"You begin saving the world by saving one person at a time;" - Charles Bukowski

"I used to be a superhero,
no one could touch me,
not even myself"

"How is saving the world coming?" they ask, and they smile. I pretend a smile, the one that doesn't touch my eyes at all. The one JP calls the too-tight-smile-that-never-touches-your-eyes-and-the-eyes-go-from-storm-cloud-gray-to-steel-in-a-heartbeat. I never know what to say when they ask that question. People say it with humor and half-seriousness. Sometimes it's a question that states: "Stop what you are doing and think about joining the human race."

And I do -- for the moment.

"Look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman!" the crowd would yell, black-and white faces with a sotto-voce whoosh underneath. But, when George Reeves lands in his monochrome superman-suit, he's not a member of the human race. He's standing in front of the globe or a flag or the cosmos. Superman never comes down to Earth -- why would he? There is only peace in the lonely sky.

"How is saving the world coming?" I've been asked it a hundred times and never once answered: "Painfully, thank you." or "Saved another one and then in the last panel I winked and we never saw that character again. Only the spectator's got closure."

I wish I had a fortress of solitude, like Superman or Doc Savage. A little hide-away at the top of the world where you can scream in silence and no-one can hear you except that stupid dog.

Lois Lane and Lana Lang will happily tell you they don't need your fucking help as they plummet to the side-walk and for a split second you think to yourself: "What would happen if I didn't save the day?" Then, faster than a speeding bullet, you're there and they frown and you wonder why you bothered. Everything was fine when Lori Lemaris was in that fucking wheelchair and then it turns out she's a mermaid and you wonder if your life will ever be normal.

At the end of the day, after your fought a giant gorilla with kryptonite eyes, and you're tired as hell, someone says "How is saving the world coming?" and their eyes are tight and the smile doesn't quite reach those eyes and you know that's not the question they want to ask anyway. Then, somewhere deep inside you, you just want to yell "Peachy, thanks for asking!" and punch down half of a mountain because even Jimmy Olsen doesn't know why you do it. No one does, because even if you don't put on spandex, you have to be a little bit mad to do it over and over again.

"How is saving the world coming?" they ask.

"It hurts like hell," you answer and then the signal watch goes off and you take to the sky -- the lonely sky, because it's peaceful up there.