How I captured this dream

For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of becoming a hero. I've watched movies about Superman, Batman, and other superheroes with bated breath. I smile back to the days when I'd run around the house with a towel tied around my neck like a cape.

It only took a few years for me to start thinking about it differently. I stopped envying the heroes' beautiful capes; I started noticing a swarm of women hanging right next to them. I dreamed about what it would be like if all the women sighed for me with secret affection. It seemed wonderful to be such a hero.

My opinion on the subject has constantly evolved with the passing of time. The heroes of my childhood became comical to me. I noticed that the once-beautiful Superman suit had, in my eyes, become clothing for a man of a different sexual orientation.

I realized that to be a hero, you don't have to jump across the rooftops of skyscrapers, rescue beautiful women, catch criminals, and remain elusive to the police and the media.

Yet, deep inside, there was still a part of me that told me there was something fantastic about it. And perhaps that part had influenced where I was now.

A beautiful view of my neighborhood unfolds from here.

It's the middle of the night. I'm dressed in black. A sweatshirt, trousers with roomy pockets, heavy boots, a balaclava pulled over my head. I look down from the roof of my ten-story building at the dimly lit streets.

I feel a surge of excitement. This whole situation is like a dream; I can barely believe I've decided to do such a crazy thing. I've gone a step further than people, lulled by everyday life, usually go. And at my age, at that.

I look down and search for my first task. The estate is silent, interrupted every few minutes by a car speeding by (what a car he can't drive during the day). Nothing more.

Silence.

And I'm still stuck on the roof, watching.

Suddenly, around the bend (right next to the grocery store), two figures emerge.

I reach for my binoculars (the only gadget I brought with me. Unfortunately, I'm not as resourceful as Batman, and my budget isn't what it used to be) and aim them at two moving shadows. They're just two drunk guys, probably returning from some wild party.

That's not a job for me. I can't take them to the room.

They passed, disappearing into the night.

It's hard to say how long I've been standing on this roof. If some old woman spots me, she'll probably call the police, and they'll haul me off to the station as a perverted voyeur (that's what I look like with those binoculars), or hand me over to a gentleman who'll wrap me in a beautiful white (or slightly yellowed, because that's easier to find in our country) vest.

These old bigots don't understand heroes (and they don't even try).

It's not easy being a hero.

Still pondering this, I look down and realize I'm suffering from a fear of heights.

In the building across from me, a light comes on in the window.

Oh!

I crawl away from the edge of the roof and reach the hatch leading to the stairwell.

A few rungs of the ladder.

Stairs.

The front door to the apartment.

Phew...

Locked.

I hope none of the residents saw me.

I felt like a hero, especially in November, when it's exceptionally windy at the height of my building's roof.

Tomorrow I'll probably wake up with a cold, and I have to go to work first thing in the morning.

Ugh...

Again, the dream burst, like a soap bubble, when it hits reality.

But isn't that the beautiful nature of dreams?