When Nothing Else Matters

It was the spring of 1983, my sophomore year at Southern Illinois University, and I had a short story assignment hanging over my head. In those days, you had to type (yes…type on a typewriter) the story using mimeograph paper. For those under the age of fifty, a mimeograph was a heavy piece of paper with thick blue impressionable ink on the back side of the top sheet. So, everything you typed, copied through the mimeograph paper. If you made a mistake, you had to scrape it off with a razor blade and put a replacement sheet of blue paper under the mistake and type it correctly. It was a long and arduous job. I had to have the master sheets of my story to the English office at eight the next morning so they could run the copies (print them in faded blue ink) for the class.

I did as any other half-committed artist would do. I played a pickup game of basketball with my friends. My roommate was tired of my complaining about a lack of inspiration for my story. That one-hour game turned into a long night. I hyperextended my right knee when someone stepped in front of me as I drove for a layup. Emergency room visit (low on the triage list) and finally back to my dorm late that night.

Lying on my bed with my leg propped up and complaining about my deadline first thing in the morning, I jokingly said, “Here I am twenty years old and my days as a superhero are over.” My roommate looked at me. I looked back at him, and the story was born. I started with that line and composed a story about a senior in high school who collected comics and wanted to become a superhero. He did the next best thing… Oh, well, you’ll have to read the story found in the Short Story section of the “Works” tab. I hope you enjoy it.

Mitchell S Karnes