Shoot Me a Power Ranger

Jikkie trampled after his big sister who was mocking his distinguishable waddle. Her hands waved in the air as she lured him into running with a McDonald’s Power Rangers toy that had recently been found mottled in ketchup and alleged mayonnaise.

The only thing he wanted was to beat his sister at something. Anything, really.

“Give it back, Myla!” He yelled, not knowing whether that would really help him out not. “It's mine!”

“This? This is yours?” She flung the plastic toy in the air, catching it in the same second. “This? This? This?” She continued again and again.

“Gimme it!” The boy pleaded, trying to intercept one of her catches.

Myla used her height to tower over her midget brother and sprinted down the uneven sidewalk in long strides. Jikkie, on the other hand, was met with a moment of genius as he eyed the amazingest scooter he’d ever seen lounging in the driveway of his best friend.

“Netty! Can I have your scooter? Can I have your scooter? Pretty please, can I have your scooter?” Jikkie cried as he waddled across the holographic road to her metal residence.

A small girl with goldilock braids and snowy eyes stared at Jikkie, not questioning whether the stuttering maniac breathless in front of her had any relation to Myla Marlens. Her eyes gazed towards the figure still running to Nowhere-important and quickly concocted the plan recently made in the dwarf’s mind.

“But that’s my brother’s.” It wasn’t her obligation to go along with the plan.

“Brian or Peter?” He challenged, trying to find a loophole in her few words.

“Brian Matthew Jacobs. Not yours, Gilbert.” She crossed her arms as menacingly as she could. “And Peter’s still in the womb.”

The little boy’s face contorted again, this time from being called by his real name. By his best friend. Oh, no. The abstraction brewing in his head left just as swiftly as it had occurred to him, never to be thought of again.

“Oh, pretty please with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle and a nugget on top?” His mind went back to the mission at hand.

She crossed her arms even harder this time while her snowy eyes fused with a fiery red. Jikkie didn’t mind, though, as he went straight for the lustrous vehicle still basking in its eternal glory. Netty almost shot lazers from her eyes as she tackled the short fellow in front of her.

“You can't have it! Brian would kill you!” She pushed him to his knees.

“But it's right there! And Brian already tried that!” He pushed her to the floor with zero remorse.

He then continued to walk steadily towards the magnificent being, as if it were truly that magnificent. Netty acted quickly in taking a final attempt to take down the amalgam-boy, grabbing his feet as he straddled past her. Oops.

The rusted iron and aluminium seeping from his chubby legs permeated throughout her body, destabilizing her almost immediately. She slumped to the floor with a groan; snowy, fiery eyes meeting a deathly grey.

“Netty?” Jikkie quit his running, kneeling beside her limp body. “Netty are you dead?” He shook her with all his strength, which was approximately the same amount as a whiny couch potato’s. A hot potato would be nice to have right about now.

Jikkie shook his head to get rid of the happy thought and went back to jolting Netty back and forth. After a while, her numb eyes regained their vibrant color, though the fiery red was nowhere in sight.

“No, I’m still here.”

“Wait.” He paused, looking into the set of eyes in front of him. “How do you know you’re not dead, and so am I?”

“The clouds aren’t made of gold.” She laid on her back, using both shrimp-like hands to twirl the end of one of her braids. The disheveled braids swung freely as she made her way to her feet, completely unaware of what she was doing three minutes ago.

“Do you know what you were doing before you fell?” Jikkie said with an inkling of hope.

“I fell?” The simple question brang a smile to the boy’s face. Of course, Netty wasn’t stupid, so he knew he couldn’t actually let out a smile. So, he did one on the inside of his hardwired skull.

“Yeah, you did.” He got up to look Netty in the eye. Or from where he stood, the bottom of her chin. No point in selling the lie like that used-car salesman Mama saw last week. “You were just about to let me hitch a ride on your scooter to catch Myla.”

“So that’s mine?” She motioned towards the scooter still glittering in the six afternoon moons. “I thought it was, was,” she paused to think. “I thought it was, was, wa-”

“I don’t know who you’re thinking of, but that’s definitely yours. You named it Jon.”

“Jon?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the one that named it Jon.” Don’t smile. Don’t smile. His lips curled upwards, uh-oh. Ok, don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“I guess a dumb name can still be funny, right?” Her lips curled upwards in a likewise motion, her face highlighted with confusion. Good, she bought it. “Where’d Myla go?”

Jikkie’s face found its own display of confusion. Trying to remember where his sister had ran off to, he pointed his finger in a random direction. As soon as he lifted his finger, he remembered which offbeat sidewalk she had used to steal his precious Power Ranger and pointed in the real direction.

Netty nodded in agreement, walking hesitantly towards the unconventional, hovering chariot. She looked at Jikkie who nodded to go on, her face explaining everything as she looked at the blinking array of buttons and other pushable shapes in front of her. Climbing on top of it, she pushed a bright, green button, and Jikkie -- seeing the interstellar vehicle livened up with a golden ambience -- jumped onto the back of her scooter and rode the sky with her.

“This isn’t mine is it?”

“No it isn’t. I mean, yeah, it is. I mean… Get her!” He pointed his finger at the teenage girl wrestling with some other, insubordinate, unintelligible mortals.

Netty rolled her eyes but continued flying, still not knowing who or what owned the scooter she was currently riding. The girl regretted her reaction after seeing the oh, so lovely ‘SELF DESTRUCT’ symbol appear in front of her followed by the sound of falling wind and sight of the heavens opening.

They hit the ground first, making the bellyaching sound second.

One… a partridge in a pear tree

Two… turtle doves

Three… french hens

Still breathing.

“Netty? Are you dead now?” Jikkie put his hand to Netty’s cold face. And slapped her.

No response.

HA. HA. The scooter, absent of any physical damages, said in an automatic voice as the six-year-old boy shed a reluctant tear.

“Shoot me a Power Ranger, Myla.” Jikkie turned his head to see Myla and her friends running to the unmoving person laying beside him. She understood little of what he meant, but, as a somewhat-subordinate, somewhat-intelligible mortal, she obeyed and threw the plastic superhero of Tommy Oliver tucked neatly into her pants to her brother.

With a look of sheer determination and practice, the young superhero shot a beam of lightning from his other best friend’s amazingest Delta Blaster.

HA. HA. THAT BARELY HURT. HA. HA.

“Barely?” Jikkie raised an eyebrow, cuing the fall of the evil scooter into ashful smithereens.

I TRIED TO KILL YOU. I CAN LIE, KID.

The resentful scooter collapsed as it spoke its last words, being carried into the zephyrs of their small municipality. The boy let out a sad smile as he watched Brian’s scooter flatline. As long as it was Brian’s, I think I’ll be fine.

“Still no golden clouds.” A soft voice spoke behind him, and he smiled. Because he knew those snowy eyes were looking at him.