Category: Superhero

Pomegranate — 14

The two got themselves to Clarke’s. Alana’s black jeans were torn. Her hair was a mess. Marc was not better.

They stared at each other. Neither was in the mood for another fight.

Alana ordered a Sierra Nevada and a burger. She was not being good to her faith. In fact, she was becoming faithless. Marc ordered fish and chips with a Stella. He knew it wasn’t kosher. But he knew it was a kosher fish and potatoes are potatoes. At least, the bottled beer was fine.

“Well, good boy what’s up with us? Oh and Jen???”

Marc smiled, as he sipped his brew.   He planted his fork into the codfish.

She was about to smash her bottle of beer on Marc’s head, when a fight broke out at the bar. The two looked at each other. They had no desire to stop the fight.

In their minds, they both knew they were either going to fight each other and have makeup sex. Or just fight.

They ate, sipped their beers, split the tab, and left.

They embraced before heading to the train station.

 

Pomegranate — 13

Marc and Alana got off their trains. Each hoped their “meeting” would not be as horrendous as their prior two. Before heading over to Clarke’s they went to their respective banks.

They both smelled smoke and saw a haze in the air. It was emanating from the direction of the U.N. Their eyes wandered that way. The smoke thickened. Normal people would have walk in another direction. But they headed toward the source of the fire.

There were a few madmen and women lighting trash cans on fire while ranting about the world. Sirens were heard in the background.

Marc and Alana raced toward the criminals. Alana knew she couldn’t shoot her most powerful weapon, wine. It would make the fire burn brighter. But she knew she had to do something. Marc saw them. He didn’t want to get dirty. He was in his favorite Lacoste shirt and Gap jeans. He wanted to look nice for Alana.  He knew he had to stop this madness.

One of the crazies bumped into him. He pushed her away. She charged into him. He ducked. He had no desire to expose his powers at the UN. Alana was trying to put out one of the fires when someone picked up a flaming trash can and tossed it at her.

She went nuts. She kicked the can down. But got minor burns on her legs. The person who threw the can was laughing. She ran up to him and punched him so hard. His mouth fell wide open. She unleashed pounds of figs down his throat. He fell down and choked. He passed out. She walked away from him.

Meanwhile, Marc was engaged in a fight with the woman who shoved him. She was throwing garbage at him. His arms bulged. He opened his hands as pomegranates flew out his palms. Several hit the woman right in her head. He shot barley and honey. Finally, he entangled her in his weapons. She started crying. He checked to see if she was ok. As he turned around to run an EMT was racing toward them.

He knew he had to be swift. Alana was racing ahead and shooting wine at a woman who was wielding a machete. She usually fought with grape wine. But started drinking an amazing Israeli pomegranate wine and added it to her repertoire. She knew she would probably hit Marc with it. But wanted to practice to make sure it was effective.

The two kept at it. The NYPD eventually arrived. One of them tripped over one of the trashcans.

Marc and Alana started running toward Clarke’s. They were texting each other that they’d be late for their get together. But both understood why.

 

 

 

 

 

Back home from camp, Marc was ready to take on the world. He always felt that way when he was in a spiritual place. As soon as baseball season started, he’d go to Yankee Stadium.

He pulled out his iPhone and texted Alana, “Wanna try Clarke’s again?”

He was hoping they’d settle their issues via conversation, a Stella and either fish and chips or a burger. Food choice was based on how they felt about religion at the moment.

Meanwhile, Alana was running. She was in a bad mood. She saw some little kids fighting. But decided to let them be. They were only kids. No need to get involved. Her phone played, “Love will tear us apart”. She whipped it out of her pocket. That was Marc’s ringtone. She read his message. She quickly typed, “Tonight, 7:30 p.m. Alone. Or else.”

She continued her run. She went home showered and jumped on the train to meet Marc.

Pomegranate — 12

Back home from camp, Marc was ready to take on the world. He always felt that way when he was in a spiritual place. As soon as baseball season started, he’d go to Yankee Stadium.

He pulled out his iPhone and texted Alana, “Wanna try Clarke’s again?”

He was hoping they’d settle their issues via conversation, a Stella and either fish and chips or a burger. Food choice was based on how they felt about religion at the moment.

Meanwhile, Alana was running. She was in a bad mood. She saw some little kids fighting. But decided to let them be. They were only kids. No need to get involved. Her phone played, “Love will tear us apart”. She whipped it out of her pocket. That was Marc’s ringtone. She read his message. She quickly typed, “Tonight, 7:30 p.m. Alone. Or else.”

She continued her run. She went home showered and jumped on the train to meet Marc.

 

 

 

Pomegranate — 10

Alana stood in front of Clarke’s. Marc never wrote back. That was unlike him. Although they only had a brief romance many moons ago, she knew him too well. They were always good friends. And enemies. Alana decided to wear pink sneakers. She wanted to play with his head.

She stood there for about 30 minutes waiting. He was never late. Tears fell from her eyes as she gave up and walked toward the E-train. As she was walking she heard a faint yell calling her name. She turned around. Marc was standing there. She was happy. Yet annoyed. She was about to start a fight. She really wanted to. But decided to momentarily hold off.

They looked at each other. Jen was not far behind Marc. Alana couldn’t tell if they were together or if she came on her own. Of course, they all knew of each other. She wanted to be the mature one. She knows Jen is a bit goofy. She saw the two of them walking closer to her. And she held her ground.

Marc got closer. Jen still trailed him by about 10 feet. Alana was ready to fire away. But she held back. It was so hard for her. Jen was smiling. Marc went right up to her and said, “hi”.

“What is she doing here?” retorted Alana. Marc started to shake. Alana was getting ready to take both of them out.

“She followed me from my office.” Alana shook her head.

“You know we have this crazy relationship.”

“Marc you nut cake. Isn’t that your problem with all the girls you date? Have you ever dated someone normal? I’m probably the most normal you’ve been with. And that doesn’t say much for either one of us.”

“Please, Alana. She’s has problems. You know she’s listening to us right now. I know you could take her out. I don’t want to have to fight again. But please don’t attack her.”

“Jen, what’s your deal? We both love Marc. Neither of us is probably right for him. He’s probably not right for us. But I set this up. Get away.”

Jen started to cry. Alana wound her arm up. Her hand opened. She unleashed a bushel of apples right at Jen. She followed it with figs. But she threw everything in a way that’d they’d just graze her. She wanted to scare Jen. Scare her she did. Jen jumped away as the last apple flew by her head. She fell down and scraped her knees and hands.

Marc started shooting honey at Alana. But he was no match for her. She was on fire. He tried to hit her with pomegranates. He missed.

Pomegranate — Book 8

Alana woke up with a slight stomachache. She didn’t sleep well. She wasn’t sure why. Things have been going fairly well at work. She still had her obsession with Marc. But that was slowly subsidizing. She wanted to help people. But she didn’t want people to get in her way.

She might be stubborn and tough. But underneath it all, she has a good heart. She showered and decided to take a walk outside. The cold winter air was getting her blood circulating. She was feeling better.

She heard noises that sounded like gunshots. Her ears told her shots were fired about a block away to her left. She thought for a minute and decided to head over.

More shots were fired. She heard no sirens. She wondered why. She picked up her pace. She saw an enraged woman firing off shots into the sky. People were hiding on the ground and in garbage cans.

She assessed the situation. She yelled out to the madwoman. The woman looked at her and fired two more shots into a wall. Then she pointed the gun at Alana.

For a moment everyone was frozen. A little boy started to cry. Alana and the woman stood perfectly still. It was as one was waiting for the other to attack first. Thoughts quickly raced through Alana’s mind. She knew if she tried to run she’d be gunned down. That wouldn’t work. She couldn’t get killed until she had Marc under her control.

Alana’s arm started to bulge. Her hand opened. The woman was paying strict attention to Alana. Her finger was on the trigger of the automatic weapon. She was about to pull it when figs and apples started flying through the air. She started chanting religious prose. The fruits kept flying. One smacked her right on her gun hand. The weapon fell to the ground. Alana ran forward and picked it up. She opened the chamber and unloaded it. She tossed it down a sewer.

The woman collapsed. Finally, the sounds of sirens were blaring. Alana just stood there. People surrounded the crazy lady. But no one said a word.

Pomegranate — Book 7

Marc finished his treadmill run. He threw on his coat and raced out of the gym. There was no need to for him to race. He had nowhere to be. He just moved fast. He was feeling nervous. Not sure why. Nothing was wrong.

He slowed down and walked toward Jewel Avenue. For some reason, all he kept thinking about was the letter, “T”.

He walked back toward the subway. But as he approached the steps leading down to the turnstiles he turned around. He started walking aimlessly. He was not happy.

What was about the letter, “T”? His mind rambled on. But he was coming up empty. He strolled along his block. He tripped over a Pepsi bottle. He got up quickly and carried on.

He heard some yelling near Yellowstone Park. He was still hashing out the letter “T” in his head. He really had no desire to play the superhero. He was obsessed with this letter. He decided maybe he’d find the answer in the park. So he hurried over.

All he saw were parents screaming at each at their children about how well or poorly they were playing basketball in the park. It was quite unruly. But didn’t see too alarming. Until one parent ran onto the court with a knife and tried to attack a young child who just missed a layup. From a distance Marc shot honey out of his eyes, followed by a pomegranate aimed at the parent’s head. She went down.

Marc wanted to leave. But a parent or two saw him. And sensed he was the one who took out the knife wielder. He walked quickly toward the park’s exit gate. Parents were following him. He never turned his head. One screamed out his name. He kept going.

Pomegranate — Book 6

Alana woke up. She had a miserable night’s sleep. She spent the night twisting and turning. She was upset about the fight she had with Marc. Of course, she knew they’d spar again.

She went to the kitchen and poured some orange juice. Her mind drifted back the year she lived in Israel and the time she spent in Tiberias. She was so happy. As she was canoeing down the Jordan, her canoe capsized. The water was calm and she is a good swimmer. But she wasn’t ready for the dead branches floating in the river. They got stuck in her personal floatation device. And she was being pulled under.

She gasped for air. She managed to pull herself up. She swam to shore. Her canoe floated down the river. She saw a family enjoying a Fig2

Apple

picnic. They asked if she needed help. She nodded she was ok. Their little ones offered her some apples and figs. She thanked them and started walking.

The apple was decent. However, it was a little too hard. She spits most of it out and hit the figs, which were not much better. Her arms began to shake. She was feeling slightly ill. But she did go through a crazy experience in the river. She figured her nerves were making her nutty. Not the fruit. She loved all fruit and is a nature girl. Not long ago, she had a spiritual connection with these fruits. She started breathing heavily. Her body shook a little. Then she started firing apples out of her hands and figs were coming out of her eyes

She remembered when she was in the seminary. She and a teacher were privately discussing the forbidden fruit. And the symbolism the figs have for the Holy Land.

She knew she loved Israel and wanted it to remain strong. She felt sick that night. She figured apples and figs would cure her. Over the next few days, she ate them like an addict.   She got better. But noticed she was getting stronger. She credited the fruits.

A day or so later she fell down the steps leading toward the Jaffa Gate. She hit the ground hard. But didn’t get hurt. She decided it was because of her recent intake of apples and figs. They were medicinal. She did not know that they helped her grow both physically and spiritually. And would empower her. How she’d use the power was up to her.

As she walked on, she was scared, yet excited. She started to practice her aim. And hoped she’d be able to release these fruits at will. She figured she could use them to do good or bad. Wherever her mood took her.

She thought about getting Marc. But how would she get him?

Pomegranate — Book 5

Book 5

Early, Tuesday morning, Marc boarded his Amtrak Acela headed for D.C. He was going on a business trip. He loved going to D.C. His dad, may his soul rest used to have biz apartment in Alexandria, Va., Marc crashed there on and off for months. When not working he would have a beer with an old college friend. And he’s also having dinner with one of his besties and her beautiful family.

He found a seat in the quiet car, opened his Nook, and began to read. He was still thinking about Jen. But was thinking much more about Alana. He was unnerved after their battle. But he’d be ok. Man did he like her.

Marc developed his powers years ago while praying in Amuka. He was hoping his prayers would find him a wife. Instead, he became very powerful. During his meditation, he heard whispers telling him he was going to gain powers and must use them for good. He wasn’t sure what to believe. And chalked it up to the wonderful glasses of wine from he sipped in the art district in Safed. He sipped them with fresh laffa bread, olive oil, and hummus. He thinks about that day all the time. He was wondering how Alana developed her strengths and if it was only apples. Of course, he thought she had more powers. Somehow he knew she would unleash them on him. He hopes only on him. He could fight back. Others would go down.

He was worried she might use them to go after people. She was always a little vindictive. The train pulled into DC’s Union Station and he jumped on the Metro’s Red Line toward the Marriott.

He checked in and went to his office. Things were going as planned. He’d work for several hours and then trek out to Rockville on the train. Not on a bus. Boy does he have a song for everything and loves R.E.M.

Things were quiet in his company’s D.C. office. The illiterates were out. The NYC office was not much different. Marc had a friend or two in both. But for the most part, hated them. He grabbed his laptop and headed to the Metro station. He was going to see his friend, Rebecca, and her wonderful youngsters.

He was walking down Pennsylvania Avenue. The usual crazies were protesting. It happens daily. His mind was drifting in thoughts about tonight’s Yankees-Red Sox game. He’d catch it on the TV at the hotel’s bar when he got back from Rebecca’s.

As he approached the Metro, he saw an elderly man being beaten by young thugs. The man was gasping for air. Marc really didn’t need this. He knew he couldn’t let an old man get hurt. Not only was this happening, but an out of control woman was also trying to fight with some of the protestors, who were loud. Yet they very peaceful. He was perplexed as to how to handle multiple fights. But he knew he had to.

“Hey, tough guys. Does beating up an old man make you feel strong? Are you that weak?”

The three 20 somethings looked at Marc. One pulled out a knife and ran toward him. As he approached Marc backed up and landed a kick in the guy’s chest. He went down. The other two pulled out their silencer-equipped Glocks and aimed. Marc didn’t even quiver. He stood there waiting to take the shots. The men pulled the trigger. Marc’s perfect vision tracked the bullets. He stood firm and his hands began to twitch. He opened his closed hands and shot cannon strength pomegranates, which deflected the bullets. The guys tried to fire again. But Marc shot several blasts of honey into the barrel of both guns. The guns backfired and the assailants fell down hard onto the concrete.

Meanwhile, the woman was still attacking the protestors. He did not have any time to waste. He approached her. They quickly looked at each other and she picked up a fire extinguisher and fired at the protestors. He jumped in the middle of it and barley flew out of his hands, while honey ejected from his eyes. She aimed the extinguisher at him and fired. He ducked. She missed. He returned fire with six pomegranates. They hit her all over. She screamed. She keeled over. Marc ran to the Metro station. He hopped on the Red Line and was safe in Rockville.

Pomegranate — Book 4

Marc enjoyed his drinks with Jen. She was as pretty and nutty as ever. Just the way he liked his ladies. They spent about two hours in the bar, kissed on the lips, and went to their respective train stations.

They didn’t make plans to see each other again. But knowing in due time they would. That’s how it goes. He hopped on the arriving E subway and headed back to Forest Hills. Little did he know the woman who was following him earlier was in the next car. She walked between the cars and sat several seats away from where he was standing. Marc was not drunk. He was just calm and happy that he spent time with Jen.

The woman was dressed in all black — black running pants, a black athletic skirt and a long-sleeved black tee shirt. She wore red lipstick, black nail polish, and had a chamsah chain dangling from her neck. She’s in great shape. Her ear buds was in her ears and was listening to Bauhaus.

Marc got off the train and so did the Goth chic. Marc hiked over to Duane-Reade to pick up some stuff. For a guy who orders most of his stuff online, he spends way too much time in stores.

He was moseying down 108 Street. Alana, the girl who has been tracking him was not far behind. She slowed down for a moment or two. Marc also stopped. He was paranoid. Not alcohol. Jen.

He sensed he was being followed. He knew people might catch onto him eventually. But he was doing good things. He heard Alana’s footsteps getting closer. He turned around and there she was. Her gorgeous green eyes with black eyeliner and perfect body were approaching him.

“Alana Elias?”

“So you remember me?”

“Of course.”

“I always liked you, Marc. I know we played a little. Remember when were both always dressed in all black? I know you still do.”

“Yeah. We had some good times.”

“They were limited. Hell, I refused to admit it. But I even enjoyed when we cut few days of college and went to that camp you call your temple. I complained. But thinking back those two or three days in the middle of nowhere and swimming in the lake were the best for me.”

“I loved our bathing suits, ha, ha…”

“I bet you did. But you burned me. I really liked you.”

“I burned you? Nah. You were always talking about other guys. I asked you not to.”

“Because I’m just a little daffy. But I’m better now. And I will have you. “

Her eyes turned blood red.

“Maybe you will.”

She looked so hot.

“Are you still lighting candles on Friday nights? “

“Yes. But I have my vices. Sometimes I light black candles or red ones. Sometimes I need to play Joy Division, as I’m lighting and keep listening. How about your vices?”

“Well yeah, I try but I have them. When the Yankees play well, Friday night and the boys from ‘da Bronx are needed. Sometimes a Brennan & Carr roast beef sandwich is needed. We all have issues.”

Marc smiled, waved goodbye, and started walking down the block. He loved her. But knows she’s a head case. So is Jen. But Alana is tougher to handle. They grew up together. As he was walking, Alana yelled at him for going. She started to scream. He didn’t want to fight.

She caught up to him and grabbed him by the neck. She then started kissing him. She was slapping him, too. He threw her down. She hit the ground hard. But bounced up so fast that he didn’t even see what was coming next.

Her tan face turned red. Her hair was flying. Her green eyes were blood red. Her toned arms wound up like a pitcher. She waved them a few times. She gritted her teeth. Alana’s legs stomped down. Marc was not sure what to do. He didn’t want to unleash his powers on her. He didn’t trust she wouldn’t put onto YouTube. He tried to back up. As he did she pitched several bright red enlarged apples. They flew at a high speed. One of them hit him right in the jaw.

He retaliated. His eyes bulged and he looked straight at her face. He unleashed a few pomegranates laced in honey. The two of them volleyed their weapons back and forth for several minutes. They were in incredible form. If only they were partners. Unlikely.

Marc was about to release barley as an apple smacked him the head and broke open. Apple seeds infiltrated into his mouth, nose, and eyes. He was momentarily blind. Alana didn’t stop.

Marc shot out the barley and stuck her hands together with honey. She looked at him and took a breath.

“This is just for starters, Marc my boy. I’m sure our paths will cross again shortly.”

She walked off. Marc just stood there.