A Modern-Day Superhero

Tight-fitting spandex, bright colors, a booming voice, rippling muscles, and a murderous old lady on his tail- Hangman had it all.

"You'll never- ow- take me- ow- alive, Gladys! OW!"

"You - nasty - disgusting - perverted -" Between each word, the moldy purse came swinging down to whack Hangman in the head. "Walking - in - on - me - when - I'm -"

"It was an accident!" Hangman cried, toppling onto the pavement and trying to do a backwards crabwalk away from her.

"Nasty! Disgusting! Perverted!" Spit flew from the old woman's mouth as she beat at Hangman, who was now attempting to crawl underneath the graffiti-sprayed Dumpster.

"I'm SORRY!" came his muffled voice from underneath the innumerable trash bags. From his view, all he could see were a pair of skinny, chicken-like legs and a faded purse scraping back and forth across the trash-splattered concrete. An eighty-year-old woman was rooting around underneath the Dumpster for him, and Hangman was unashamedly terrified.

A thud- the purse whacking against Hangman's shin. "OW!"

"Come out of there!" Gladys squawked, swinging it back and forth with unexpected ferocity. "I'm going to beat you alive!"

"I'm a SUPERHERO!" Hangman yelped, scrunching himself into the fetal position. "It's my job to protect you!"

A face swam into view- a wrinkled, furious face. Catching sight of her victim, Gladys swung.

"Ow! It was an accident! Ow!"

"Sure- it- was!" Gladys yelled, the purse thumping against Hangman's skull and calf and tricep. "NASTY!"

"Gladys! Think about what you're- ow!"

"DISGUSTING!"

"Ow! Ow! Gladys! Stop!"

"PERVERTED!"

"Gladys! Please!"

"NASTY!" Gladys bellowed, starting again from the top. Hangman inched desperately away.

"DISGUSTING!" Holding in his cries of pain, Hangman shoved his bulk through the opposite side of the Dumpster. His legs were free, finally- and then his waist.

Suddenly, blows were raining down onto Hangman, and he was goggling at a faceful of furious old lady. Gladys had discovered his plot (how could she have? he'd been so clandestine...) and was completely and utterly foiling it.

A weathered elbow slammed ferociously into Hangman's side, and the pain was blistering, but Hangman took the force of it and rolled across the pavement, fumbling his way upright. Gladys looked at him with murder in her eyes, and Hangman ran.

Through a crowded marketplace, underneath a table, through several alleyways... Gladys was behind him, squawking threats and panting like an arthritic dog the entire way.

When Hangman's bulging calf muscles began to feel heavy (had it only been three blocks?) he, being a superhero, attempted to do the thing only attempted in James Bond movies and cartoons. He pushed up from the ground, hurriedly fixed his expression into one of extreme desperation, leapt over the heads of the terrified couples, landed on the striped umbrella that shielded the tables from the sun, and promptly plummeted.

Woozily, he looked up from the mess of fabric. Table umbrellas don't bounce, he thought, wondering vaguely why he was thinking at all. They barely even hold me.

Had the James Bond movies lied?

Hangman didn't have long to think on that, because suddenly cameras were flashing in his face, Gladys was coming up behind them, and his wife was running towards the scene, dressed only in her bathrobe.

Flopping his head back, Hangman groaned.

(hey, you. wanna read it again? i need more words.)

Tight-fitting spandex, bright colors, a booming voice, rippling muscles, and a murderous old lady on his tail- Hangman had it all.

"You'll never- ow- take me- ow- alive, Gladys! OW!"

"You - nasty - disgusting - perverted -" Between each word, the moldy purse came swinging down to whack Hangman in the head. "Walking - in - on - me - when - I'm -"

"It was an accident!" Hangman cried, toppling onto the pavement and trying to do a backwards crabwalk away from her.

"Nasty! Disgusting! Perverted!" Spit flew from the old woman's mouth as she beat at Hangman, who was now attempting to crawl underneath the graffiti-sprayed Dumpster.

"I'm SORRY!" came his muffled voice from underneath the innumerable trash bags. From his view, all he could see were a pair of skinny, chicken-like legs and a faded purse scraping back and forth across the trash-splattered concrete. An eighty-year-old woman was rooting around underneath the Dumpster for him, and Hangman was unashamedly terrified.

A thud- the purse whacking against Hangman's shin. "OW!"

"Come out of there!" Gladys squawked, swinging it back and forth with unexpected ferocity. "I'm going to beat you alive!"

"I'm a SUPERHERO!" Hangman yelped, scrunching himself into the fetal position. "It's my job to protect you!"

A face swam into view- a wrinkled, furious face. Catching sight of her victim, Gladys swung.

"Ow! It was an accident! Ow!"

"Sure- it- was!" Gladys yelled, the purse thumping against Hangman's skull and calf and tricep. "NASTY!"

"Gladys! Think about what you're- ow!"

"DISGUSTING!"

"Ow! Ow! Gladys! Stop!"

"PERVERTED!"

"Gladys! Please!"

"NASTY!" Gladys bellowed, starting again from the top. Hangman inched desperately away.

"DISGUSTING!" Holding in his cries of pain, Hangman shoved his bulk through the opposite side of the Dumpster. His legs were free, finally- and then his waist.

Suddenly, blows were raining down onto Hangman, and he was goggling at a faceful of furious old lady. Gladys had discovered his plot (how could she have? he'd been so clandestine...) and was completely and utterly foiling it.

A weathered elbow slammed ferociously into Hangman's side, and the pain was blistering, but Hangman took the force of it and rolled across the pavement, fumbling his way upright. Gladys looked at him with murder in her eyes, and Hangman ran.

Through a crowded marketplace, underneath a table, through several alleyways... Gladys was behind him, squawking threats and panting like an arthritic dog the entire way.

When Hangman's bulging calf muscles began to feel heavy (had it only been three blocks?) he, being a superhero, attempted to do the thing only attempted in James Bond movies and cartoons. He pushed up from the ground, hurriedly fixed his expression into one of extreme desperation, leapt over the heads of the terrified couples, landed on the striped umbrella that shielded the tables from the sun, and promptly plummeted.

Woozily, he looked up from the mess of fabric. Table umbrellas don't bounce, he thought, wondering vaguely why he was thinking at all. They barely even hold me.

Had the James Bond movies lied?

Hangman didn't have long to think on that, because suddenly cameras were flashing in his face, Gladys was coming up behind them, and his wife was running towards the scene, dressed only in her bathrobe.

Flopping his head back, Hangman groaned.