Chapter 40: Greater than Superman

Greater Than Superman

To the Lector:
On the day Blake realized that God had blessed him among men,
That being different is not a curse, but a strength—

When I was young, I believed I could be Superman. I pulled the red cape across my shoulders, Looked into the mirror and thought, I can be this man. But when I leapt, I did not fly. When I fell, no hands caught me. And when I pulled the mask away, I saw only a boy— fragile, dreaming, human. Yet, in time, I became something greater.

I was born into quiet, A world untouched by the noise of men. Homeschooled, sheltered, left to wander the vast landscapes of my own mind. I did not walk their halls, Nor learn their games, Nor speak their language. I was different. And I carried that weight like an iron chain, Never knowing if it was my burden or my gift.

I sold books before I could drive. Wrote stories when my voice still cracked. At ten, I stood among elders, Hands stained with ink, pockets lined with dreams. A young capitalist, a wandering scribe, Yet still a boy, Still watching the world from behind a window.

Then the first wound came— A church ripped from my hands, A sanctuary turned to ash. I did not understand, But I learned that belonging was never permanent, That walls crumble, That faith is not held in the mortar of a building but in the fire of the soul.

I grew, but the world around me did not. I chased the wild, the untamed, Wrote my name upon the forests, Carved my place in the open air. I took to the earth, to the rivers, And the world of men began to notice.

At thirteen, my words stretched farther than my voice, Thousands reading, thousands listening. I was a boy, but I walked in a world of kings.

But darkness came— Sin, betrayal, a breaking of something deep. I watched it devour my home, Watched trust erode like stone against the tide.

At fourteen, I held my first book. At fifteen, my voice filled the airwaves. At sixteen, I stood beneath studio lights, the world watching, the world waiting. Yet, beneath it all, I was alone.

Then came Jackson— My friend, my brother in youth, Yet his faith was twisted metal, A cage that neither freed nor saved. I showed him truth, And he turned his back. I never saw him again.

At seventeen, I watched death unfold. Watched dementia steal the last pieces of the woman who once held me close. Watched my mother weep, And my father— silent, unshaken, unmoved. Distant, lost in his work, Trying to escape grief by drowning in numbers, By stacking success upon sorrow, A man who should have held his family close But instead turned to what he knew best— Building, earning, winning. And I swore to myself, I would never be that way. But I did not know how deeply pride can root itself. I built my empire young, Only to watch it burn. Ashes of pride and ego, My own undoing.

I chased the wild, but it slipped through my fingers. Television crews, radio waves, Cameras capturing my face, Shaking hands with men worth billions, And yet, my soul cracked beneath it all. I lost myself in the hunger for more. I disobeyed, I betrayed, I let my own arrogance guide me. And then, I watched it all collapse. I fell, Hard and deep, Into a darkness that swallowed me For four long years.

I found friendship at the bottom of a bottle, Poverty wrapped itself around me, I was broken, Lost, Surrounded by sin, Haunted by regrets. I ran with men who had no future, Who laughed at my past, Who pulled me further into the abyss.

And then, I met her. The first girl I ever loved. She was beautiful, and I was foolish. For two years, I believed in us. But she did not believe in me. She loved another man while I waited for her, Said she was sorry but never meant it. She begged for me to stay, But I knew better. I walked away, Carrying a heart that would never heal the same. She married that man.

Yet even in ruin, I was blessed. The paradox of grace— To be nothing, and yet be given everything. To be unworthy, and yet still chosen. I built a kingdom in silver and gold, Coins spinning through my fingers, Fortune rising like a tide. Millions of eyes upon me, Millions of dollars in my name. All because of a single righteous choice.

But death did not leave me. George, my mentor, my anchor, The only man who saw me as I was. I held his hand in his last breath, And he asked of my work, my empire. I told him, I don’t care. I love you. And then, he was gone. I will never heal from that scar. And still, I lost more. Friends who feared me, Who envied me, Who despised what I had built. Too wealthy to pity, Too strange to love.

And then, I found love again. For a moment, I believed. She held my hand, whispered promises, And then—without a word, She vanished. No reason. No goodbye. Just silence, As if she had never been real at all.

And then, I entered a world that was never meant for me. I believed that God called me here, Though I know not why.

College, a strange and foreign land. Where I am too young to be their elder, Too old to be their equal. I walk these halls like a ghost, Again, too rich for them to pity, Too awkward for them to understand. Some mock me, some fear me, Some simply cannot comprehend Why I am here. My generation does not understand me. They do not think, They do not question. They are herded by the voice of the screen, Blindly marching in a single-file line, Each and every one. They follow commands whispered in algorithms, Believing rebellion is conformity, Believing wisdom is what is trending. I am among them, But I am not one of them. Few break free— I count them on my hands.

At 24, I have seen it all. The weight of death, The sting of betrayal, The emptiness of wealth, The fleeting nature of love, The agony of loneliness. I have built empires and watched them burn. I have walked through fire and come out cold. And yet, I am still searching. Still asking, still yearning, For the One who told me to go. To come to an unfamiliar land. To walk alone.

They say, shake it off.
They say, read a verse and move on.
They say, you’ll be fine. But I know better. But faith doesn’t fix the broken, It only holds the pieces together.

I walk a lonely road, A road carved in sorrow and triumph alike. None will understand the depths of my soul, Nor the weight I carry in my chest. But that is alright. For I have already outgrown the man in the cape. I have lived more than he ever could. I am greater than Superman.