Hour to Kill

A pair of cheap of headphones that cost less then 2 quid, to listen to things i downloaded for free. I walk with a heavy case and backpack with an unused sleeping bag. I walk into a coffee shop which has a working coffee Roaster. Behind the counter are a selection of quite stunning women, one says something which im assuming is hello and i loose my ability to speak running through my half garbled german vernacular, I eventually get out, erm sorry do you speak English, “ah English” says one and i swear my brain melted a little, I’m 24 but at times my brain just regresses to a teenager looking at the pretty girl in geography, Sophia, Sophia something like that any way. They say she got about but what did would i care, i didn’t get about at all so we could have even things out, ah the past.

I’m sitting down now calculating how bad i need to pee and one of the ladies takes my order and goes (this is rather good coffee) whole milk, strong espresso, served at the right temperature, (any one who wishes there drink hotter needs to grow a brain).

God these headphones are bad, and i do kinda need to pee, if i take my laptop bad to the ttoilets will they take it as an insult. They didn’t and my stuff is still all here.

Today i will be listening to Isotone till i get sick of it.

I hero who works purely on bravado, who in his personal life is manically depressed.
Smashed beaten and I can barely see out of my left eye, music is playing in the background as the basturd looks about him and screams something, flashes of camera phones are bursting all around me, now he’s laughing, I can hear my own heartbeat, the throbbing temples makes it sound like the world can hear it too, thumping hard and harsh, my smokers lungs gulp down air as is ive just surficed from water and cant get my breath. I spit and it tastes like blood, not dry blood which tastes harsh and metallic but fresh warm, I only notice this as the lights blink on and off. I’m going to die.

Was it always like this, no, but i made enemies and not enough friends. I scared people and I didn’t play the game, hero’s wear spandex not any thing they through on that day and a balaclava with a poorly sown on patch saying “FUCK”. My code name is “The Balaclava” hoisted on me, because the media needed one and they cant call me fuck head. The Balaclava who can throw busses and can withstand most things upto heavy artlillery. Ammune to magic, although i think thats mostly because I’m a staunch atheist and wont be having with that wiccan stuff. Whose beaten “The Horrors”, “Captain Dissasster” and a shit ton of lawers, but the last one is lot easier then you might think, if your a super then all you have to do is wear a suit and broadcast on every news station where exactly youre going to be, wait for the legions of villains to attack and refuse to interviene because of your respect for “Due process”. After a while litigators got the point and stopped trying it with me. I have a secret identity but i cant say its a happy one, I cant fly you see and I cant teleport and I don’t have super human speed, so when ever i finish foiling a crime or super villain i walk away and when paparazzi follow me, I have a tendency to crush cameras till they stop.

As for why i am the way i am, well Ive always been kind of a looser and i cant don’t get on with people that well and maintaining long term friendships has never been a strong point of mine. The other thing is that an interdimonsional being crept into my room at 10 am one morning
“FEAR NOT MORTAL I AM HERE TO...”
“Shut up, I’m trying to sleep” I said as I nursed a hangover and turned my head onto a soft patch of drool on my pillow
“oh for” then he hit me with something that felt like having my nerve endings set on fire and left.
Thats my origin, since then i found out my new gig, and i deal, the balaclava came later, a throw back from my skiing trips and the rest is history.