We all have a story
why can’t I have
He launched the train off the tracks, grinning in delight as he listened to the terrified screams of the passengers trapped inside. The train plummeted towards the water, about to hit, when suddenly it stopped midair.
“What the—”
The train began to rise up, until a man became visible underneath, floating on the air, holding the train in his hands like it weighed nothing. He tossed it over so it landed on the land by the tracks, away from the water. Everyone inside cheered.
“It’s over, villain,” the hero boomed, “You’ve been defeated!”
The villain cackled, “You really think that I could be beat so easily? Think again!” he grabbed the tracks straight off the ground and swung at the hero. The hero was too fast though, dodging the tracks and then flying forward towards the villain. One swift punch to the head and the villain was knocked unconscious.
Everyone in the city cheered, watching the fight on TV, or in person, applauding the hero on his latest victory over the villain. The hero bowed, and flew off into the sky, most likely to teleport back to his house in downtown Storyville. The crowds dispersed. I glanced over at the train, where everyone was slowly unloading, fixing hats or readjusting brief cases. No one seemed too fazed by the whole occurrence though. Business men talked with one another as they bandaged up cuts on their faces from the shattered windows, and women chattered as they used wood to create splints for broken bones until someone could get them to the hospital.
“I’m so glad James’s story went well!” a young girl exclaimed, “He told me he was worried he would forget his lines!”
“James?” a boy laughed, “James would never forget his lines. Heck, no one would forget their lines.”
“What was your story like?” the girl asks, hobbling on her quickly made crutches.
“I’m a detective,” he tells her, “And I had to find out who the murderer was!”
“Wow!” the girl grins, “I’m a princess! My prince had to come save me.”
“Where’s your prince now?” the boy asks, helping her walk a bit.
“He’s at school,” she says, “He wasn’t chosen to be a Bystander for this story.”
I turn away from their conversation, walking quickly back towards downtown Storyville, where the school is. I had only been chosen to miss half a day as a Bystander, so I still had some classes to go to.
“How was it, Darcy?!” everyone asked when I sat down at lunch.
“James was great,” I tell them. Everyone cheered, and then turned back to their own conversations. I looked down at my plate, where my green beans have been arranged to read “CONGRATS, JAMES!” by the lunch ladies. I sigh.
All I want is to get my story. Not be a Bystander for everyone else’s.
Create an account

Create an account to get started. It’s free!

Sign up

or sign in with email below