Comic Boys

I felt a small smile break out onto my face as I neared the store, but I kept my eyes glued to the ground, eyes locked onto the lines that were etched into the concrete, my Converse tapping lightly as I jumped over a line.

Step on a line, you break your spine; step on a crack, you break your back.

I grinned to myself as I cleared the line, hefting my back up onto my skinny shoulders. People of all ages gave me odd glances as I walked passed, probably wondering what an eighteen-year-old boy was doing skipping down the foot path playing such a childish game. And I wasn't playing with anyone either. It was just me, by myself. But that was normal. I was always alone, I mean, I was that weird dork in the corner.

I wasn't normal, not one bit. People call me a pussy, but is it sad to agree with them? I knew I was somewhat of a pansy, I mean from the back I looked like a girl. I was barely scraping past 152cm, and I had no muscle on me whatsoever. I was skinny and short, but my limbs were super long, which just made me look retarded and out of proportion. Some people called me anorexic, since I looked like a stick, but I eat a lot- trust me, I eat a lot. My body just can't gain weight, and I hate it. I hated looking like a five-year-old. I guess the whole childish appearance just had to match my immature personality, I suppose. I still went to bed with my stuffed teddy-bears, I still brushed my teeth with an electric Batman toothbrush that played the Batman theme song when brushing, I still had to use a Green Lantern shaped night light to go to bed because I still believed there was a monster or a creepy murderer with an axe chilling out in my wardrobe.

So essentially, I was just a big ass baby.

I gleefully skipped along the footpath, leaping over the cracks until I got to the front door of the store. It was a small shop, on the corner of a pretty vacant street, but it was in a nice neighbourhood, not some place where rapists and muggers hung out. There was a bakery next door to the store, and the woman that works there makes he best finger buns, the ones with the coloured icing and the rainbow sprinkles. I liked them because she put a lot of sprinkles on them.

I rummaged through my back, sorting through the various school books and comics that filled the space, yelling out triumphantly when my fingers closed around a metal ring. It had only two keys- one for the store, one for home. I didn't have a car- I had failed every single test since I would freak out before even starting. I just took public transport, walked, or sometimes I took my bike. But I didn't use my bike a lot- the last time I did I got teased. I thought it was a really nice bike, with the batman logo scattered across the dark blue bars, and the honker even had Batman's face on it. I think people made fun of it because it still had training wheels on it- but it wasn't my fault! I had really bad balance, and I didn't want to hurt myself. I bruised really easily.

I unlocked the door, stepping in to the familiar shop, flicking on the light. The fluorescent bulbs flickered on, the little electrical whirr buzzing as I turned the switch for the fan, the crappy thing rotating around slowly, before picking up momentum. The thing with the fan was that we couldn't put it up all the way, since the comics that hadn't been bagged-and-tagged would be damaged if the pages went flying. Damaging comic books was the worst of the worst. Some people treated them like trash, but those were the people who didn't respect the art and the pure genius of the comics. Call me a geek, dork or nerd, but I preferred the term 'intelligent one'. There was nothing wrong with having a little bit of substance up there, but people thought that it was weird. It's not my fault I like studying.

I dumped my back pack behind the counter and picked up the phone as I settled myself down on the torn faux-leather bar stool. The phone was a plug-in corded burger phone, almost identical to the one in Juno. I called up the first person on speed dial, grinning as Jekyll replied. His name wasn't actually Jekyll but Jeremy- I just called him that because he had a really good impersonation of Dr Henry Jekyll from the movie. The nickname kind of stuck in the end, and he said he didn't mind so why not call him that?

"I'm coming, I'm coming! I'm going to be fifteen minutes, I swear!" he yelled, and I laughed as I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, I'll be expecting you in thirty then," I said, and he yelled "YEAH!" before swearing as he probably hit his head on the top bunk of his bunk-bed. I rolled my eyes a little but grinned as I told him to hurry up since today we had a lot of tagging to do. It was a Tuesday, which was 'bagging-and-tagging' day. The shop was busiest on Saturdays, since upstairs we held a pretty epic games session with our shop members, and Saturday was also when we got the most sales, so we had to prepare on Tuesday for our stock to be good to go. I think the newest edition of Batman also arrived last night- I was so excited to read it.

One of the perks of the job was that I had a discount on the merchandise here, even though it wasn't much. I didn't really care though- I was willing to pay double the set amount as long as I could get my hands on comics. They were basically my life, and I had a whole heap of moving-boxes full of them stashed away in my room, which was quite amazing, if I did say so myself. My parents weren't poor, but we weren't super rich either- we were basically 3/4 of the way up the wealth tiers, so we had a bit of cash to throw around. Our house was a simple two storey one, equipped with a pool that I never really used, since anything somewhat physical required way too much effort on my part.

I was an only child, and at times I was glad, but sometimes I was also wishing that I had a younger sibling. It would have been fun, but I was content with what I had. My parents were as loving as you could get, and they spoiled me rotten, but I didn't let it get to my head. They knew how to bribe me to do things though- they would by me new furniture additions for me room is I did little chores for them. I hadn't wanted a normal bedroom, so I claimed the attic as my fort. To get up there you had to climb the fold-out ladder, which at first is pretty tricky, but after living up there for most of your life you got used to it.

My bed wasn't a normal one either- it was Batman styled. Well, now that I think about it, my whole room is basically Batman themed, with the exception of a few other nicknacks and posters that I had strewn around. My bed's back board was the Batman emblem, and was pushed into the attic wall that had been slightly renovated to resemble a rock face. There were Batman decorations hanging from the ceiling, and it was like a mini bat-cave. I loved it, and every time I did a chore I would get another wicked addition. I really wanted the almost life-size Batman statue, but it was pretty expensive so I think I'd have to do at least ten tasks before I got that.

I booted up the ageing computer on the counter, hitting it a little so it would hurry up. I logged in using my employee username and passcode, before opening up my work email. I had to check it every time I was working, since the boss would email me what I had to get done before I could leave. Today's load was pretty big, since it was 'bagging-and-tagging' day, but that was fine. The shop was basically my second home, and as sad as it sounds, sometimes I chill here even when I'm not working.

I glanced at the Superman clock on the wall. Jekyll would be here in twenty minutes, since he probably just got out of bed. I stretched my limbs and popped my shoulders a little, before walking into the back room, picking up a box full of newly released comics, grunting a little at the weight of the box. It wasn't a big box- I was just really weak, like I had said earlier. I was like a wiry little... lemur.

I didn't know why my parents names me London- I think it was because that's where they had gone at it and them BAM, I was there inside mum's stomach. I didn't mind my first name that much, but it was my whole name put together that made me cringe. London Luke Lurghmann. It just sounded disgusting. If medical experts found a new STI sometime in the future, they could name it with my name. Like, Lurghmann just sounded like someone was choking on their own phlegm. It was horrid, and having a name made up of three 'L's just topped it off. So I was London Luke Lurghmann.

People gave me a lot of shit for my name once they ran out of things to say about my appearance.

I didn't have friends- I was that weird kid after all. The closest thing I had to a friend was Jekyll, but we didn't really associate ourselves with each other outside of work. He was 21, I think, and actually had something of a social life, unlike me. But he was a really nice person, and I had a little bit of a crush on him at one stage, since he was really good looking, with his dirty blond hair and super dark brown eyes, not to mention his sculpted physique. But I won't get into that since he is stick straight.

And I'm as straight as a fucking rainbow.

I get a lot of shit about my sexuality as well. I think I realised I liked the male species more than women when I was thirteen. There was this new guy at my school, and he was mighty fine. Like, I was melting when he smiled. I mean, if you saw him you'd be like "Daaaaammmmnnnnn." No joke. He was like sex on legs. But the main point is was that I realised I was attracted to male genitals, and I think everyone found out when I confessed to the mentioned guy, who was a huge homophobe. Ever since then I have never, ever spoken about my gay-boy crushes to anyone, not even my mum. My parents are perfectly fine with my sexuality though- they were shocked at first, but then they had gotten over it within a week.

I dumped the box of comics onto the counter, pulling out the packet of sticker sheets. This wasn't a rich store, so we had to do everything by hand, basically. I pulled out the Sharpie marker, popping off the cap with my teeth before cutting open the box with a pair of blunt scissors.

The scent of brand new comics his my nose and I sniffed in, smiling happily as I pulled out the first one on the pile, setting is aside, next to my backpack. I got the next one, pulling out a plastic wrapping sheet from the drawer under the counter, slipping the comment in before stripping off the sticky paper, neatly sealing the back. I then wrote down the price on a little white sticker, slamming it onto the front of the comic, making sure not to cover the bar code.

One done, about a billion more to go.

I got about five more done before the door opened, and I looked up, expecting to see Jekyll's puffed face. But no, instead I saw... I saw...

Oh, Jesus. I don't even know what I saw. I think perfection would be a good word, though.