Watching and waiting, the Malthusian visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
It’s the season for deciding which hero, animal, or vegetable to assume. Too much is made of this. An unspoken fact is most of us do not need a Halloween costume.
For instance, Captain Rollhagen, deep chested, firm jawed and clear eyed, is almost comically Superman. A cape adds nothing.
“What are you going to be, Kern?” The captain swung his chair to his second-in command, who adjusted coordinates on a blinking panel.
Well, that should be obvious.
“I’m thinking Dracula.”
“Ah!” said the captain. “A blood-sucking vampire.”
“I see more a suave, well-traveled lady’s man.”
“Whatever. How about you, Lt. Bremer?”
She sat beside Kern, writing on a clipboard.
“Lt. Bremer?”
“I’m going as a princess!” She said this in a sing-songy, little girl’s voice.
Both men set shoulders uncomfortably. “Yes,” said Rollhagen. “And I’m sure you’ll be a splendid one.” Megan Bremer, all twenty-four years of her, could make even the most senior commander uncomfortable.
She took her clipboard and headed for the door. “That should do it, Mr. Kern. See you at the party, Mr. Clark Kent.”
What? How did she know?
Megan walked into her quarters and threw down her pen. Her roomie sat before a mirror, frowning. “What’s the matter, Jen-Jen?”
Jennifer Tate pooched her lips and fluttered eyes. “It’s the Officer’s Costume Party. I got nothing…”
“You can go as a princess!” Again, the little-girl’s voice.
Tate looked back at Bremer with daggers.
“Sorry.”
“Megan, why are all the girl’s costumes so demeaning? I mean, boys can go as pirates and villains. But women? it’s all Ariels and Jasmines and Tinkerbells. And don’t forget to show plenty of midriff.”
“Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
“No. ”
Megan thought a moment. “I know. How about going as Lois Lane?”
“Lois Lane? She’s not very heroic.”
“That’s the point. But there’s more than meets the eye. She’s capable. Competent. And she’s hiding something.” Megan walked behind her friend. She adjusted the collar on her jumper. “I could get my hands on a gray business suit. Big shoulders, wide lapels. We’ll add black-framed, no-nonsense glasses. What do you say?”
“Will it work?”
“You like the captain, right?”
Jennifer Tate didn’t have to answer.
“Well,” said Megan. “It will work on him. Superman has a hidden weakness. And it ain’t kryptonite.”
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com