What lies on the other side of this door, is another door.

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Monday, August 9, 2010 9:45 PM

Every hero doesn't start out a hero. They start out as mostly pathetic losers with absolutely no potential and a birthright that means about as much as dead skin. They are completely ordinary and live in an ordinary world. But, a call to action is trumpeted from the highest rooftops and heard by every lemon-sucking peasant in the land of constantly burnt, dead grass. It is rung from the mountains of York, branded on the cows at the slaughter house, and texted into every teenagers social circle. The pathetic hero, of course, declines at first, but a mentor steps in and motivates the PL to action, to conquering worlds without order or more controversially, hanging out with a girl. Once he crosses the threshold of complete non-interaction with the girl, he enters the special world. Now I will tell you about my day. I woke up into my ordinary world, not so much as a pathetic loser just more of a pointless appendage to society. Then the call to action. It came
silently, but there was an absolute surety that  it was a call and to action. I followed it, chased it, studied it, morphed it, deleted it, undid it, baked it, raked it, faked it, and traced it. It was my time to overcome the weaknesses to which I have become a slave. It was my time to emerge as the hero that has been sending impolite telegraphs to the house of representatives that live in my Parietal Lobe.
          I traveled over the coarse concrete field, Sildwaalk, all the way to the Street of States. I boarded the craft that would become the means to the goal. Many called the craft "Buster" because of the immense weight that it threw into a constant foreword thrust. Buster has a built in momentum encompassor that drains the momentum of every inanimate object within the radius of three and a half light years and wraps it into a tightly bound ball of pure density and throws it backwards like one would a mildly warm potato. We went very very quickly in a direction that I prayed was the right way.
         When I left the public warp-speed transportation, my eyebrows were where my neck used to be and my forehead became my new cape to be worn always. My cheekbones decided not to be bones and took a permanent vacation in my thighs. You don't even want to know what happened to my earlobes, okay, I'll tell you. They changed into more manly, desirable earlobes. Who would have thought. I walked, attracting the gazing eyes of thousands of people in a city with a population of almost fifty-seven. I paid no attention. I actually had no idea whatsoever, my eyes where currently staring at what I had just eaten several minutes ago travel slowly down my small intestine. I kept walking. I had a mission. And I wasn't going to let disturbing
mutilation get in my way. After several decades of walking, I reached the gate. The doorway to which life was about to be changed. My goal lie on the opposite side; I felt it taunting me. I raised my hand, I took a breath, and ran away as fast as I possibly could before someone noticed my presence at all. I had failed. The noises on the other side of the threshold became to intimidating, too fierce, too mysterious. I walked away beaten, afraid. I was not about to let that happen the next time around. I will face my fears, I will battle my foe.

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