Saturday mornings are full of sugar and potential, and are the perfect place for a superhero. When anything could happen. Men and women bouncing about in breakfast-cereal box bright costumes, their underwear outside their pants for all to see, crying out in rage and sadness and joy. There is no time for reflection.  There is no need. There is only the energy and the enthusiasm, the rainbow blur of action and emotion. A sheet around the neck is as good as cape, and a leap onto the mattress careens over a skyscraper.

The world can built, destroyed and reborn in a matter of minutes. Such is the wonder of Saturday mornings.

Saturday afternoons? You could swing it, if the enthusiasm was there. If you were strong enough. But afternoons carry reflection and the question “Is it enough,” rears it’s head. Is it enough build only to destroy. Shouldn’t something last? Should something carry on, to tomorrow? It is it too much to ask that our legacy last longer than lunchtime?

These questions are the enemy of superheroes, more than any kryptonite or laser cannon. If the world is to last, you cannot destroy it. So, then, what is the point of punching through walls?

Saturday evenings takes the weakened superhero and kills him outright. The capes are put away. Even millionaire playboys have adult responsibilities.  The primary-colored joy of the morning has faded. People to meet, on Saturday evening. And who wants to be seen in public with their underwear outside their pants?

They might think you’re a child, you do that.

Saturday evenings blend into Saturday nights, a shared cross-over event. The emotion and passion returns, and the clothes of the Saturday evening, the trenchcoats and glasses, the secret-identities we’ve worked so hard on, fall to the floor. We are there together, our underwear visible, our skin flushed and bright. The energy is uncontrollable.

Perhaps, on Sunday morning, we will repent. But tonight, on Saturday, we have done the impossible. We leap on to the mattress, the sheets wrapped around us like capes. We have built the world and destroyed it, and we lay exhausted.

Saturday night, we were superheroes. Lying in each other’s arms, I saved you, as you saved me.

The Battle of Blood and Ink: A Fable of Flying City
Pre-order available from Amazon or Barnes & Noble