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'Ziggy Murphy: A Heroes Welcome'

It was beyond surreal. A magic act. A man in a cheap black suit with a strange hat walked on stage, pulled a rabbit out of his hat-and suddenly the world was different. But the strange thing was this-no one really noticed. Maybe for a brief second there was a strange taste of copper in the air, but people went about their days just as they always had. After all, today had always been the same as yesterday-why should tomorrow be any different?

Most people secretly suspect that there is something wrong and dangerous with the world. It's only natural to be afraid of the unknown. However, the real dangers in life are the apparent-the things we know, love, and accept. When the comfort features change few notice until it is too late.

"What's that?" asked eleven year old Ziggy Murphy pointing upwards.

"Nothing, just your imagination," Ziggy's mom answered without even breaking stride.

"There was a man up there, he was watching us."

Ziggy's mom glanced down at her pre-teenage daughter. Ziggy was always seeing things and crafting wonderful stories. Her father embraced it, encouraged it, and even thought it was a good thing. The bum.

"There's no man up there, now stop bothering me, I have to focus on the road."

Everything changed when Ziggy's father left. At first Ziggy's mother thought it to be for the best, but now she could see it was a lot more work taking care of a child on her own. Television made it look so easy. Ziggy's father left because Ziggy's mother asked him to leave-not because he wanted to. They didn't really fight about it, because they never really fought. However, it was something that Ziggy's mother thought to be for the best. Ziggy's mother felt that being a single mother might help her image at work-after all, 90% of identity is how people perceive you. Being strong and independent might get her that big promotion. Ziggy's father never put up much of a fight, that's why Ziggy's mother married him in the first place. She once read a book that suggested surrounding yourself with people who can get you what you need-that way you only have to focus on delegation. It was probably the best decision she had ever made.

" Veronica ," Ziggy's mother started, "I don't want you to dilly-dally today after your lessons. I am sending Ronald to pick you up and he has a very tight schedule to maintain."

"My name is Ziggy."

"Don't be silly. Your name is Veronica . Ronald will be here to pick you up at 3:30 ."

"Why can't dad pick me up?"

"Because your father is incompetent."

This was the truth, but Ziggy did not want to admit it. She adored her father, even though he had a tendency to be absent-minded. Once when she was still a toddler her father left her alone in the bathtub to buy lottery tickets. It would have been forgivable if not for the fact that it was not the first-nor the last-time that Ziggy was left alone so that her father could go do something else. In fact, her father was no longer allowed to take her food shopping after leaving her in the produce aisle for six-hours.

On a positive note-during that six-hour period of seclusion near the bagged carrots Ziggy met Ricky, the store's mop-boy. He was almost eight-years older than Ziggy, but she knew that someday the two of them would get married. They would buy their own store called "R-Z's Groceries" so that Ricky could mop whenever he wanted. It would be so romantic.

"He is not. I hate Ronald."

Ziggy's mother let out a sigh. "Can we not start this right now? I have a very tight schedule to maintain. There is no time for this discussion. Ronald is picking you up at 3:30 . Okay?"

"Okay." Ziggy stared at the buildings as they flew past. "He looked so sad."

"Who? Ronald? He may be overworked, but I don't think that's a reason to be-"

"No. The man. He looked sad."

"Honey, there was no man. It was probably just a service worker."

"Maybe he was just confused."

"I'm sure he was."

"Batman is always sad. Maybe it was Batman."

"Batman doesn't live in Metropolis dear. He lives in Gotham ."

Ziggy's mother pulled the car to a stop in front of Ziggy's school. It was a snobby-pretentious place made to look older than it really was. The faux-brickwork was designed to give it an aged look, but nothing in Metropolis was really that old. At least not in this part of town. The mansion-esque quality of the building, along with its wrought iron fence set it apart from most other schools. In any other world this would have been a "School for the Gifted" but in this part of the city it was a "School for the Privileged".

"Now remember-3:30."

"Yes mother."

Ziggy got out of the car without kissing her mother goodbye. Some families might find this to be strange, but it was a tradition in the Murphy household. Signs of affection were a weakness, and Ziggy's mother did not want to be perceived as weak. After all, who you are is largely dependent on how people see you.

Ziggy stood in front of the ivy-draped fence for a few moments until her mother had clearly driven away and then walked in the other direction. Skipping school wasn't part of her regular lifestyle, but she had to know what the sad man on top of the building was doing. Ziggy knew that someone was there looking down at her, and service workers did not wear capes.

End Chapter One.

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Ziggy may have been only eleven, but she knew her way around town. Her father had left her behind in so many different stores that she had gotten used to reading and navigating public transportation. The monorail system was easy to follow, especially if you only had to go short distances.

The ride was always longer than it should have been. Even in Metropolis the untouchable class was present, and they always ended up sitting next to you. Some smelly bag lady-probably in her forties, but sounding like and looking like an AARP member-crawled into the chair next to Ziggy. Every breath the bag lady took reeked of rot and abuse, accompanied by a wheezing cough. Ziggy's mother would have told her that people only fall through the cracks because they let it happen-that hard times don't fall on people, people find them on their own. Maybe there was some truth to that, but Ziggy secretly thought that her mother's answer was too simple, like saying all houses were the same. Sure, they have similar appearances and functions-but it really failed to describe the individual house.

The train came to a halt, and as one living organism the passengers filed out. The huddled mass of elbows shuffled through the doorways dragging Ziggy along. She let the current of people drag her away. Ziggy wondered if any of her fellow passengers had seen the sad man in the cape, but probably not. Even if they had witnessed him they wouldn't know how to react. People were always more interested in the illusion than finding out how a man could hide twelve live animals on his person and not smell like a barn. There was something different about the man in the cape-as though he didn't belong, but was too afraid to admit it. Still, as long as today happens like yesterday, and tomorrow happens like today no one will notice.

Ziggy burst free from the monorail like water from a ruptured hose. The bag lady had already found a lonely bench to contemplate. Under different light, with different clothes the woman could have been ageless. Even covered with rags and filth her inner beauty managed to gleam through-if only for a brief second. She turned her head in Ziggy's direction, and with crystal blue eyes stared at the eleven year old. She wasn't old at all, but glorious like a princess. Her black hair, hidden by a rag-like bonnet, resonated nobility. Ziggy raised her hand as a friendly salute to the bag lady, and the lady smiled in response. As the woman and the little girl shared their moment a crowd of people walked between them, breaking the scared gaze. When Ziggy looked back to the bag lady's bench there was nothing there, no trace that the bag lady had existed at all.

Ziggy continued her search for the sad man in the cape.

End Chapter Two.

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The streets of Metropolis are like a gold-coated brick. On the surface they shine with pristine and glory, however a small amount of scratching reveals the true face of the city. Metropolis could have been a Gotham . The big difference between the two major cities is largely a fresh layer of paint. Still, the pretty covering does not change the nature of the city.

You can understand a street, but you will never truly understand the coldness that comes from a bad street-as though the environment itself knows the evils done near by and bleeds an aura of sorrow as a response. A city is very much alive, and mourns in its own way. A street always remembered what happened, and once a street turns bad there is simply no turning back. People act differently on bad streets, and things happen in ways that you would never really expect them to. In some ways these streets always look empty, no matter how crowded they may be. Walking along the pavement was like marching through a graveyard-you were mindful of what you said and where you walked. The brick walls of the apartment buildings shadowed the street, and the sun seemed to shy away from the area. Trees died of the sorrow-not the neglect.

The chill crawling down Ziggy's spine felt worse than a stranger's hands. For the first time today Veronica Murphy doubted walking away from school.

A group of delinquents in a junker drove down the street. The bass from their stereo pounded windows, but the low-end noise was the only sound emitting from the street. The slowed as they passed Ziggy, rolling down their windows and tipping their sunglasses to get a better look at the eleven-year old invading their neighborhood.

Ziggy's father had once told her to be wary of anyone who wears sunglasses excessively.

"The eyes are the keys to our souls. Look into a man's soul and you can see his real worth. Any man who is afraid to show you the window to his soul is not to be trusted."

Her mother called it "hogwash", "humdrum", or some other "h" word. That's why Ziggy liked her father so much-he was poetic and full of grace, like something from a novel. Ziggy's mom would call him a charlatan.

"He's always saying things like that. Sure, you love him for it.the sheer act of letting words sweep you off of your feet. At least you do at first, but then you realize he is making it all up. I mean-how can anyone seriously believe some of that stuff? 'A man can't be measured by acts alone.' It blows you away, you want to believe it-more than anything else, you want it to be the truth-and maybe you do believe it for awhile, but there is more to life than philosophical drizzle. Like work, and action. You can really judge a person by what they don't do."

Both of Ziggy's parents used big words, and most of the time she was uncertain if they really knew what they meant. To an eleven-year old it seemed like a waste of time to spend two-hours discussing "The nature of meritology".whatever that meant.

Ziggy continued down the street until she found the building. From this angle she couldn't see the tops of the buildings as well, and the man in the cape didn't seem to be leaning over the roof's ledge anymore. She continued down the open alleyway until she reached a lowered fire escape.

The metal ladder wasn't old-just mistreated, misguided, and abused. Bits of garbage hung from the ballasts, and improper use had caused rust spots to build along the rails. A little bit of scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint would cover up the ugliness, but the nature of the street would bring back the corrosion and filth. Some things can't be changed with a simple makeover.

The climb to the rooftop was uneventful but squeaky. The fire escape moaned and groaned like an elderly woman on a treadmill. Even when she reached the top of the escape the sun refused to breech the cloud cover. The rooftop was coated in gravel and cigarette butts. Someone had been raising pigeons in a small coop. The shack was coated in detritus and feathers, and released a dry chemical smell. There were footprints in the gravel, but it was hard to say how recent. The tracks were significantly deeper than other indentations in the rooftop-but that was the only definitive thing about them. Ziggy was no tracker, although her father claims to be of Native decent. Her mother says this is just another story.

Other than the birds, the butts, and the gravel the roof was empty. The surrounding rooftops were just as empty. Maybe her mother was right-it was just a fat janitor on a morning smoke break, coming up to the roof to check on his birds. A very fat, dense janitor. With a cape.

End Chapter Three.

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The climb down the fire escape was just as loud as the climb up. So loud, in fact, that Ziggy did not notice the rhythmic shaking of the nearby windows, nor the audibly low-end thump of the music causing the disturbance. She didn't notice the parked junker-the source of the sound, nor the group of delinquents sneaking through the alleyway. A car full of five youths quickly turned into a horde of troublemakers creeping around in darkness.

"Hey Twinkie-shouldn't you be in school?" said one of the punks-a boy not older than 15 with more metal on his face than skin.

"My name is Ziggy-not Twinkie."

"Ziggy? I think I smoked a Ziggy once-it was really smooth."

The other punks cackled at the jest, but Ziggy didn't get the joke. She started down the alleyway, heading towards the main street. A fat man in a neon green shirt with a black leather vest stepped in her way.

"Aw come on Twiggy-don't be like that. We're just looking to play."

The other punks laughed again. When dealing with bullies Ziggy found it best to handle it like any other situation. You find the path of least resistance, and drive a train through it. In this case it meant kicking the fat man in the softest place imaginable.

It worked, and the fat man curled up and fell over faster than the speed of gravity. Ziggy bolted past two punks, and sprinted towards the open street. However, as she passed the junker blaring bad music an unseen thug opened the door, causing Ziggy to collide with the semi-solid piece of metal.

Ziggy could taste the tin of injury in her mouth, and her head started to feel swollen, but she wasn't bleeding. The abrupt collision startled her more than anything else, and the stunned eleven year old was quickly caught by the older and faster boys.

"Now that wasn't very nice Twinkie, you could have really hurt old Tank. I'm sure you hurt his feelings-better say you're sorry. You don't want him mad at you-do you?" said Metalface.

"Yeah Twiggy. You wouldn't want me MAD at you!" hollered Tank.

With that, the fat man picked up Ziggy in both arms and slammed her against a wall. Once again, the tinny sting flowed through young Veronica Murphy's sinuses like burning ochre, the pain ringing in her ears like static feedback. She started to cry.

"Stop.you jerks!" Ziggy demanded, but they just laughed it off.

"Stop.you jerks!" Metalface mocked. The gang cackled and howled-like wolves celebrating their catch. The pack circled, and moved in towards the young Veronica Murphy-and all she could do was cower and taste the salt of her tears.

"Stop. Now."

The voice was cold, but full of authority. The smiles dropped from the face of the delinquents as fear conquered their muscles. The smarter punks started to disperse, the loyal ones looked to Metalface for answers. In times of conflict--when your peers seek you out for solutions-one of two things can happen. Either you take up the torch of leadership and give the mob directions, or you forever give up your position at the top. It was always difficult for Metalface to set down the reigns, and the synergy of the gang's expectant eyes gave him the courage to make the choice.

"Yeah?" Sneered Metalface as the grin returned to his ratty face, "what are you going to do about it?"

The movement was too fast to see, the logic of the situation too confusing to comprehend. One moment Metalface was turning to face the cold metal voice, the next moment he was soaring through the air on a quick path towards the junker's windshield. The sheet of glass burst as the metal-clad youth impacted it.

The music stopped.

The man from the roof-the sad man with the cape-stood in the center of the small group. With lightning speed he moved from punk to punk tossing them at whichever wall, dumpster, or junk pile seemed appropriate at the time. They flew through the air as though on wires, and connected to their targets as though they were made for tossing. Some of the punks moaned, others curled up and cried.

Tank had set Ziggy down during this display of man-tossing, and stared at the cape-clad man in blue as he methodically approached the fat man. Tank pleadingly raised his hands-begging for mercy, but to no avail. The caped man's hand short forward with alarming speed, grasping the large youth around the throat. With a simple gesture the man in blue lifted the mass of delinquency into the air.

"So," said the man in the cape, "you like picking on children?"

The fat man choked out a response under the pressure of his own weight. "You-you-you're.not.supposed to do this."

"And why is that?" the Man of Steel asked.

"Be-because.you're.you're him.you're Superman."

Ziggy stirred from her fetal position on the ground. Superman? Wasn't he gone? Slowly she stood up, scanning the two figures before her. He looked right-the blue spandex, red crest and cape-why hadn't she noticed it earlier? Here she stood five feet from the Earth's most famous face, and yet it held no familiarity at all.

The fat man finally passed out, and was flung aside like a discarded tissue.

Superman gazed down at the small girl in front of him. The world's greatest hero looked empty. Alone. He stood taller than any man Ziggy had ever seen, and under most circumstances she would have instantly fallen in love. Still, there was something missing-something distant. He looked like a mother, longing for a child to cradle.

"Children should be in school."

With that, the Man of Steel flew away as a blue streak into nothingness.

End Chapter Four.

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Mike Murphy wasn't used to waking up before noon . It wasn't that he was lazy-it just seemed that all his good ideas came late at night. Plus, day and night were relative terms. It could be morning, depending on your definition-and the sun was always setting on something. Still, visitors weren't common, nor were they always welcome at Mike Murphy's apartment.

At first Mike Murphy thought that the knock at the door was a fluke. He looked through the eye-hole, and saw an empty hallway staring back. Still, after a minute another knock came to the door. Carefully, in case the invisible stalker was looking to cause trouble, Mike opened the door.

"Hey dad," came a voice from below, "can I have fifty bucks?"

"Oh hey Zigs," he said as he stepped aside, letting Ziggy enter the apartment.

"My name's Ziggy, dad. I told you that already."

"Sure it is."

Mike started scrounging around the paper-cluttered apartment looking for his wallet.

"Fifty bucks? For what?"

"Train ticket to Gotham ."

"A train ticket to Gotham ? That's going to run you way more than fifty bucks."

After tipping over a half-drank mug of cold tea and sopping it up with note-scribbled napkins Ziggy's father finally found his wallet. He pulled out a collection of bills and started to hand them over to his eleven-year old daughter.

"Wait-shouldn't you be in school?"

"No, I decided not to go today."

"Oh," shrugged Mike Murphy, "okay then. Public school is just a melting pot of diseases to prepare our citizens for germ warfare."

"I don't go to public school dad. Mom thinks that private schools have a better standard."

"Higher standard dear, not better. She's probably right."

"Okay, well I'm going to go now. I'll see you in a few days I imagine."

"Ziggy-why are you going to Gotham ?"

"Oh, I need to find Batman-to see if he's familiar."

"Familiar? You've never met the man."

"That's why I have to meet him."

Ziggy turned and headed out the door.

"Ziggy!" called out her father.

With a coy smile she stopped at the entryway and looked back at her father.

"I love you dad."

"Thank you, Zigs. I love you too."

"I told you dad-my name is Ziggy."

With that young Veronica Murphy closed the door and headed down the hallway.

End Chapter Five.

End "A Heroes Welcome."

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Next Issue: Ziggy in Gotham City .and the Batman.

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