Novel Treatments / Llamagirl part 1

It was a sunny day in the peaceful town of Dullville. Historians maintain that the town was named for a Mr. Herbert Dull, but I doubt it. More likely, somebody probably spent one day in the place and knew just what to call it. A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, and Dullville would still be Dullville.

Anyway, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing, and the grass was greener than ever. Along the sidewalks young maples stretched their leafy branches toward the sky, swaying gently in the breeze as if to wave a cheerful hello to passersby. The well-kept, tidy storefronts sat snugly together, endless rows of different shades of soothing colors punctuated by intersections. Of course, there was never any traffic, and all of the drivers were conscientious and cheerful; even the stoplights seemed polite. Basically, everything was perfect, like it is every single disgustingly perfect day.

My friend Joey and I were walking home, and we were discussing the best technique for folding paper airplanes. I’ll have you know that the Dullville High School paper plane team is undefeated; granted, that’s mostly because we’re the only competitive paper plane flying team in the region. We used to have football, until someone broke a leg. Now we fold.

“Seriously, it’s all in the crease,” Joey insisted. “Without sharp creases the structural integrity of the plane is shot.”

“If a sharp crease is off-center, you might as well scrap the whole plane,” I retorted. “It’s better to make a light crease and then check your measurements!”

It was at that moment that a dark cloud arose on the horizon. Well, I knew it wasn’t really a dark cloud. It was an evil villain’s aircraft. This happens about once a week, so I’ve become adept at spotting the signs.

I sighed and turned to Joey. “Looks like rain, I guess,” I said lamely. “I should, uh, take the shortcut home.”

Joey just nodded. He’s used to me just disappearing unexpectedly. I sometimes wonder how much he’s figured out, and how much he chalks up to my natural weirdness.

I ran off into the nearest alley, which was a couple of blocks away. I dropped my backpack and ferreted out my suit. Before you get the wrong idea, it’s not spandex. It will never be spandex. No foe will ever be dastardly enough, no crime will ever be deplorable enough, and no situation will ever be bleak enough to compel me to wear spandex.

So anyway, I was really busy trying to get into my suit without taking my other clothes off (I mean, this is a public place) when I realized it was on backwards. Shoot. So then I had to completely turn it around, again without taking everything off. The things I go through for the good people of Dullville. Meanwhile, the dark cloud was fast approaching.

I finally got my clothes on right, and I was about to go teach that villain the meaning of the phrase “kick butt” when I realized that I’d completely messed up my hair. There is no point in trying to defeat the forces of evil with bad hair. It’s totally unprofessional. Besides, that dark cloud was taking its sweet time. So, I got out my brush and put it back in a ponytail, one of the most efficient hairstyles ever invented. Loose locks are not conducive to conquering agents of darkness.

Now you see why it took me about ten minutes to emerge from the alley, complete with suit and mask, and of course, perfectly styled hair. The street was deserted (yes, the rest of the town has caught on to the whole dark-cloud ruse) and I hoped Joey had made it home safely, and wasn’t just hiding underneath a table at the nearest café.

It was at this point that the Evilmobile had just about flown all the way up the street. It was pretty obvious that whoever owned this sweet ride was shelling out some serious money. I almost admired the hovering vehicle, until I remembered that it harbored my would-be nemesis. The sunroof opened with a mechanical whine, and out rose the disastrous rogue.

“I am Lord Victor, Master of All Things Dark and Evildoer in General!” he announced. “I shall trample anyone who stands in my way with the Heel of Wickedness!” His black hair was gelled up in spikes that faintly resembled horns, and he wore the attire of a nineteenth century gentleman, albeit a wicked one, complete with pristine white gloves and a high starched collar. Unfortunately for Lord Victor, no one had told him that dramatic confrontation is not a black-tie event.

“You’re overdressed!” I shouted. “I’m pretty sure the invitations said ‘business casual’!” That was when he first noticed me. I was a little annoyed. I’m short, but not that short. He raised his diabolic eyebrow. “And who might you be?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m Llamagirl!”

That was about the time when he started laughing in my face.

That’s right. I’m a superhero. Llamagirl. I couldn’t get a cool animal, like a bat, a cat, or a spider; no, I got a llama. Don’t worry, I didn’t get bitten. I’ve been this way since I was about ten, with no apparent provocation. It’s not really fair. As far as I can tell from my research, the only special talents that llamas have are spitting and being fuzzy. For some reason, I was also granted more than average strength, speed, and agility, none of which are qualities that llamas are known to possess.

I know what’s coming next: all right, if you must ask, my suit is navy blue and cream, and parts of it are furry. No, I do not have a gigantic L plastered across my chest. As if I need to advertise that I’m Llamagirl. No, my ensemble does not include ears or a tail, although it does entail a nicely crafted mask. My parents got it for me; they’re the only ones who know about my… unique gifts. In fact, I think they’re the ones who figured out that I was Llamagirl; all I did was cry, “Hey, look at me, I can lift the sofa.”

But anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, Lord Victor was laughing in my face. Not just a demure chuckle. Oh no. He was practically rolling on the pavement. By this time he had guffawed his way off of the hover-thingy – which is when I punched him in the gut.

Some say that I have anger management issues.

Unsurprisingly, Lord Victor stopped laughing after I punched him. His face screwed up into that oh-so-scary picture of supervillain rage. He opened his mouth and clenched his fist, probably in order to proclaim some never-ending curse on me and my descendants.

I’ve never been a big fan of eternal curses, so I just kicked his shin and threw him back into the little shuttle he slimed out of. He sped away, and I could have sworn I heard him whimper. Told you I was strong.

While this eloquent battle between good and evil was being fought, the sky had darkened ominously, and now it was clear again, sunny and warm. The birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing, yada yada, and all was perfect again in Dullville.

As I changed back into my normal clothes, I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, I would let evil win next time. Just to stir things up a little.

Of course that would never happen. I sighed and started looking for Joey. He was indeed hiding in the coffee shop, though instead of crouching under a table he had hopped over the counter and taken cover behind the espresso machine. I spied on him from a distance, and discretely followed him home, making sure he got in the front door without any further incident. No matter how many times it happened, the poor guy was always shaken up by these kinds of events. I smiled wryly to myself. For Joey, Dullville was anything but.
 

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