A cape fit for heroes.

Sadie woke up feeling groggy, her tiny eyes waxed shut, she was barely able to open them until she reached for the bottle on her nightstand and splattered some flower water on her face. The warm temperature of the spill did nothing to help freshen her up, but it did leave a tepid puddle on her mattress.

With some effort, she broke the wax seal off her lids and flung them open. An empty white wall met her sight, she contemplated the ceiling plate where the lamp used to hang before it collapsed from the weight of a noose. "Gravity is the bane of my life," she thought.

She lifted her leg up in the air, then dropped it sideway until it was parallel to the floor. Then rolled out of bed with a slothful tenacity. She had a reason to wake up this morning after all. A reason and alot to do, the plan of Caroline was sophisticated and simple but it required performing many steps, a few of them were relegated to Sadie after she joined their queer group.

She was supposed to call the firestation at 9.00 a.m, the time that Rufuss, the captain of the brigade, would be the most likely to respond to her call of emergency. He was the most stubborn among his team, and with him out of the way, Mirva would wander in the station and occupy the others with her playful flirting while Caroline and Jean-Luc hijack a truck.

Simple enough, Sadie never thought that a phone call is all it takes to be a hero, she had some time to spare before her role was needed, so she searched in her pile of clothes, tussling between dirty tops and bras in favor of a more neutral set.

The only semi-clean top she found was a navel crop top and some dark shorts to match. She was not a fan of showing that much skin, but who'd care to look at her navel anyway, she thought, she didn't consider herself attractive enough to be pestered.

She slipped them on with sluggish speed, then stood in front of a mirror to judge their effect. She hasn't faced her reflection for a long time, the details of her body gave her the creeps.

She was quite the tall girl, though lacking all the other assets that might make a model, her skin was stretched and marked with purple streaks because of her recent growth spurt. Her chest was flat, unless if she were to press her arms together. Her skin color a chalky grey because of her lifelong struggle with crohn's disease. A mild rash affected the left side of her face, but other than that her face was round and pretty normal looking.

She had the guts to face herself because now she was a hero, even though she didn't look the part. "I am too skinny and sickly looking." She said while pinching her stomach. "Hell, even my pelvic bones are apparent like that." She thought for a moment how to fill out the edges of her costume before turning her attention back to her bed. She plucked the cover and draped it around her neck as a cape. It nicely hid her less flattering details, now she was all set to step outside.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

As she closed the door of her appartment, a cough coming from behind her neighor's door was heard, it was old lady Josephine, with her ear glued to the wood. She was always snooping around, eavesdropping on Sadie with the hopes of collecting charges serious enough to get her evicted.

"Bless you." Sadie said, before going on to meet the friendly neighorhood drugdealer.

Life carried on as usual in the city, despite the missing boys. No one (save the parents) was particularly concerned with the disappearance of the boys or curious about their fate. It was a strange revelation to Sadie, that she wasn't the only one whose death wouldn't cause much stir. No one seemed to matter, that thought would've sent a normal person into a cycle of depression, but not Sadie. It brought her relief to know that she shared a trait with the others, and that trait was insignificance.

"They shouldn't get used to being my equals, because soon enough, I will pick up the phone and start dialing, then I will become a heroic figure." An ironic smile lit up her face, she kept herself entertained with eccentric thoughts during the whole trip because her earphones were as dysfunctional as her future. If not, then brown sugar by the Rolling stones would be blaring in her skull right now.

Brown Sugar, how come you taste so good?

Brown Sugar, just like a young girl should

She rubbed her nose and sniffled, high on the guitar solo playing in her mind. It was enough fuel to get her through the slums. Beggars and addicts littered the streets, their fashion attire quite similar to Sadie. She had always given them some spare change when she could, because she knew how difficult facing life was without drugs.

They weren't always grateful though, when she held unto the couple of bucks she had this time, a disease ridden hobo spat at her, most of the spit got tangled in his thick beard however. That was not enough to reassure her, she was already sick enough as it was. She didn't need to be infected with whatever contagion this one toothed crazy man had. She found a pothole on the side of the road. It was not the most sanitary water, but she had no choice, she had to wash her face, again. It was turning out to be a very tiring day.

When she arrived to the corner where Tommy, her dealer, conducted his business. She was intrigued that he was selling something to an overly excited, mentally challenged gentleman. The ecstatic man turned and smiled at her, showing her his bag of white powder, she smiled back. Then when he was gone, she asked Tommy:

"Should you be selling him that?"

"What are you? an ableist? They are humans too, they have feelings to suppress. Besides I don't hand him any of the heavy stuff, I have a conscience."

"But isn't it like, I don't know, illegal?"

Tommy stared at her with a dumbfounded expression, before saying, "Anyway enough of that, what can I get you kid? Amphetamine?"

"Nothing of that sort, you know I've been clean for a week, I just want my medical prescription."

"Yes yes, clean they say and they always come back for more, there's only one way I know of stopping, and it involves alot of weeping and a wreath of lillies."

"Well I doubt I'd get such a procession, so quitting will do."

"Don't forget the debt you owe me, no one gets a clean slate with Tommy Ferguson."

"As a sign of my goodwill, I'll pay this time."

"Psst whatever kid, grab the bag, hand over the money, now scram."

She handed him wrinkled dollar bills and went behind the building to pacify herself. Sitting on the sidewalk of 28th street and meditating on the trivialities of life.