Member-only story
The End Of The World Is The Size Of Alaska
Belinda Butcher was a superhero. Kind of. She didn’t have a costume or anything like that, no cape or tights or cool logo on her chest or a mask that hid her face or even half of it or just her eyes, like Zorro’s. She didn’t have a nemesis or a sidekick. But she had powers, and if that doesn’t make you a superhero, what does?
She could fly, and she had super strength. She was maybe invincible too, but that’s hard and a little scary to put to the test — more on that later. Nothing like lasers shooting out of her eyes, or ice breath or whatever. Just the very basic superhero starter pack.
But only when she was in her bedroom, and only at night.
Outside, in the world she shared with you and me, she was a regular everyday normal girl. She had the same problems as anyone else. She had to pay rent. She had to work for a living and to pay for school, which she attended four nights a week. There was a girl that she liked but it was hard to get her attention. She liked shoes, and music, and architecture, and to read books. She liked beautiful books, first editions, leather-bound volumes. She enjoyed finishing a thick book and sliding it back on the bookshelf, between other books she’d already read or was working her way to. She hated cooking and cleaning up so she ate out a lot, even though she couldn’t really afford to.
