Sharp wind swept over the cutting heights of an urban megacomplex. Towering skyscrapers tore into a clouded skyline overhead as streetlights flickered to life, illuminating a hopeless maze of back alleys, the product of incompetent urban planning.

Across a heavily concealed city gouge in particular a shadowed figure shot, form illuminated briefly by passing alley lights. With brisk and trepid steps the phantom weaved his way round dumpsters and social reuse cutting through the gloomy backstreet. He hoisted a tight-knit sack over one shoulder, accented green, double cut, dollar sign occasionally illuminated as light swam past. His face was masked in a conventional, all too familiar balaclava, eyes roving his surroundings, administering constant observance.

For this was none other than the dastardly dollar store dollar snatcher, having freshly emptied the local dollar tree. Tonight had proven a rather delicious haul. The registers were stuffed to bursting with divine dollars, to which he had been more than happy to devour. Dollars were truly the most delectable delicacy known to man. A true godlike deity worthy of divine reverence. It was always dangerous to dance around the law, but when dollars were at stake, he would drag himself across town any day. Just a few more blocks to his Dodge pickup and he’d be well out of danger, he thought, cracking a grin.

Suddenly, a glint of silver clearly caught the light amidst a nearing display window. Stumbling to a stop, his instincts were once again proven reliable as a silvery metal object collided with the glass.

The window shattered on impact with the elliptical object, glass raining down upon the tar-stained asphalt. Not but two seconds later out jumped a magnificently clothed figure; brilliant metal adornments glistening amidst the trash-heaped alley.

At least, it looked so at first, yet as the dollar snatcher studied him further he realized just how pompous and comical the newcomer’s apparel was.

Upon closer inspection, his shoes were cheap and worn high-rung leather boots, on which two metal spoon spurs were haphazardly taped. Out of the bulky footwear shot silver oil-stained thrift store dress pants, shimmying upwards towards a hysterical attempt at a DIY duct tape utility belt. The belt in question held a fine array of silverware, all spoons mind you.

Snugly tucked beneath the belt stretched a matt blue long-sleeve. A wide hastily scribbled, hot glued paper spoon adorned the center of which. And finally, he sported a single black bandana; twin cut holes permitting him observance over his surroundings.

Standing upright from his arduous, half-kneeling landing, he turned towards the snatcher, taking a single and confident step in his direction. As his foot connected with the pavement he froze, face bunching up in apparent agony.

“Fuuuuck!” He cried in a hearty and manly voice, pompously falling to his ass. A shard of glass came into view, deeply embedded in the sole of his boot.

“Always the fucking glass… god damn…” he cursed upon his breath, working his hands around the embedded fragment. As he worked a spoon came into view, tightly gripped as if his life depended on it.

This was too much. The costume, the spoon, just this buffoon’s entire mannerism in general. The snatcher buckled over, laughing uncontrollably.

“Who… who the fuck are you?!” He wheezed through fits of hysteria.

His adversary didn’t immediately reply, opting to dislodge the glass from his foot beforehand, rising to his feet as the bloodied shard clinked to the floor.

“It doesn’t matter who I am, all that matters is that I’m here to stop you, villainous scum!” The comically adorned man bellowed. “I am here to deliver justice by the spoonful and you, my friend, shall receive it in kind!” he vehemently preached, limping towards the snatcher and bringing a spoon to bear.

“Are… are you really a hero?!” He gasped, struggling through incessant laughing fits and tear-stained vision.

The limping man stopped, dead in his tracks, vision unfocused as he stared, wide-eyed into space.

“I used to… and even now, still doubt my hero status… to this very day…” the heroically adorned figure replied following a pregnant pause.

The color quickly drained from the snatcher’s face, he knew what came next. He had to do something quickly.

“Nonononono, please wait!” he fearfully cried, yet he was too late. As he looked on in terror, the hero before him continued onwards deep into his monologue.

“I remember when I first attained my power. The power which permits me my hero status. It was a simple sunny afternoon, I was visiting a friend’s house to catch the NBA finals.” he droned onwards, eyes unfocused as our hero tuned out his surroundings.

“The game had just hit halftime leaving us glued to his leather couch, struggling to endure the harsh summer heat. It was yet another vocal performance, and with Mikey’s air conditioning non-functional I had to alleviate my suffering somehow. Separating myself from the sticky, sweat-stained leather I stumbled towards the refrigerator, mind set on the desired contents. ‘Ay dawg, can I get some ice cream?’ I had sung, intent on satiating my cool delicacy lust.

‘Only a spoonful’ was Mikey’s immediate reply, face scrunched up in apparent contempt and hesitance. I knew how much Mikey valued his ice cream. The cartons were like children to him. His permittance of my ice cream foray spoke novels of our strong brotherly bonds.

I reached into my back pocket on his reply, shuffling around for my trusty silver spoon. I always kept it on me. You never knew when a hazardous predicament denied you the pleasures of a trusty utensil. Yet, when my fingers contacted its smooth metallic surface, everything changed. It was like an electric shock ran through my body. Suddenly I understood the spoon in every aspect, all the way down to the molecular level. The small tool was just… so clear, and I knew what I had to do.

As I brought its silvery surface to bear from within my back pocket it steadily grew in size. As I lifted it towards the light, the spoon now over half my height, a look of abject terror crossed Mikey’s face. I don’t really know what overcame me then, It was as if I was possessed. He had tried to be a smart ass, yet, I was about to whoop his ass. Before I knew it a grin split my face, eyes twinkling with devilish intent. I turned towards the refrigerator, drawing towards it with twin brisk paces. I reached out one arm, drawing the left compartment open, my gargantuan spoon crashing into the other with a metallic clang as I neared,” the suited man continued, intending to drone onwards for who knows how long. Luckily the dollar snatcher had finally had enough.

“Shut the fuck up!” he screamed, face lifting from his hands, clearly at the end of his wit.

This got the ‘heroes’ attention, eyes refocusing. “Wha… where am I?” he muttered. The man was seemingly unfamiliar with his surroundings.

“Listen dipshit, who the fuck cares, do you wanna hear my story?” the snatcher screamed, now in a blind rage. “No… well, fuck you! I fucking fell in some radioactive waste. Shit was so green now I just need those dollars. Singular ones mind you. Shit makes me high as fuck. Now get out of my damn way!” The snatcher growled, dashing forwards with reckless abandon.

As the villainy filth swiftly approached, our hero lifted his spoon to bear, falling into a stable stance.

The snatcher now proved too rage-driven to consider reason, even though if he were in his right mind he would still never believe what was about to happen.

As he came within range, the hero lashed out, swiping his spoon in a wide arc through the air before him. Against all logic and much to the snatcher’s surprise, the spoon expanded in size along its path. The flat of the tool grew outwards as the unwieldy metal beam quickly increased in density. Soon the head alone was over ten times the size of the snatchers, barreling towards him. Then the spoon connected.

The five-foot-long post of heavy steel bashed into the snatcher. A sickening crack rang out across the dark alley as his head snapped to the side, teeth and blood spraying onto the gritty pavement from his beaten muzzle. He stood there for a second, listing to either side, head still cocked at an unnatural angle. Then he collapsed as blood dribbled from his mouth, still, save the occasional spasm.

“Justice has been spooned,” our hero bellowed, dialing an ambulance and hastily limping from the scene.

Unfortunately for our pariah of justice, he was later fined a rather substantial amount. As it turns out, the damage incurred on a small-time furniture business proved rather substantial in the grand scheme. In fact, the window he smashed alone held more value than the entirety of the snatcher’s haul. This isn’t even accounting for the health insurance and other claims propped against him following the debacle.

Regardless, this was not even slightly enough to phase our hero. For as long as tyranny subsists on the waste of society, there can never be peace. A true hero will always rise to the call, no matter their financial situation.

And so, spoon in hand, our hero ventures out in search of crime, as is his moral agenda.

Categories: Short Stories


Rosa Silver · October 30, 2021 at 5:51 pm

I wanted to hear the end of the ice cream story…is one spoonful enough?

דירות דיסקרטיות בחיפה · August 21, 2022 at 11:15 pm

Im very pleased to uncover this site. I need to to thank you for ones time just for this wonderful read!! I definitely enjoyed every part of it and i also have you book marked to look at new things on your website.

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