Josh James Riebock - Heroes and monsters: an honest look at the struggle within all of us

I run my fingers over my soft-boiled body, my arms then my face, checking to make sure Im not broken. I touch my tiny chest and tiny legs, expecting to find a million cracks running everywhere. Then I breathe easy. No cracks. Most of me seems to be in one piece.

Through the windows, the world is dusty, everything tall and rickety, a city of mingling shadows, all of them looking down at me as if to say, You dont belong here, little boy . I couldnt agree more.

Shifting in my seat, I unfasten the seat belt, rubbing the imprint out of my waist. It is deep and red, turning pink, turning to skin color. I look out over the dash and see nothing but stalks. They are everywhere, high and dense, like urban skylines and grandma hair, all except for one chunk straight ahead of me. My first growth spurt is still years away, long after most people I know will hit theirs, and from this short mans angle, it looks like Is that a person? No. Ridiculous. What kind of nut would be out here at this time of night? Grave robbers, escaped convicts, werewolves maybe. I look closer, squinting, squinting, and duh, of course.

Dirty but proud looking, he hangs from his wooden post, sort of floating there above the brown and yellow corn, just beyond the punched-in bumper. Based on appearance, hed never be my first choice, but then again, were not supposed to base relationships on that, are we? Besides, this isnt the time to be superficial or choosy. Whether I like it or not, Im stuck with him. Hes all I have now, my only comfort out here. Out here, hes my only friend, my only protection, the only thing separating me from darkness and total oblivion. A lot like God in that way, my mom would probably say if she were here

Whats that noise? Insect? Mutant? Im being stalked. Oh gosh oh gosh

Fear rattles through me, so I tuck my feet under my butt, and sure, sure, maybe Im drawing far-fetched conclusions right now, but they seem realistic and certain. I can see it, all of it...

Even if I fend off the lurking nocturnal beasts and survive the night, Im never getting out of here. So this field will be my new home, which means Ill have to learn how to make fire from rocks and how to find water, and at some point, assuming I grow, Ill have to sew myself new clothing out of beaten stalks. I must be resourceful. A savage. But oh! I will be! Eventually Ill marry a field woman. Shell have pigtails, and Ill call her Dandy, because that will remind me of the way life was before it all went wrong. Together well gather food, which will be easyideal, evenbecause corn can be used to make a million meals, so that part will be okay. So maybe it wont be all that bad

Wait. My family will never see me again. Mom will be so worried. Shell cry at night, Ill cry at night, every night

Oh, this is grim, so grim, devastating, beyond devastating, and Im trapped picturing it with no one but him, this man on a post, this field king.

To my left, in the drivers seat, is the only other person here. My dad. The beer version of him anyway. Hes just beginning to come to, his face baggy and loose, like falling pizza dough, his inflated, surgical-glove hands puffy and red, his eyes gone deep inside his skull.

I guess, contrary to what anyone says, none of us is immune to becoming ugly.

According to the dashboard clock, were supposed to be at a party by now, one for my parents and their friends, a catered affair, where everyone will show up just a few minutes latethat way the rest of the guests can yell, Hey! Look at this guy! when they walk inand retell the same stories, talking about their diamond lives and how everything is going just as they planned. My mom is already there with my sisters. Dad and I are supposed to be coming late, just the two of us, theoretically a few minutes behind them, and when the night began, this excited me. It meant that I got to spend more time with my dad, and for me, a little kid, life doesnt get much better than that.

Seaweed Monster, Im Yours

Every year for my birthday, my dad disappears for hours. And every year, his disappearance coincides with the arrival of some hero of mine, some bigger-than-life figure carrying countless wrapped gifts. One year it was a misshapen Spider-Man, the next year it was a Cookie Monster in gym shoes, and then another year the Toyota Tercel Santa. With that last one, I expected the gift haul to be greater than other years, not only because it was Santa, but also because Santa had apparently abandoned his reindeer and sleigh for a roomier, familiar-looking silver hatchback. So I was disappointed when I received the standard amount of presents, even though it was a great deal of presents, way more than I needed.

We always think we need more than we do, and my dad has always given us more than we need. This could be because he was orphaned as a boy and grew up in a neighborhood that spoke with fists and cigarette burns. Since he didnt have much to call his own, he wants us to have it all. Hes convinced we deserve every drop of wonder this world has to offer. Dont we all? For better or worse, hes a gift giverthats his way. And he, not Spider-Man, not Superman, not anyone else, is my real hero. He even has his own fortress of solitude.