Reactions (Well, Sorta) To Flash 13
I am saddened by the recent death of Bart Allen, aka Impulse. (I prefer to ignore, for the most part, his time as Kid Flash and later the 4th Flash.) Not as much as I would have been few years ago, when I had just discovered his solo series and Young Justice, but still saddened.
He was this bouncy, hyper bundle of fun and energy and happiness. He was curiosity and exuberance and the rush of life itself. He had a great supporting cast and friends nearly as awesome as he was (sorry, Robin) and he thought in pictures. He cross-dressed and quipped and kicked butt and was generally an adorable little sweetie.
I hold him responsible for the rekindling of my imaginary world a few years back. I had stripped the crazy, dinosaur- and ninja- and tree fort-filled world and replaced it with angst and great, tragic destinies.
It had become a copy of the unjust world I saw as a newly "worldly aware" 11 year-old: preventable wars happened for stupid reasons, people died and were later forgotten, and no matter how much you wanted things to change you couldn't do a thing because it was too big. I didn't matter; and neither did what I believed in. Sure, there was magic and grand battles and all the characters I had created over the years, but it all felt a little more... hardened. The deaths overwhelmed the victories, the traditions of the various races I had so painstakingly created were abandoned by their peoples in favor of survival.
To this day, I remember plotting the deaths of the final descendants of the first character I ever created. She had started this entire story when I was 5 years old and needed a way of expressing my views of the world, and now her young great, great, great grandchildren were being shot down as they ran like scared animals in an unnamed desert. They were alone and scared and far, far away from the tropical paradise their ancestor had lived in. They were hated by their pursuers, and non-entities to the rest of the world. So many lives, and years, and hopes for the future... all gone in a short chase followed by gunfire. I wasn't even having a bad day when this scene popped into my head.
Frankly, my world wasn't fun anymore.
But Bart was different. Despite his youth and small stature (at least compared to Wally, Max, Kon and Tim) he still was capable of making a difference, one super villain at a time. And making that difference didn't have to be a sacrifice: he had friends and family who cared about him as much as he cared for them. Saving the world wasn't always, or even usually, about choosing between two great evils. He could have his cake and eat it too. His speed wasn't a curse; it was a part of him that he couldn't imagine living without. He could enjoy what he was doing, and still do it well.
My world is currently inhabited by a teenage superteam that regularly has sleepovers and monster movie marathons. They take turns freaking out about their superpowered younger siblings and the trials of babysitting. The dragon-girl and the apprentice sorcerer and the robot (who was originally programmed to believe he was a knight of the round table by his crazy inventor-cum-theme park owner) bicker about which one is really the damsel in distress (and how the logistics of saving the damsel from the dragon would work if they're all on the same side; so far the answer seems to be evil alternate dimension doppelgangers). Some have secret identities and some don't, and that's okay. Some (like the dragon-girl) appear physically unusual but aren't bothered too much by it. Though finding clothes to accomodate wings or a tail or sensitive gills or whatever can be a bit annoying.
And there are puns and apparent non-sequitors that actually come from a shared history so bizarre that they can't help but be bound together by it. This family, because that's what it really is, isn't alone and never will be.
I still look to Impulse as an example of the joy to be found in having unique abilities and being more than perfectly okay with that. He loved his powers and didn't angst about what made him different, and I find that a hell of a lot more inspirational and emotionally resonant than endless reminders of the harsher realities of life. When I read comics I want some drama and heart-hitting introspection, sure, but I also want to be entertained and feel that even if my life isn't going so well, there is a brighter world where anything is possible.
Including a boy from the future with big feet and floppy hair and an evil clone and superspeed.
Here's to you, Bart. I hope you return one day, when things are a little brighter. Maybe you'll help someone like you helped me.
P.S.: This whole post was inspired by re-reading
cosmicastaway's Give Me Number Nine. And then I nearly forgot to include it. Go read it; it's hilarious.