The Comic and the Prey
It’s that time again, the time of night, where I hide under the sheets on my bunk. The darkness comes and with that so does the evil, the evil men who make me do things and hurt me, and the other children in the child home each night. Like vampires who only come at night, but instead feed off my fear and take my innocence.
“I don’t want it to be me, please don’t take me, god I pray do not let it be me”!
I can hear their deep laughing voices from a far down the corridor. “They are coming!!” the other children quietly whisper. My fear raises, firstly from my to toes to my heart, I can feel my beating heart like a Roman ship slave pounding on the drums. As to make the slaves row to the beat.. I hear ‘ramming speed!’ called in my head boom boom, boom!. Why can’t I move! I have to move but I’m frozen in time, knowing what will happen if they chose me.
I pull the sheet over my head and hold my breath, in hope as not to be seen nor heard and hoping I turn invisible. “No more!” I said in my head!
I then stupidly decided to leap from my bunk, to a thud of two feet landing at once.. The other kids heard and their head springs up from their sheets, with just their eyes above the sheets… all of them stared, staring at me at wonder and why? How stupid is he? he will be caught and punished, but all saying nothing and stay quiet, I knew what they were thinking, they didn’t have say a word, we all were afraid and in terror.
I had an idea and decided to hide, I’ll hide in the old book cupboard. The old forgotten cupboard had a lifetime of past magazines and books that people had forgot, and no one goes there.
A cupboard where I may be forgotten, may be ? I went under the bunk bed and rifled through my footlocker, and found my grandads torch from ww2, one of the few things I took from my mams home, before being punished to come the prison that is child’s home.
I then nimbly tiptoed to almost a run to the cupboard, speedily down the corridor, then to a sliding stop on my socks on the polished wood floor, and started to open the door to the cupboard. Why I never remembered that door having a squeak. The more I opened the louder it got! I hastily and slowly opened to just enough to get my head through the gap, being my head was the largest part of my body at that age. I closed the door and slowly let the handle return to a soft click.
I hear them come with forceful steps like a military march. Then I hear them walk past the door. “Please don’t stop and look in ”Saying this repeatedly in my head. They pass by, telling jokes that I do not understand nor want too. As I hear their voices dim. I switch on the torch with a sliding button switch. It does not come on, and I have hit the torch against my palm with a jolt… Flash!! , it blinded me with a sharp beam of pure white, I come round from the light paralysis with hues of purple, then I could see books stacked to infinity, and a smell of old paper and musky smell of damp wood. I sat in the corner pointing the torch at door. Shaking in fear and holding my breath. I Wait and for what seemed like eternity. But may have only been a minute or two. I picked up a small magazine that turned out to be a comic.
SUPERMAN part 2 first edition. 15c..
It was story about a baby who came from another planet with super powers. I shone the torch over the cover and opened it to reveal the first page to see colourful drawings of a boy who was trying to discover who he was and why he was on earth and he was different to others.
I sceptical started to read it, I was immediately enthralled straight away by the sadness and excited of this persons life. The comic dulled my fear and took me to another place.
In the comic I saw a young man called Clark Kent whose character didn’t fit in at school and with other children, he was vulnerable, sensitive, gentle and didn’t fit in, I related to this. But this young boy was gifted with super powers, that he hid from all but his adopted caring parents. Who had found him as a baby in a field in a crashed space ship. Who believed he was sent to earth for a purpose, and that he must hide his powers until he found what out what his purpose was on earth.
He had developed a persona at young age, in a way for people to not to see his gifts, if he appeared helpless and weak no one would see his strengths. This disguise of a soft innocent boy, clumsy and manners of past was a way of being safe. A way of people not seeing the real him.
I got to the part where Clark stood in a white crystal fortress in the North Pole, that the green crystal had just created. Inside and ahead of him stood ghostly figure talking to him.. a strong calming voice spoke to …
“My son. You do not remember me. I am Jor-El…I am you father….
I kept on reading, wishing I had father to guide me and wishing I had super powers. With them I could save the other kids and my self from the monsters that take us each night. I could rescue my brother from the parents that served no purpose to us. Other than conflicting pain and neglect.
I soon realised I was in my own fortress of solitude, the cupboard with an all knowledge of the word at my finger tips. And that I would have to adopt an identity… a Superman persona, but instead to hide the Clarke Kent in me. Yes.. I’d become Superman to hide the Clarke Kent.
Little did I know these comics would give me hope. I’d pray each night to god, hoping he will bestow the super powers that will save me. The pray went like this… “please god make me strong, strong so no one can hurt me no more, I promise I will only use them for good like Clark! Amen
Later in life god did bestow me the gifts to fight off the monsters and more. But more that god didn’t give me powers, more that trauma made me create my own powers to save and protect myself. And also he did give me a Jo-El a father figure that inspired me on this journey too.
Becoming a larger than life character, a strong physical being, was safety from the monsters of men and people who set out to hurt me. This armour became real and I set out to find more skills to make my armour bigger. I joined the marines, I learnt martial arts and boxing. I’d forget the fear, as long as I can be feared first and make others fear me. Hit first before being hit attitude. This is the man I have to be … a super hero or the fearful monster for all to see. This super persona or armour that I developed came at the cost. The cost of me becoming a person I didn’t like. Also serving out more trauma and a toxic life, but adventurous life where I had no time to think of the past.
I no longer had to be the scared little boy, but in reality I was still that scared little boy, trying to control my external environment. And hoping there be I time in my life when Clark Kent would be accepted….
Text by the Unnamed Survivor
