Delusion occurs during the freefall from the bridge of sanity as a person plummets into an endless ocean of lunacy. Many factors can push someone to this unfortunate circumstance. Trauma and pain, depression, anger and even hatred can all be factors. None of these were applicable to Ben.
There is nothing wrong with being in your late thirties and living at home with your mother still. Economically speaking, it happens to be quite the common trend these days. Perhaps due to ridiculous inflation and lack of fair wages combined with insurmountable student debt. Sure, society and pop culture can deem this as being a “loser” or “uncool,” but those are fabricated standards based on a system ruled by egos. So what Ben lived at home with his mom still?
The relationship was one of disappointment from her point of view. Disappointment because Ben was an underachiever. Working jobs that never went anywhere. With the little money he did manage to make never spent on anything worthwhile - at least not in his mother’s eyes.
Comic after comic, movie specials, TV specials, posters, figurines and all other things “superhero” were what Ben spent his money on. Hours that turned to days that turned into years were deeply invested in online communities dedicated to these fictional beings. They were an escape for him. A world of excitement and, sometimes, of terror. But often, the hero would prevail. A purpose so meaningful, so fulfilling, to save an entire planet. Or maybe an entire city, or even just one person. These were something of true value.
Growing up, he had some friends. Every kid loves superheroes. But as everyone around him grew up, Ben didn’t. At least not in the way he should have. Maybe a missing father is significant in the development of a child’s life. Maybe his mother should have paid more attention to her son. He wasn’t stupid by any means. He scored well in all subjects. School was easy but his social skills were lacking. His freshman year of school, people pointed out all the strange bites he would have all over his arms and legs. Even some on his neck. Rumors spread that he slept outside with bugs. But to clear up the rumors, Ben mistakenly told everyone the truth.
“They are spider bites. I am trying to get superpowers.” He didn’t understand the laughter of everyone in the cafeteria. What’s wrong with trying to get superpowers?
That began a terrible four-year experience for him. He still made some friends. But high school ended, and his friends went to college, started careers. Really grew up. Ben saw it differently.
.
He called it a “fixed path.” And a superhero doesn’t walk down a fixed path. They forge their own destiny. A key moment in their life where everything shifts. A hopeless boy is told he is a wizard. A less-than-average girl is told she is queen of an alien race and her powers unlock. An explosion or accident that results in new found superpowers! When was Ben’s turn?
Well, he had to face reality, like all of his idols. Spiderman had a job. He needed to pay the bills. Even Superman had a job. But Ben hated it. Working as a valet sometimes. Working at the car wash. His mother forced him to.
“If I got to work all the time, so do you! I need help paying the bills.”
Valet didn’t work out. He crashed a BMW. The guy was a total asshole about it, according to Ben. The next several years, he had to pay the man money for the damages. This put off college, which was never really part of Ben’s ideal roadmap anyway. Then the car wash was just too much grunt work. Washing and soaping and drying and shining. Terrible on his back. Another job here, another job there. Always paid too little.
When someone works like this, years flash before their very eyes, almost unbeknownst to them. Like when you see someone who was always a child in your eyes, now an adult. But they have a career and a car, and you still live at home with mom. She couldn’t care less if Ben moved out or not, as long as he paid his share. She just wanted her damn cigarettes and Budweiser with her TV.
His job for the last five months was working at “Burger Boys.” He was at the register late in the afternoon. His coworker had just finished mopping the floors. A man with his hood sloppily placed on his head walked through the doors. He nervously jerked his head to the left and right, constantly looking over his shoulder. His hand was in his jacket.
He pulled out a pistol. “Give me all that cash! NOW!”
Staring down the silver barrel of a gun, Ben did not panic. It would be unusual to see if there were bystanders around. He had the calm of a shaolin monk, but the combat skills of a thirty-eight-year-old who lives with his mother.
Instead of doing what pretty much anyone working a minimum wage job would do, he did not comply. It seemed Ben was willing to lose his life over maybe a hundred dollars in the register.
“I don’t think so, pal. Get lost.” He didn’t stutter in fear. Complete confidence in the face of potential death.
“You kidding me man?! I’ll put a bullet between your eyes!” The gunman stepped closer to the register, and something happened. Something unexpected. He slipped. He slipped on the recently mopped floors and as he fell, the gun fired on himself. This man had slipped and fell and shot his own leg. He laid there in pain and agony as Ben’s coworker phoned the police.
Pure luck. Or a person of faith would praise God, perhaps even cry that they were alive and well. Perhaps they would even have a whole new outlook on life. A second chance some call it. But Ben was smiling. Thirty-eight years it took for him. For his all-mighty power to manifest. He didn’t need to have spiders bite him. That was all failure. Trial and error of past attempts. Now it was time to create his super suit that matched his superpower. The power of good luck.
Ben wasn’t stupid. He could learn new skills quickly. His mother had no idea he had bought an entire sewing kit and shopped at stores for clothing material. Video tutorials had him practicing until he perfected the design.
Crime fighting should be done at night, it would be harder for cameras to identify him. Plus his costume would help - all black in design. Yet at the center of the black chest piece was a green shamrock. He designed belt loops in the spandex pants for his chain belt with thirty different colored rabbit’s feet. The black boots he bought were an homage to his favorite DC hero, Batman.
How could he know of crime? A police scanner. There was a pawn shop only a few blocks away from where he lived. He had walked by a few times and noticed a radio section. He went in and the owner, Ernie, of “Ernie’s Pawn” was at the front counter.
“Can I help you bud?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to buy a police scanner.”
Ernie looked him up and down. “Why’s that huh? You some sort of drug dealer?” Ernie was specifically looking at the spider bites on his forearm.
“It's to fight crime.”
Ernie busted out laughing. Taking Ben’s comment as a sarcastic joke. Not paying attention to the serious look on Ben's face.
“That’s a good one. I got three or four over there.”
He turned the dial that night and listened. Writing down police codes and looking them up. It took him a few nights to map out the area with a high volume of crime and robbery. Then finally he donned the suit, strapped the boots on and looked out his small apartment bedroom window. Tonight, the criminals would face the wrath of “The Lucky Man.”
He ignored the strange looks he received on his outfit while riding the train. He was doing hero’s work. The stop was a few miles south. He found a dark alley to linger in, trusting his research skills. Feeling the night air for crime that might be afoot.
It was several hours but the hero's patience never waivered. Noticing a frantic woman walking toward the alley while a large, lumbering man stumbled after her. She turned into the alley Ben was hiding in. The large man turned the corner and grabbed the girl.
The woman looked terrified.
“Let go of me!” She cried.
“Let me get a little taste sweetheart.” The man pulled her closer and she tried to break free. He shoved her down which sprained her ankle. He began to unbuckle his pants until he heard Ben.
“I don’t think so, asshole.”
The man turned around to see Ben standing there in his costume, the rabbits’ feet gently swaying in the breeze.
“What in the fuck are you going to do about it?” The man had a knife. A large knife ready to plunge into Ben’s throat.
Fighting is only something Ben saw in comic books or movies. He never had any sort of training. This looked like it would be a vicious stabbing.
Sometimes window AC units are not secured properly. On a rare occurrence they can even fall from a window, plummeting a few stories while slamming into concrete and shattering into pieces. This particular AC unit found a large man wielding a knife to cushion its fall. The woman screamed, the large man, most likely dead or at least unconscious, laid motionless in the dark alley. And Ben stood there, relishing in what he thought was the use of his newfound superpower.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“I’m the Lucky Man.” He couldn’t disappear in a cool way like all heroes, no web to sling from or power of flight. He turned awkwardly and two rabbits’ feet got caught together, poking him in the leg in a funny way. He then strolled off as the woman still laid there speechless.
The adrenaline kicked in. Ben was on cloud nine. The jubilation of finally being a superhero…if only his old friends could see him now.
Two nights later, he would return to that very neighborhood. This time, streets were taped off by police. It was a violent shootout. No one should have been near there, but Ben was a superhero, called to action by the chaos. He snuck past the tape. Officers weren’t concerned with people coming through, their focus was on the store in which the gunfire came from. Two cops were pinned behind their vehicle right in front of it all. Shots hitting remnants of broken glass in the windows of the car.
“Hey what the fuck? Get out of here!” The one officer screamed, but Ben did not listen. He was a superhero.
He turned and gave them a confident smile as he marched forth to the store front where the criminals had been shooting from.
“Come out with your hands up!” Ben yelled with confidence. The two gunmen slowly stood to see him standing there. His hands on his waist, legs slightly spread apart. His chest perked up and forward, boastfully showcasing the shamrock on his chest.
“Uh this nut job is just standing there?”
“Man blast this asshole and let’s get the fuck out.”
Luck is a funny thing. Something everyone experiences occasionally and when they do, they try to capitalize on it. A streak they call it. A streak of good luck so you play the lotto or bet on a sports game. But like all things, especially luck, it doesn’t last forever.
The doctors spoke to the officers who were at the scene as they paid Ben a visit. Seven gunshots to the chest and abdomen. His costume removed; his identity revealed as his heart slowly blipped on the screen.
“This lunatic just walked in front of them and told them to come out. He had no gun on him, nothing. He just stood there,” one officer explained to the doctor.
“Well, we did the best we could. Not sure if he can recover fully. The bullets did not hit any vital organs. Pretty lucky. Maybe it was these rabbit’s feet he carried on him.” The doctor left the room.
“Rabbit’s feet?” The officer recalled a report from a few nights prior.
“Hey Lou, I think this is the guy Jennifer Holston told us about. Remember?”
Wide eyed and stifling a laugh, Lue said “The Lucky Man?”
They both looked at him. Unconscious, slowly breathing.
“Guess he ran out of luck, huh?”
All people run out of luck eventually. It’s the appeal of gambling in casinos. You just keep riding the wave and so many people crash. Ben rode a wave so large, so violent, so crazy that he laid unconscious in a hospital bed. His heart kept beating. His organs did their thing.
His mother sat by his bedside. A look of concern mixed with burden. Part of her hoped he either would wake up or that the damn machine would stop beeping. Pull the plug and move on with life. She had never wanted kids. She did the “right thing” and she wished she did the “wrong thing” thirty something years ago. Ben’s worthless father drank himself to death, she worked until her back gave out. It was a good thing she had a pension, but now the bills of his hospital stay were too much. She couldn’t afford to care for him any longer. She could only afford to move on and let the chips fall as they may. The bills would be on him if he ever woke up. So, she left him.
Nearly an entire year had passed as Ben was still in a heavy coma. For months, unbeknownst to him, arguments between departments of the hospital would happen right by his bedside.
“He has no family, and he won’t wake up. This is a bed we could be profiting from.”
“We can’t just pull the plug. Legal would have a field day.”
“I’m not saying unplug it, but accidents do happen.”
“I’ll get Jill.”
Jill. A nurse with no morals. Those had been done away with between the ample amounts of literal shit she had cleaned and the fact that her pay was the equivalent of said shit. Add twenty years of it, two failed marriages, a drug-addicted son and you have lovely Jill. Not that any of that justifies her willingness to “accidentally” kill a patient for extra cash.
She pretended to clean something near Ben’s bedside as she coyly unplugged the machine. Within the three seconds of her turning to make a smooth exit, Ben woke up screaming.
“AHHH!!” He proceeded to fall out of the bed and continue screaming.
Jill fell backwards. Her heart nearly fell out of her chest, only to catch the odor of a fresh bowel movement.
A nurse who responded to his screams ran through the door. She helped Jill to her feet. “You, ok? I need your help getting this patient cleaned up. He had a little accident when he woke up.”
Jill had to clean Ben’s shit. The doctors were more than surprised to see him awake.
“You're lucky, Ben. We didn’t think you’d make it.”
He looked at the doctor, stunned for a moment yet composed.
“Did I stop them?”
“No. In fact they were able to escape quickly after shooting you.”
Ben felt his chest then his stomach.
The doctor checked his vitals again. All normal. He was able to get up on his own. But he needed several weeks of physical therapy. Without asking questions like “How much is it going to cost me?” Ben went along with the necessary steps so he could be discharged from the hospital. He had a city to protect.
“Where are the rabbits’ feet?”
The nurse handed him the bag of his belongings, including the fuzzy feet. Before hitting him with the enormous bill.
“900,000 DOLLARS?!” he screamed.
“Well, there are repayment plans.”
He walked out of the hospital. No money in his pocket for a cab. No phone for an Uber. No pass for public transportation, just his feet. A strenuous eight-mile journey. What kept him going was the feeling of saving that woman. Then, the feeling of the bullets tearing his flesh. The burning pain it caused. The burning smell of a cigarette in his face. Hanging from the mouth of the angry man who answered the door.
“I didn’t order anything.”
“I live here. My mom lives here. Who are you?”
“Mom? I have lived here for nine months, pal. You one of those meth head squatters or something? Listen, take it up with the landlord.”
Kenny, the landlord, was surprised to see him. His mother said he died but there Ben was. Dazed and confused at the fact some strange man lives in his home.
“Hey Ben. So... your mom. She moved out west. She said she lost her son, and she needed a fresh start. But she left me all your action figure crap.”
The box was stuffed as if the person packing was in a rush. Comic books and action figurines stuck out every which way.
“I had a desktop PC I built too…”
Kenny just shrugged.
“I’ll be honest with you. I tried selling it, but I don’t know jack shit about superhero stuff. Not the PC. I don’t know anything about that.”
“Do you have anywhere I can stay?”
Kenny looked him up and down. He knew he had no money on him. Ben had just discovered his mother left him and had no place to stay. No job.
“For free? I got bills to pay Ben. Can’t be having people live here for free.”
So, Ben left. He left behind the place he called home. He didn’t even think to ask to use Kenny’s phone. His mom moved on. She finally was out west like she always wanted. What he wanted...was a place to stay for the night.
The library let him in. He managed to log into his “forum of heroes.” Only three active users left. He messaged all three and waited for a response. He waited until the library kicked him out.
When he still had a job, Ben always took an extra burger home. He would give it to the first homeless person he saw at the underway near the park. He walked around, familiar with it. Different makeshift homes from boxes and worn tents. He carried his box of stuff around. Looking for an empty spot to sleep in. He almost sat down until he heard a man’s voice.
“That is where I pee sometimes.” This began a weird conversation with Ben introducing himself as “The Lucky Man” and Paul introducing himself as “Prophet” Paul.
He said he was a wizard who traveled through dimensions and wound up here. Was he really a wizard? Others would say yes. He once told the other tenants of the underway about the upcoming rainstorm. Helping prepare everyone for the flooding. Realistically, Paul, who would confess this himself, loves bagels. Could he have seen the weather on the news after rummaging through the bagel shop’s garbage? Yes. But the bald head, the long, dark gray robes, and the thick beard really sold the part. The robes were just blankets. He was also old. But not too old. A respectable old for Ben to look up to.
On his first night, Ben’s box of comic books and figurines were stolen. One night and his entire chance of making any quick cash was gone. Some of those comics had real value.
“A man who has nothing gets hungry.” Paul said. Then he started walking away, dramatically.
Confused at this wizard’s cryptic speech, Ben followed him.
“Uh…what did you mean?”
Paul looked at him, then nodded slowly. He then raised his right hand and pointed it forward. Almost inviting Ben somewhere. They walked for over an hour, until reaching a bagel shop. Paul waited by the back door. It opened, and a young girl who worked at the bagel shop gave him a bag.
Paul took out both bagels.
“Wow thank you Paul.”
“What? Get your own!”
Paul proceeded to eat both bagels.
Ben knocked on the door and the girl answered again.
“What?”
“Can I…I please have a bagel too?”
She rolled her eyes. “God damn it Paul. I said don’t bring more people. I’ll get in trouble.”
She realized Ben was wearing some weird costume. The rabbits’ feet really bothered her. Not to mention the dried blood over the crudely sown clover.
She came back a few minutes later with a bag for Ben.
The day was filled with following Paul back to the underway.
“If you want to survive, you got ask the right kind of person for change.”
“Like that guy?” Ben pointed to a man in a suit.
“No! Never him! They are always speaking to people on those tiny ear things.”
Ben kept looking for good examples. He saw two young guys. White dress shirts with no tie. Tucked perfectly into khakis. Their hair was well combed. Too well combed really. They both seemed overly friendly. Smiles that look welcoming but also alarming. Talking to anyone that would make eye contact.
“How about those guys?”
Paul’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “Are you mad?! Cult worshippers of the god Jesus Smith? They never have money to give you! Just some crappy pamphlet.”
He shuffled over and then pointed at someone. “The ones who wear hideous pants always have cash.”
He managed to get a few dollars. Prophet Paul, over the next several days, morphed into a Sensei figure. Offering Ben guidance on where the best restrooms were. How to obtain food from garbage, and most importantly, prepare for the elements.
Each harsh lesson, Ben pleaded with Paul about his, once again, dormant superpowers.
“I don’t know Paul, I think I just need another moment, you know? Like the gunman at Burger Boys.”
Sesame seeds were stuck in Paul’s beard. He grabbed one. “Moments are like sesame seeds that fall from a bagel.” Then he ate it.
The underway sometimes had disputes. Fights over who slept where or who took whose booze bottle. Ben believed it was his duty to settle these disputes. Because he was a superhero. Yet he often found himself in the fight.
And not a good fight either. One of those horribly weird shove matches and poorly thrown jabs where the guy falls as he lunges toward someone, then grabs onto their ankle while half their ass is hanging out of their pants.
From afar, most would see this scene and simply witness a guy in a weird, dirty costume that had rabbits’ feet for a belt fighting with a drunken man who happened to be experiencing homelessness. Through the eyes of a superhero though, Ben was training. His reaction time was improving. He familiarized himself more with the feeling of being in a fight. This could only benefit his hero journey.
After claiming victory, Ben would assure the parties involved that everything was ok. Like he had settled something. But more often than not, his opponent would just pass out from being drunk.
“Come Ben. It is time.” Another cryptic message from Paul.
Ben followed his Sensei.
“Where we going now?”
“There is a building where many gather to worship a small, orange god. Many touch this god and run around with him. Placing him in cylinder, netted thrones. The people celebrate with gluttony and intoxication! They usually have money.”
Paul was talking about the basketball game.
The arena was on Main and State. Large crowds were walking toward the arena. Ben followed Paul closely. He had a set path of where to linger in the hopes of getting money. It was working. People were tossing quite a few dollars to Paul. Barely anything to Ben though. His shamrock on his chest vaguely resembled the rival team’s logo.
A large man and his girlfriend or wife walked past and the man stopped, staring at Ben.
“What the hell is this?” The man said in anger.
Ben, confused, replied “We are homeless. Just looking for some change to get by tonight.”
The man continued to look him up and down.
“Why did you dress like that then?”
“Because I am a superhero.”
The man snapped.
“Nope. Not again! I ain’t getting pranked again by some motherfucking YouTube asshole!”
Some context here would help explain this man’s explosive anger. A week prior, he was pranked by a famous YouTuber, Wiener Will.
Wiener Will is a seventeen-year-old trust fund kid. Most of his videos are terrible, harassment type pranks. He would stick his wiener in random peoples’ pockets and ask them “What’s in your pocket bro?” Then he would yell “Yo this dude a pedophile!” Then proceeded to run away, laughing, while filming the entire thing.
Ben’s training helped save his face from a potentially bone crushing punch. He saw the fury in the man’s eyes as he cocked back his right arm and planted his left foot forward. He swung and Ben ducked, but he was foolish to think the barrage would stop. The man planted a hard knee into Ben’s ribs.
He felt his wind leave him. He curled up into a ball on the ground. Holding his ribs. He had to defend himself from a series of kicks.
“Stop it! You’re going to kill him! He doesn't even have a camera!”
They left up the street and Ben laid there. Gasping for wind. Slowly rolling out of the fetal position. His ribs were still intact. Once he regained his breath, he noticed two tickets at his feet. They must have fallen out of the large man’s pocket while he was beating the shit out of Ben.
The tickets were for seats in the two hundred sections. The home team, the Wormington Worms, were three-time champions. On the top of the ticket was an advertisement for that night's half-time grand prize. One lucky fan would be selected at random to shoot a full court shot. If they made it, they would receive one million dollars.
He offered Paul the second ticket, yet he declined.
“I do not partake in any worship of any god. This path is for you alone.”
“But there are two tickets here.”
“Yes and you must choose one.”
“Why’s that Paul?”
Paul waved his hand to the night sky.
“Because that’s how it is written.”
Ben had to take this moment in. Really focus on the tickets at hand. “Prophet Paul” had spoken. Only one, but which? Feeling the edges of both tickets, seeing the number of the seats, he made his decision. He crumpled up the other and tossed it aside.
The ticket got scanned. They searched him. He got patted down by security who, of course, laughed at the rabbit’s feet hanging from his belt. Fans of sports have many weird good luck superstitions, so they didn’t think much of it other than how stupid it looked.
He sat in the two hundred section. Tonight’s matchup was the defending champs the Wormington Worms versus their cross-town rival, the Shamrock Sentinels.
Sports were never important to Ben. He did have the unfortunate circumstance of sitting next to only “Worms” fans. They taunted Ben thinking he was a fan of the Sentinels. Empty words to Ben. His mind was piecing together events, trying to rationalize the moment he was in now as only fate. This was his redemption. Every superhero falls and must fight valiantly to restore themselves. To save lives. He was a hardened man, living in the streets he swore to protect. The beating he endured was for this very moment now. Half-time.
“Ok folks! It’s the moment we have all been waiting for! The one lucky fan who gets a chance at a million dollars!”
The giant screen hanging overhead lit up with numbers being scrambled. It first stopped based on the section.
“Section two hundred!”
The screen again began to scramble letters.
“Row F!”
The screen then scrambled numbers until finally stopping on the winner.
“Can we please have the fan sitting in section 200, row F, seat 11 come on down!”
Ben held the ticket. He stood up quickly from his seat. Wincing in pain.
Security let him onto the court by the announcer.
“Let's give a big round of applause to our lucky fan! What is your name?”
“Ben.”
“What on earth is that? Are those rabbit’s feet?”
The crowd started laughing as the camera pans to the rabbit’s feet.
“Well folks he is going to need some luck to nail this shot. One try and one try only!”
The announcer put away the microphone.
“Ok. You get one shot. You can’t cross this line over here. Got it?”
Ben had never shot a basketball. Never played a sport. Yet he picked up the ball with total confidence. Because this was his redemption. He knew now what was needed of him. He threw the ball.
It soared through the air, hit the top of the backboard causing it to bounce wildly in the rafters of the stadium. It then bounced off the giant screen hanging over the court until it finally landed on the rim. It danced around in a circle and dropped through the net.
The crowd went wild. He sunk the shot in the most unorthodox way possible, but it went in. He won. The announcer was stunned. Confetti fell, he was getting hugged by people he didn’t know and that hurt his ribs even more.
He was taken to an office to be given all the details. He didn’t win a million dollars exactly because well, taxes. It was around 700,000 dollars. It would take a few days. It wasn’t enough money for his hospital bill, but at least enough to start paying some of it down. Maybe even enough to get himself a small apartment. This was a defining moment for Ben. His first priority was changing the design of his superhero suit.
Instead of a shamrock, he wore all black with just the number 11 on the front. No shamrock anymore. The black pants still had the rabbits’ feet. Those were essential. During his splurge on clothes his debit card chip got scratched. It wasn’t responding in the chip reader. He decided to stop at the bank on his way back to the motel he was staying at.
He approached the teller and before she could explain to him that they don’t print cards at the bank anymore, four men stormed in wearing ski masks. Each had a rifle. One aimed at the glass ceiling and shot five times.
“Get the fuck down and empty your fucking pockets!” The man screamed.
Everyone threw what they had in their pockets toward the man and fell to the floor. Everyone aside from Ben.
The other gunmen approached the tellers demanding cash.
“Hey asshole, I said get the fuck down and empty your pockets!”
Ben calmly turned to face him.
“I don't think you know who you are dealing with.”
The gunman noticed the rabbits’ feet. Why on earth would anyone carry that many with them?
“Oh ya nutjob? Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the Lucky Man…”
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