A Hero's Act

How long have I been standing here now? Five - perhaps six minutes? I lost count a long time ago. But the fascinating thing is, she's never shut up. For as long as I've been standing here, she's been yapping on and on and on about how she's going to defeat me and save the world.

I'm fascinated by the way she can just stand there in that silly pose of hers, shouting at me, for so long. It makes my throat hoarse just thinking about imitating her - not that I would be stupid enough to, that is. One would think that, being only two metres apart, she would be heard perfectly clearly if she lowered her voice by a factor of 2. Unfortunately, it seems that she has taken precautions in case I couldn't hear what she was saying.

She's managed to balance herself on the branch of a tree. It's not a particularly interesting branch, or a nice one, but I suppose it's prominent enough to get anyone's attention. I think I can give her at least that much credit. Besides, it's convenient for that perverted old fart sitting under that branch to stare up her appallingly short skirt.

Is that drool I see coming out of the corner of his mouth?

Putting that aside, my legs are starting to ache. I have taken up position on top of that ridiculous structure otherwise known as the park's fountain. It barely resembles a concrete diagram of the world, with a concrete moon attached to it by a steel rod. I suppose it wouldn't really hurt to sit down on the structure, seeing as she's showing no sign of shutting up.

Do all so-called 'heroes' or, in this case, 'heroines' talk so much? I came here to fight her, not have my eardrums permanently damaged from listening to her shrill and nasal voice whining and whingeing. And must she repeat her opening line 'foul and accursed enemy of justice' every ten seconds? I know very well that I am an 'enemy of justice', being as I plan to take over the world, but the description 'foul and accursed' isn't very accurate. Or very nice, for that matter. I take showers every day, so I am by no means 'foul'. And as for being 'accursed', the only thing standing in the way of my plan's success is the fact that I can never get around to putting it to action.

One guess as to why. Go on, don't be shy and don't worry about her not being too pleased. I'm guessing from the way she's raised her voice several octaves and going steadily blue from lack of oxygen, this is the climax of her speech. She'll be too wrapped up in what she's saying to notice us.

She's just finished her speech, ending it with a dramatic intake of breath. Oh marvellous! Now I can stop staring at the water beetle swimming around in the fountain and actually get something done. Notice that her face is returning to normal, even though her breathing is a trifle laboured. I think she's the envy of all the heroes and heroines in the world. Looking at the time, she's spent fifteen minutes talking and hasn't repeated herself once, aside from the 'foul and accursed enemy of justice' she is kind enough to remind me of being.

And to think that she averages a C- in English class.

It's finally time to get around to actually fighting her. She's caught her breath. No wait, maybe, judging from the fact that she's clutching her chest as if in pain, she hasn't. The blue colour's returning to her face as she starts to . . . ah, what's the word? Oh yes, hyperventilate. Hasn't anyone told her that talking for so long without stopping to breathe more than twice is actually bad for her health?

I stand up and materialise a champagne glass out of nowhere. Hey, it's a gift all right? Selling my soul to the Devil does have its advantages I'll have you know. She's fallen off the branch and is on top of that perverted old fart. He's got stars in his eyes as she's landed right on top of his head. That must be an interesting view. Maybe he'll tell me what colour lingerie she's got?

Well anyway, I'm walking over to where she's still hyperventilating and hand her the glass. What? Just because my soul is currently sealed inside a piece of paper known as a 'contract' and resting in the gigantic trunk back in Hell along with millions of others doesn't mean I don't have compassion. She takes the glass gratefully and drinks.

After a while, it's clear she's not blue anymore. In fact, her skin's got this funny green tinge to it. Her expression is not unlike the one the Devil has when he watches soap opera scenes where the actors are mooning over each other, so I suppose her stomach's feeling a little upset.

Oh well, I guess poison just doesn't agree with her.