Here's is some fiction that I've been working on for some time--it's the first in a line of short fiction pieces I hope to expand on: a mysterious team of English teachers turned superheroes.
The EWHA-3 - EPISODE 1 - The Brain
The EWHA-3 (comprised of the ‘The Brain,’ ‘The Muscle,’ and ‘The Wild Card’) wait at a bus stop. A beautiful girl is with them. The EWHA-3 wants to put her safely on bus from Suwon (their base of operations) to Seoul (the girl’s home); it’s close to midnight. Wild Card comforts the girl (her name is Stormy) while his eyes scan the street, waiting for a bus to arrive. Stormy clutches Wild Card like flood victim in a deluge. She smirks because deep down she loves this attention and the thrill. The Muscle brandishes his behemoth muscles wishing enemies would approach. The Brain is the only one sitting on the bench of the bus stop. He is deep in thought, frowning. Dread, apprehension, and paranoia collide…his thoughts consume him… The Brain began to brew upon the events at hand:
The evening is cool in Suwon, but I know it will warm up soon. Despite the mild weather, a sixth sense inclines me to believe that we’re due for a fight…great, my glasses are dirty. I need to clean these in case we’re ambushed. I take the glasses of my face, use my shirt to clean them, and smear the grease and eyelashes into the frames. I meant to clean my glasses this morning, but I forgot—‘the Brain’ forgot…I can’t believe it…why am I the Brain if I can’t even remember to clean off my damn glasses?
The three of us used to be normal men—English teachers—but the Sunny One’s interrupted our normal lives as soon as we arrived in South Korea. We were destined to become the EWHA-3. We received our roles, The Brain, the Muscle, and the Wild Card, then, without question, shouldered the burden of the superhero. Suwon needed protection: Team Avalon was making wanton advances, and we were the last hope of the Sunny Ones—those orbital entities that bestowed upon us our remarkable powers and abilities.
My mind swelled while other muscles atrophied and I took on my now emaciate appearance, I am the Brain. I’m smart, I’m on the brink of telekinesis, but I’m too lazy to “break through” that cosmic barrier. The eponymous Muscle was gifted with enormous muscles and impenetrable skin: he could shield himself from bullets, he could repel oncoming cars with his bare chest—he was the brawler that no normal man was matched for; however, his swelling muscles did diminish his articulation abilities and he was reduced to speaking in the 3rd person…permanently. The Wild Card didn’t receive any physical change, but some things did change for him: he started winning more at poker, at Monopoly—at everything! Something of a supreme lucky streak emerged. He took vainly and although he wouldn’t admit it, he’s ego swelled. More than Muscle or I, he exuded a “success” pheromone that enchanted women, especially the beautiful ones; it was because of that charm that Stormy desperately clung to Wild Card now.
Am I jealous of the Wild Card? Am I jealous that the women, like Stormy, flock to him and I’m just a sideshow freak, like Muscle? I look over at Muscle, he looks deeply down the road, perhaps having my exact thought, but my wonder is interrupted as the 707 bus headlights appear.
“Bus,” grumbles Muscle.
“Thank god!” mutters Wild Card.
“I thought we missed the last bus,” says Stormy. “Good thing I didn’t.”
Stormy’s arms are wrapped around Wild Card. I adjust my glasses. She stares into his turned face, his cheek, and I know what she’s thinking: She’s thinking that she’s only worth something in the presence of the Wild Card. When she gets on that bus, she’s just somebody else on the bus, she’s not Wild Card’s girl anymore. Come over, wrap your arms around me—The Brain—I can please you. I can entertain you, make you laugh, protect you, I can do all the things that you want. Wild Card impatiently looks at the bus; he knows he should have put Stormy on an earlier bus. Having her around is a liability. All the women he has around are a liability or become boring for him. The bus approaches, I can feel the vibrations. When I turn around I realize that the bus has been at a stop light for some time and the vibrations I’m feeling are from Muscle walking around. He’s a walking earthquake. Is he jealous like I am? Does he wish that women flocked to him like they did for Wild Card?
I’m engrossed in my thoughts when I should be strategizing, preparing—that’s my job after all. I’m the one analyzing environments, wind currents, cultural implications, exchange rates, relevant historical details, and then spinning it all to benefit the EWHA-3—that’s my job. I do those things. When there’s a problem, they just say, “Brain, what do we do?” and I figure it out. “BRAIN! We’re outnumbered, the odds are against us, how can we survive this?” And in a second, I figure it out. That’s my job…that’s it: I’m the brain, he’s the muscle, and he’s the luck. That’s the order of things, it’s inflexible.
The 707 bus pulls up in front of me and it gently comes to a halt. But, it’s not the 707 bus, it’s the 3003 bus. It’s not Stormy’s bus.
“Muscle thinks this is not Stormy’s bus.”
Wild Card strikes his forehead, swears, and Stormy’s eyes are glued to him. She’s looking for any emotional indicators, but Wild Card is an enigma…you can’t read his face.
“Can I stay at your house one more night, Wild Card?” pleads Stormy. “I missed my bus, I can leave in the morning.”
“I guess you have to,” says Wild Card with feigned regret. He doesn’t really mind the warm body he’ll have in his bed, but she’s still an inconvenience, a liability.
You can stay with me Stormy. I won’t be like him. I’ll show interest, and listen to you, and give you real advice to help you. I would never put you on a bus home—I’d always see you to your doorstep or make you stay with me.
Without saying anything, Muscle has left. I can tell what he’s thinking: this isn’t my problem anymore. Someone should have figured out that the bus coming toward us was the 3003 bus and the not the 707 bus. I stare in the direction of the echoing footsteps when Wild Card calls out to me,
“Brain, why didn’t you know that this bus was the 3003?”
Why didn’t I know? I know all the details. Why doesn’t Stormy just come with me then, Wild Card, I’m not inconvenienced by her. I want to be by her. I want her to stay…with me.
And then, without forethought, caught totally off-guard, ambushed, I say,
“I don’t read Korean, Wild Card, how can I know the times of busses if I don’t read Korean? I thought Stormy knew Korean, she should have been able to read the times.”
The 3003 bus departs with a belch of exhaust and Stormy glares at me. I can tell she thinks that I’m useless and conniving. Why did I throw her under the bus like that? In a moment, Stormy turns with Wild Card and they walk away. I’m left alone sitting, at the bus stop, it’s past midnight. I adjust my glasses then take them off and smudge them again. I wait for the 707 bus that never comes. I sit and think about the way things have changed until the sun comes up, I’m not concerned about anyone’s safety anymore. No one’ll come and fight the Brain by himself. There’s no fight there. I defeated myself today—no, the inflexible order of things defeated me today. The rigidity, the frankness, the inequality…it’s just so damn hard to wrap my brain around sometimes.
The Brain walks home alone, but the streets of Suwon are safe another day because of his lone walk. No one will dare attack the Brain alone—why would they? It’s not even a fight, because it’s just the Brain. There’s no Muscle, no Wild Card, there’s no EWHA-3. But, by himself, the Brain exudes an atmosphere of self-torment and painful anxiety; no one need attack him because he’s attacking himself: self-sabotage. Without knowing it, he relies on Muscle and Wild Card to propel himself forward, to lead the group, and not lead himself into a mired existence. The same order of things that devastates him motivates him and keeps him going.
Until next time…
Next time, I'll introduce the muscle or the wild card, not sure which yet. This piece was more melodramatic than I wanted, but the Brain really came to life when I was writing. I imagine the EWHA-3 as a comic superhero team, so expect some action next time.
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