Super Avenged

“So, Synyster Gates, what do you specify your power as?” the dyed-blonde, overeager, overexcited, extremely cheery and bubbly reporter asked Synyster Gates, one of the men of Super Avenged.

“Me? Well, I call it SUPER INSANE speed,” Synyster Gates answered. He winked at the reporter. I bet, if they hadn’t been on camera, and not in such a public space, by the look on her face, she would’ve probably stripped right there and had sex with him.

“Good God, people are idiots,” I grumbled, switching the television off. Everyone was always swooning over Super Avenged, always talking about how wonderful they were, how many lives they saved, how unnaturally handsome they were, blah, blah, blah. As for me, I didn’t give a damn. To me, they were only a group of cocky douche bags who fancied themselves heroes.

Rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all, I rose from the couch and stepped into the kitchen. Super Avenged wasn’t worth my time. They hadn’t abolished crime in New York City, but maybe if they did, I might consider respecting them. Until then, they would just be more attention-grubbing celebrities in my eyes. I put my white ceramic bowl in the sink and grabbed my digital camera from the marble-topped counter. I checked and made sure the camera had plenty of battery life. The little battery in the corner was practically full, so I grabbed my small purse from the island in the center of the kitchen and slipped the camera into it.

A few minutes later, I stepped down the steps in front of the apartment building where I lived. Already, New York was bustling with activity. Cars rumbled past on the streets, some painted black as the night itself, others blindingly yellow taxis. The sidewalks were clogged too, only with people marching along on their business. Some of them carried Styrofoam cups of coffee to get their brains whirring.

I descended into the maelstrom of New Yorkers hurrying along to their jobs/homes/whores. Once within the crowd, I let them wash me leisurely towards Central Park, conveniently located about three blocks from my apartment. I probably spent more time at Central Park than I did at my own apartment. It was a beautiful place, and an artist like me could see its true artistic potential.

Oh, I have yet to properly introduce myself. My name is Miya Langston, and I’m a photographer/sketcher/painter. Eventually, I plan on taking a sculpture class too, because that looks fun too. And there are a lot of things you can make when it comes to sculptures. But anyway, back to me being an artist. I am actually one of the best artists in New York City, and believe me, there’s a lot of artists. My art is all over the city in art galleries. I’m pretty proud of them, and my heart swells every time I see one of my photos or one of my paintings hanging on a wall in a prestigious art gallery.

Also, I am the Paris Hilton of New York City.

No, I am not blonde and I do not wear pink everyday. The reference isn’t to my personality, but simply to my...status, I guess. My father, Charles Langston, is the owner of Langston Suites, a humongous hotel chain, much like the Hilton hotels. Therefore, much like Paris Hilton, I am the daughter of a hotel mogul.

But the similarities stop there. I do not party all night and get in trouble all day. I don’t splurge. I live in a nice three-bedroom apartment on the tenth floor of an apartment building. It’s a very nice apartment building, however, and probably more than the average person can afford. But it’s much cheaper than I could have. And I use the third bedroom as my studio anyway.

Also, my father is dead. He died in a plane crash about three years ago. The company is now left to my two older brothers, Jackson and Ross. I didn’t want to have a thing to do with it, because I’m just not that into business stuff like that. That’s most likely the reason my father and I didn’t get along. I wanted to paint; he wanted me to run the family business. I refused to, however, so my father just said, “Fine, waste your life away with that stupid painting,” and pretty much hated my guts ever since. He would’ve written me out of his will, too, if it hadn’t been for Mom.

On the contrary, my Mom and I get along great. She dotes on me, since I’m the only daughter. She always supported my artistic endeavors, and she’s really helped me get noticed. I love her to death, and visit her every weekend.

Several screams from one block over shattered through my thoughts. Everyone on the sidewalks paused for a few seconds, glancing around for the source of the screams. Suddenly, someone yelled, “Look! Over there!”

And then I saw it. There was a humongous, sophisticated robot walking around the corner onto the street we were on. It was tall enough that its head was level with most of the buildings lining the street. The sun glinted off of its silver body as it turned its head towards the people on the sidewalk. Two glowing red eyes glared out of an oval-shaped head.

Everyone instantly snapped out of motionlessness and screamed. They then proceeded to flee in the opposite direction of the robot as it began to stomp down the streets, crushing cars as it went.

Not one to miss a photo opportunity, I quickly pulled out my digital camera and stepped out of the way of everyone running away. As the robot advanced closer, I took a few pictures before slipping the camera back into my purse. I paused a few seconds to look at it. It didn’t seem to want to harm anyone, and actually appeared to be looking for someone in particular.

And then its growing red eyes focused on me. The red eyes flickered for a second before it began advancing forward. And with a jolt, I realized that it had found what it was looking for.

It had found me.