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Literature Text
"I am the dealer of justice," Luca breathed. He stood toes-to-the-edge on the roof, traffic lights spinning crazily below him. His hair flopped in his face. Wind tangled his cape around his ankles. "I am the hand of fate."
He didn't feel like the hand of fate. He felt like throwing up. Luca closed his eyes. Shook his head. Opened them again. No good. Unforgiving pavement still awaited hundreds of feet below if he failed to make this jump.
But that was not an option. "I am the fist of goodness," he told himself, and then repeated it with more conviction. "Yeah. I am. The fist. Of goodness."
Backing off the ledge, he grounded himself some twenty feet from the precipice. Scraped the ground with one foot (that's what they did in the movies, right?).
Then he shot to the brink and hurled himself off.
I'm not dead.
I'm not falling.
Oh. My. God. I'm flying!
"I AM THE FIST OF GOODNESS!"
Then he crashed through the glass ceiling of the building next door and bellyflopped into a dinner party.
He didn't feel like the hand of fate. He felt like throwing up. Luca closed his eyes. Shook his head. Opened them again. No good. Unforgiving pavement still awaited hundreds of feet below if he failed to make this jump.
But that was not an option. "I am the fist of goodness," he told himself, and then repeated it with more conviction. "Yeah. I am. The fist. Of goodness."
Backing off the ledge, he grounded himself some twenty feet from the precipice. Scraped the ground with one foot (that's what they did in the movies, right?).
Then he shot to the brink and hurled himself off.
I'm not dead.
I'm not falling.
Oh. My. God. I'm flying!
"I AM THE FIST OF GOODNESS!"
Then he crashed through the glass ceiling of the building next door and bellyflopped into a dinner party.
Word count: 180
So here I am, sitting on the couch wondering what in the world I'm going to write for my twenty-eighth FFM piece when what should come on the TV but this commercial.
"Eh," think I to myself, "that'll do."
Continuing on the theme of being unimaginative, I borrowed his name from Luca Marin, who came on the TV right after the commercial break.
Myinsincerest apologies for sullying your name with this would-be superhero, Mr. Marin.
So here I am, sitting on the couch wondering what in the world I'm going to write for my twenty-eighth FFM piece when what should come on the TV but this commercial.
"Eh," think I to myself, "that'll do."
Continuing on the theme of being unimaginative, I borrowed his name from Luca Marin, who came on the TV right after the commercial break.
My
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bellyflopped 