We join the Angel in flight, scouring the world as little by little people fall asleep at one side of the world, and awaken on the other.
*New York City*
Petty, childish, ridiculous jealousy.
That’s why I became a superhero.
It wasn’t truth, justice and the American Way.
It was because I was jealous.
And that thought burns in the back of my head, just on the fringe of my consciousness, reminding me.
Reminding me that I got into this for all the wrong reasons…
And now I’m stuck with it.
You can’t just quit when you do this.
You can’t. You won’t.
There are always people to help, injustices to be righted…
but that good is it when you are doing it for an unjust reason?
A reason like jealousy.
Jealousy cost me my life.
Jealousy is why I’m now flying over Chicago at about 300 miles per hour on the white wings of the Almighty.
I got into this for the wrong reason, and I spent my entire life trying to justify that jealousy with a real purpose.
I was the one without the powers.
I was the Batman.
I had the gadgets. I had the fire suit.
I had the money, I was their financial backer.
His motorcycle, the computers, the new outfits,
all outta my pocketbook.
Wanted to make them accept me as one of them.
Because I was jealous of what they had that I didn’t.
Well now I have much more than I ever wanted, even though I lost almost everything else.
I’m not mortal anymore.
But I’m not dead either.
Consider me… wedged between here and beyond.
I walk the streets for you people,
pledged to protect you all.
Protect your fragile corporeal bodies from the evils of this world.
Evils you don’t even know exist.
You don’t see them.
You don’t hear them.
They flare up and are defeated while you sleep at night.
It’s not just those who sleep I protect though,
I protect the mortals who fight.
I am bound by the Supreme authority to protect the human race and to never raise my hand in an unnecessary violence.
I’m here to walk, to fly, to protect,
but I’m not dead.
I still have the capacity to love,
yet I won’t be able to have children.
I won’t be able to live again until my service is done,
until my days of protection are over.
Then I can hand my wings back,
and live again.
But then I wonder.
Would I want to?
Would I want to give up
Would it be worth it to have real flesh
instead of this thin, not quite right version?
It’s like I’m only part human…
say, isn’t that what Quasimodo meant?
It doesn’t really matter, though,
mortal or not.
It all still stems back to jealousy
Jealousy began this
And something with such horrible roots
Can never bear what’s right.
No matter how hard I try, I won’t be able to shake it.
The fact that I started this for the wrong reason.
I should stop, because it’s wrong, but…
I’m in way too deep now.