GOP liked that about him.
Mr. Kerry continued. "The President, in only four short years, suffered two grave losses on our soil. The World Trade Center, a pinnacle of the capitalist union, fell at the hands of Al Queda terrorists. And just this past month, a group of American Citizens negligently caused more harm than good." Kerry's booming voice was taking the entire auditorium. The audience of Miami citizens gazed on to the giant man, listening to everything he had to say. "I remember a time when Super Heroes fought to protect people, that their number one priority was to have NO HUMAN CASUALTIES." John was talking with his hands, creating a very powerful speech. It was as if he was challenging God. "Did that virtue die with Super Man? We have entered an age where the protection of the innocent has become a 'laser light show', a joke. I firmly believe that the rising youth of heroes, super or not, well, laws need to be made to restrict their capabilities. There needs to be a sanction on the enforcement of peace, and we can not let one individual decide what measures need to be taken to protect a town, city, state, country, nation, or the entire world. We have our right to voice how we want to be protected, and we have the right to live without fear of buildings crashing down upon our children."
Lehrer interrupted. "Your two minutes are up, Senator. Mr. President, rebuttle?" The Audience fixed their gaze upon the smaller gentleman at the right of the stage. George looked back, a calm, confident look upon his face, as he slowly brought a glass of water to his lips and drank.
"The World is not a safe place," George started, locking a gaze with the people below, in the dark. "When my father, George Bush Senior, was the Commander in Chief, a group by the name of the Justice League ensured that the people of Kuwait were not harmed. When Scud missiles were suddenly launched, it was the Justice League who had intercepted, deactivated, and grounded said projectiles. And Wonder Woman, who was in command of the League at the time, was not following direct order from our government. They acted on free will, doing what the believed was the right thing." Bush was a much more reserved speaker, at times leaning over his podium unconciously. He spoke casually, sometimes having hiccups in the sentences he spoke, making him seem like the average joe walking down the street of your hometown. He was someone people could relate to, someone with convictions, someone with a purpose in life. "The Attack in August, although tragic, could have very well had a worse outcome. If the World//Inferno Alliance under command of Comm. Franz Hintz, 70 deaths may have actually been 70,000 deaths. If a sanction is placed on super heroes, more people could very well perish. Under my Foreign Policy plan, Super Heroes' rights to the protection of our lands will be increased, allowing them to take pre-emptive strike against hostile villians with plots to endanger the lives of our families."
John laid back in his bed. His feet were throbbing inside his brand new black sneakers, slowly expanding to almost blow the seams right out of his soles. It was getting dark, the sun setting on the great ocean that lay just beyond the dunes out of his window. His giant duffle bag lay at the foot of his bed, but he was not in the mood to begin unpacking just yet. A magnanimous pain had swarmed his right temple, under the gauze and tape, disallowing John to form any coherant thought. He was content on sleeping in the clothes he had worn all day, still drenched in stinking sweat and clutching to his body. He was wearing his favorite button down hawaiin shirt he had picked up at a Pacific Sunware back at home, and baggy khaki cargo pants. His tossled hair had become matted under the sweat he had produced while coming to the house. Overall, he was tired, but he was happy he had finally came to his new home. The past month had been very hectic, a constant melding of color and sounds that could have very well taken place in one day if yesterday was August and not September. He had found himself in a hospital, a victim of an attack on New York City. Unfamiliar faces had visited him everyday, spending time with him and gazing upon him with warm eyes while he ate and drank soft foods, making him very uncomfortable. He felt very self concious about the fact that he was locked to a bedspread, and was riddled with stitchings and gauze. He almost felt like a mummy the entire time.
He had spent two weeks confined to the room, when he was approached by an executive-type man. The man was balding slightly, and what remained of his hair were only grey stumps that formed a horseshoe on the very top of his head. He was caucasian, stout, and clean-cut; wore a brown suit with a buckled tie; and whatever was below the waist was merely imagination for John. He never sat up to greet the balding man, as he could have very well been stark naked south of the border. The man introduced himself on the numerous visits he made with John, but John could never remember his name. It wasn't that important to him. What was important was that the man constantly made references to a highschool on the West Coast for special teenagers. At first, John assumed that the man was calling him retarded, but it soon became clear that the school was for GIFTED children. The balding man had made arrangements for John to go to this school, and although John had no fucking clue why, the man constantly insisted that he would. He even spoke of free room and board, free meals, free education, and a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean. To be quite frank, the idea of going to school on the beach "kicked him in the ass and called him grandma", to make reference to something he and his friend's mentioned when something was really cool. Or hip. Or rad. Or any other obscure 1980's lingo. So, here he was. He had been released from the hospital, taken a nice long flight, waited for a bus all day, walked a few blocks, and came to the dormroom.
And he was now a student at Megaville Highschool.
John sat up, taking a deep breath and looking around at what was to be his home for the next four years. The room was almost barren, containing very little in the ways of furniture. It was about 20 feet by 30 feet, to give an estimate, and contained a dresser, desk (which held a 20 inch color screen television), and the bed he sat on. It took John a moment to realize that there were no closets within the room, no chair for the desk, and, most importantly, no air conditioning! Here he was, in fucking California, one town south of San Fran, and he didn't have a god damn AC unit. And John was starting to feel the heat get to him, which tossled him right out of bed and back onto his feet. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep just yet. John made his way out of his bedroom, and into the room just beyond. The building was set up as such: The front door led to a basic living room with a fireplace, large screen tv, couches, and ping-pong table. From there, across from the front entrance, was a hall that contained eight seperate doors and rooms. Two of those rooms were reserved for the bathroom utilities (one on each side of the hallway), and the other six were various sleeping quarters for the students that lived with John. Each student of Megaville lived on campus, and each dorm was set up the same. John stepped out of the hallway into the bright light of the livingroom. The sound of a very much alive television echoed from across the room, and John could make out the figure of a thin person sitting on the couch watching whatever was on. Feeling a great sense of nervousness and constriction of confidence, John eased up his pace to that of a soft tip-toe. He had that anxiety feeling when confronting a new person, not knowing what to expect. This entire school was full of fucking genious and gifted kids, could they be self absorbed and snooty? John found himself a reclining chair next to the couch, and planted himself their. The kid sitting on the couch turned his head for a brief moment to acknowledge John, nodded, and went back to gazing at the flashing television. The guy was thin and tall, maybe weighing about 130 lbs and just barely scratching 5'10''. His skin was slightly pale, but not sickingly, and smooth. He had a clean face and large, thick, "emo" glasses. He also wore a large black trenchcoat with the collar pulled up, just to give the impression of the 'tough guy' look. His hair was spiked and dark black, which was a little long, but John wasn't here to give grooming advice.
Silence between the two. An awkward silence, which caused a shiver to rocket up John's spine. He had to break the silence, and try to start a conversation, or his spine would shatter under the uncontrollable vibrations inflicting his spine.
"Hi." He stammered, in a very nervous matter of speaking. The kid looked over, placing his arm on the rest of the couch, and looking back at John. He had a sort of blank stare in his eyes, but it was still reading John, and trying to piece together what John was all about.
"Hey there. The name's Dib." The character introduced himself almost instantly after looking at John. "Are you a freshman here, too?"
"Yeah. I came here from New York City."
"N-WHY-See, huh?" Dib remarked, looking up at the ceiling, stretching his arms. John immediatly could tell something was odd with this kid. He was gathering all the information around him, and had a quick way of talking. He could easily relate this kid to a paranoid-dillusional case, but he kept his comments to himself. No use starting a fucking fight with him.
I'll write more later. It's late, but I couldn't wait to post something up. Crits welcome.