The cat saunters over, looks down at me, and meows. It sounds suspiciously like laughter.
—crashing through a laundry line, getting tangled in a bedsheet, and landing face-first in a dumpster full of expired yogurt.
They don’t tell you about the nausea.
But that’s the thing about rookies. We don’t start with the world-ending meteors. We start with the small things. The things that prove we care more than we fear.
Tonight is my first real patrol.
Here’s a draft for a short story or opening monologue titled Title: Learning to Fly (One Disaster at a Time)
I jump.
Last Tuesday, I stopped a bank robbery. Sort of. The robber tripped over my untied shoelace, hit his head on a planter, and I accidentally sat on him while trying to find my inhaler. The news called me "The Bumbling Guardian." My mom called me "grounded."