Reaction Formation

The hero is all tied up, hanging from the wet ceiling like a fruit of the darkness, a bat without wings, blood dripping on the floor — inky fluid, fresh and boiling with revenge-

My hopes melt down the chair, its arms no longer safe- as the hero screams, I push down against the pillows in a telepathic connection with the screen.

The colors flicker on my skin- his screams control my cells- my breath measures the seconds until my hero will bend the iron- he will reverse the blood flow- he will grow wings.

My mundane hopeless self feeds with redemption from the film.

Put them down with your bare hands! Free yourself against the logic of the physical laws!

My hero has escaped, and rows of enemies drip from his shadow as he moves from the torture cell to the corridors that bring him closer and closer to me.