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The Champion

Posted by WHIZZ COMICS GROUP on November 9, 2014 at 9:30 PM

“The Champion”

      It is a warm day. The odor of death and gunpowder is in the air. These troops, if that’s what you want to call them, were no match for someone with the powers of the gods. As I make my way through these streets of Berlin, these troops are making my job easy. I see the place the cowards are hiding. I am going to stop this war. The chancellor will die by my hands today. The Jews will be avenged.

    As I make my way into the Reich Chancellery, SS Waffen Storm Troopers drop like flies. How can they possibly think they can compete with a god? I know they are behind the door. I can hear them. I can smell them. I can smell their fear; these men of such “honor” and “distinction”. Cowards is the term I chose to use.

    After I break down the steel door, I am met by none other than Eva Braun. The woman has more fortitude than the so-called “men”. She actually slapped me. I snap her neck. Now it is the others’ turn. Bormann and Goebbels were crying like little babies, begging me to spare them. I don’t. I turn my attention to the small man in the corner. Adolph Hitler’s bottom lip is quivering as I approach. He tries to be defiant. The key word is tries. He draws his Luger and points it at me; I laugh. He quickly realizes the futility in his action and tries to shoot himself. Once again, the key word is tries. I have the pistol in my hand before he can flinch his index finger. It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s missing not only the gun, but also two fingers and a thumb. The look of horror on his face is indescribable. At this point I give him a little shove, not very hard, but hard enough to crack the concrete wall. I think he has a broken back and a few broke ribs. Could be the fact he is spitting and coughing blood and can’t get up off the ground.

    I grab him and the others and head to the courtyard. How did I miss this one? One lone soldier with a flame thrower, he’s dead before the other bodies hit the ground. I hear the Russians approaching. They will like what I’m going to do next. This flame thrower is coming in handy. The smell of burning, human waste of flesh fills the air. I forgot to kill Hitler before I used the flame thrower. He screams like a little girl.

    The Russians enter the compound and rush in to the courtyard. I am waiting like the triumphant hero only I can be. Their admiration and respect for my act will be reward enough for my actions.

    But that isn’t what is happening. They seem to resent me. The looks of admiration are replaced with hatred and contempt. I sense no respect from these ungrateful cretins. These Communist pigs hold me in contempt, as if I stole something that was rightfully theirs. I am the Champion. I have the powers of the gods. They are weak and inferior. I’m the good guy. I’m on their side. At least I was.

    Russians are ungrateful. They are also afraid; afraid of me and what I can do. This war will end soon. Then there will be no more war as long as I breathe. The Japanese have no Idea what is in store for them. I do. The Germans do. The Russians do. Hiroshima is first to learn.

    I know Hiroshima is one of two weapons manufacturing areas in Japan. It is also a densely populated area. But how does the old saying go? Something about breaking eggs to make breakfast? It doesn’t matter. Hiroshima feels the full force of my diving attack. I hit so hard, it levels everything for miles. I was moving so fast I was emitting, no radiating, energy from every pore. I can’t even believe the amount of damage I have done. The Japanese will know not to underestimate the power of America ever again. But there is one more target to send the message home: Nagasaki.

    It is three days after Hiroshima and the people of Nagasaki are unsuspecting. It makes me think of what Pearl Harbor must have been like December 7, 1941: quiet, peaceful, and unsuspecting. It plays like a flashback of Hiroshima. A quarter of a million people die in those two offensive strikes. When I return to America I will be the greatest hero to have ever lived.

    As I stand before President Truman, I feel unrest among the populace. It is a different feeling than I felt in the presence of the Russians. This is more a feeling of fear and contempt. I was nurtured by the Council of Eight to be a savior to the people. I was trained to be a living weapon. I am supposed to be revered. Instead, I am looked on as a parriah of the population. I do not understand these people, the citizenry of this great country I love.

    This world is not ready for me. I must find a place to live away from these people. I will live outside this Superior City, so I am able to observe the workings of the people to better acclimate myself and eventually be able to join them. I will make my home in this cave. I am going to become the type of hero they need. It may happen tomorrow; it may happen in 20 years. The thing is it will happen. I am the Champion. I am a hermit.

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