Where did all the superheroes go?

Updated: Sep 19

Where did all the superheroes go?

I remember.

In the heart of winter, watching the snow from my bedroom window, an evening sky upon the horizon and the smell of the last piece of wood, burning down to the last drop in the comfort of the mesmerising fireplace. Snowflakes were the size of my palm, and they were racing between each other to the finish line on the snow-covered slides in the half-empty park. I could climb all the slides from downwards to upwards. It made me feel strong, powerful, invisible, a little bit like Batman (because I had seen him in a film a week before and I know that’s how he felt every time he won a battle against the bad guys, especially the Joker, who’s far from being funny).

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At six years old, I was scared during the nights, all too often, afraid of the moon monsters who always tried to sleep on my ceiling, next to my bright green shining stars. I thought they were just part of my nightmares, but I knew they liked hiding somewhere underneath my bed and would sneak their way out by climbing the walls like

spiders (of whom I was never afraid). My brother read me stories about the moon monsters; they are too bright and stop you from sleeping! But the stars were always on my side and kept calling Spiderman who brought the dark to cover the moon monsters, so that I couldn’t see them, and I could get back to sleep and have sweet dreams.


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On a sunny day, back in the blossoming garden of my eleventh summer, I wanted to fly like Supergirl. I could live in my dreams after all. I ran as fast as I could for three minutes, about a thousand times, and I’d open up my arms, jump on the trampoline and try to fly, but it only ever left me face down in the grass. I told myself, “When I grow up and I am as old as her, I’ll be able to fly and save the world.” I just had to grow a few more inches in height, that was all.

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My mum once told me at fifteen years old that I was still a kid. “I am not! I am so mature,” I once snapped with a dedicated frustration. I wanted to prove this to her by getting my first job, as a babysitter for my neighbour’s six and seven year old kids. I also insisted I’d walk to the closest shop, and I went shopping for my clothes. There was one Sunday evening, when she let me have a sip of wine from her ruby-filled glass at dinner; I didn’t like it.

Back then, people in their thirties seemed much older to me, but thought they were so young. Most were married, with a soon-to-be-pregnant wife. In a small village like mine, most people already knew each other, but I couldn’t wait to meet my guy, the one that would kiss me upside down like Spiderman and let me live the love story I’d been waiting for all my life. I knew he was out there and would come along at the right time. A soft spot for a Spiderman, left no room for most-wanted Iron Man, indeed.

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I am twenty-five and heartbroken for the third time and could not sleep last night because I had had a bad day at work. I am scared I’ll never find the one. I want to sleep all night until morning and stop overthinking.

About everything.


Where did all the superheroes go?

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