"Mail Diaries: Soccer Mom"

Went out and got the mail today, which is a lot harder than it seems.

Just to go and get the mail every day, it's roughly sixty feet of uneven lawn just to get to the box. Sixty. Feet. Roughly one hundred and twenty feet total, there and back.

A day.

Psh - and I need more exercise? If I was permitted to be lazy, I'd get myself a Segway.

Of course, the alternative to making that long haul just to find that the mailman stuffed our box full of junk mail was a lot more fun. And adding some extra mileage going down the driveway and taking the street route proved to be a lot more dangerous than risking a twisted ankle on the grass.

All things considered, things were going pretty well.

I had my sandals on, and they were going flip-flop against the pavement instead of crunch-crunch on weeds and little purple flowers, and then I reached the box. I reached in, was about to grab the wad of ink and glossy papers, and that's when I noticed it. The soccer mom van that was supposed to be turning in next-door wasn't slowing down for the turn-in. At all. And then I realized where I was standing, and where the van was actually headed.

Both places matched, oddly enough.

I don't usually have soccer moms out trying to kill me. It's just not done. Not right. But this one was obviously out with a vengeance, and had no problem with running someone over.

This, though, turned out to be the perfect time for me to put my newly discovered Osmosian powers to good use. Well, at the time, maybe I didn't quite know that I had them, but I decided it was worth a shot. My hand was already right on the mailbox, but if I absorbed that matter I'd just be hard plastic - sturdy, yes, but that would still only mean I'd be scattered in little pieces in about six seconds.

So I went for the next best thing, and maybe I dove right into the van's path.

I wasn't going for a "get it over with" moment, though it might have seemed that way. I landed in a shoulder roll and just as the van was barreling down on me, I pressed my hand to the manhole cover in the middle of the road and waited. And just as I figured I'd just gotten my last 60 feet of exercise, I felt the steel cursing through my veins. Then, BAM. Instant soccer mom van flipping through the air.

(In case none of you have any knowledge of my apparent family history, Osmosians have the ability to absorb pretty much any matter or energy and use it at free will. If one absorbed matter from that wall over there, he'd now be made of plaster. Be jealous.)

I stood up, all made of steel and looking pretty awesome. The car had a huge, human-shaped dent in the front, and was now in a heap on the side of the road. Yeah - it worked. It always works, but don't try it at home. I willed the steel to melt away and returned to my human form and went to get the mail. I'm not entirely interested in what raging Soccer Mom wanted to kill me for.

I returned to the box and started the trek back to the house, grass route this time.

Junk mail. Of course.

Or maybe it was all just my imagination...

- your most erratic hero 

(Fun Fact: If any of you know Ben 10, you'll be impressed to know that I walk the length of one Way Big just to get the mail. Yeah, uh-huh.)

"Cordially Introducing Your Host"

Here we are. That awkward moment when you create a blog and come up with absolutely nothing to write about.

Of course, we all know what should happen. I post one little word and suddenly this blog becomes the most popular thing on Planet Earth (not even including all those other planets who are sure to fall fast for this thing, I assure you). I'll become rich and famous over-night. I'll build a time machine and go back and tell that one lazy Mayan to finish the calender and stop the world from ending. And then I'll become richer and more famous for that too.

But, then again, I'm just a kid.

Or am I?

Well, yes. But maybe I'm some unnamed superhero you've just never heard about. What, you've never read my comic? Shame. Oh, well. Not getting rich and famous off that career. What I should be is a villain, because they often turn out rich, but when my parents let me play with fire and mingle with the likes of Kingpin is probably the day the world goes kapoosh.

Zombie apocalypse or not, so not going to happen.

So for now, imagine me as you like. That anonymous person behind the computer, the stick figure with the Image Not Specified sign for a face. The superhero you've kindly ignored, who has probably saved your butt more than once (that gum you almost sat on that mysteriously disappeared?).

Just whoever.

Welcome to my life, mortals.

...Or, at least, how it should be.

- your most erratic hero