Scribbled Stories

Time was running out. If Yeager and his gang got to the hideout before I did, there’d be the kind of Hell to pay that left nothing but body parts lying around, and the parts would undoubtedly belong to me.

The head start I’d gotten would help some, and the back way would too—assuming Yeager

Albert Beiman had dreamed of being a super hero all of his life. Like many young boys, he collected comic books containing tales of superpower-wielding men performing amazing acts of courage. He hid the comic from his father who was a practical man upon whom fictional feats of strength and courage were wasted.

He was an old man and feeble. Then one day, he awoke in a strange place feeling less old and more like the self he’d known years before. He stood in a brightly lit room with vaguely familiar objects all around him. Outside, there was more light and the distant sound of laughter.

 

Jonathon Meyers liked to tease Nancy King, and though she pretended to be bothered by his taunts, Nancy really wasn’t bothered at all. They were at the age when boys and girls begin to notice one another in different ways—the age at which teasing was really the only acceptable behavior between them.