Stuart, Defender of Good, and his practical mother.

Stuart, Defender of Good, and his practical mother.

It would be easy to describe Stuart as inept. He was the kind of man whose attention was entirely focused on the trivial things in life, and this bred clumsiness. He would be walking the stairs and miss the bottom step. When he would spit out his mouthwash, he would shake his head as he observed distance between the spittle and the basin. Indeed, when he would be inspired to cook eggs on toast, he would inevitably crack the shell into the pan with the yolk and the toast would have to be discarded given its blackened state. To the outside world, Stuart was inept.

But rarely are things as they seem, for Stuart’s mind was on bigger things. From a young age he’d always known that he was, in fact, a superhero. It seemed to Stuart, then, that he must always be on the look-out for evil. Every moment of the day, he was alert for its presence, and constantly found himself looking out the corner of his eyes, rather than focusing on his task at hand. He knew one day he would stand face to face with his nemesis; in a battle between forces of light and shades of dark that he could little comprehend; but he knew he had born to be a solider in fortune’s war.

Many years ago he had made the decision that the timing of that great battle must have been slouching ever closer, so he rationalised his plan. Afterall, despite his clumsiness, he knew that planning was essential – and such a plan, he rationalised, was centred around appropriate attire. And for him, his ability to move into his destined future all hinged on a white body suit, which his mother had fashioned from neoprene, and, for ease, included a zipper running down the centre. She had been a practical woman, and had told him that if speed was necessary, then he wouldn’t have time to find someone, and to ask them to zip him up from the back. And of course, he had purchased himself a cape from his local costume store.

But, with dismay, Stuart had never had reason to don his costume. He had never encountered true evil, despite being ever on the search. That was until he was standing in his kitchen, readying himself to wash up the dishes. He would have already been underway, but he dropped a ceramic plate on the ground and had prioritised its clean-up, embracing the motto that safety was indeed a virtue. As his hands were hovering above the hot water in the sink, he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye a dark shape moved into view. He knew the colour of darkness, and the hateful shape he saw in the corner of his room was certain to be his first encounter with his nemesis. It had been sitting on his favourite armchair – and certainly, Stuart imagined, the villain would be comfortable.

Panicked, and unsure of himself, given he had not expected the great battle to have been on during the evening news, he plunged his hands into the suds. In the moment, he had thought it best to not yet make it known to his nemesis, who he could only call Evil, that he was aware of his presence. Quickly then, Stuart washed his breakfasts bowls and dinner plates and while he fumbled with the cutlery, managed to fill his drying rack and then he flung his tea towel over the top of it in a flourish he observed would have appeared quite natural.

Then, he knew he had to be quick. He continued to see the black shape in the corner of the room, it seemed to be hovering, waiting for its opportunity to destroy Stuart and claim the world. Stuart moved to the stairs, and then, kicked his toe on the bottom one. He let out a small groan, but kept his eyes alert for any sounds, having turned his back to his foe. On reaching the top of the stairs, he turned into his spare room and flung off all his cloths, except his underpants – after all, if the villain downstairs was to burst into the room, he would like to think he would still embrace some modesty. He grabbed his garb of power and quickly pulled it on. His mother had been right; the suit was indeed easy to get into, and he let out a chuckle when he remembered her words about the zipper – he thought of the humour of the situation, to ask his nemesis to zip him up. He grabbed the zip and began to pull – and that’s when his despair began.

It had been many years since the suit had been tailored, and while his mother, a clever woman, had used neoprene because of the stretch in the material – neither mother nor son could have conceived how Stuart’s frame would have enlarged over the years. Stuart looked down at a roll just below his belly button with horror – the task was impossible, the zip would not have the strength or will to take the journey over one roll, and then another, and another. Horrified, Stuart knew he had no options. He could not face his nemesis looking so ridiculous in his half-dressed state! He ran to the door, his gait changed by the tightness of the fabric about his legs, and then he simply locked the door. He knew it would be best to wait to fight Evil another day.

Downstairs in the corner room, the black shape continued to wait for Stuart’s return. It did not know where Stuart had gone, it did not know how the battle would turn out – for it did not think, not have any capacity to know. Stuart had thrown his oversized black winter coat onto a chair in the corner of the room to dry. It was appropriate attire for a winter storm; and, as Stuart would later exclaim, a perfect outfit for crafting Evil!