Sacred Forces: A Superhero Story

Chapter 1: Elements

Part 1: Water for Plants

     The High Desert of California was a booming and growing community of medium-priced homes and a large blue-collar population. Long ago it was the escape destination for Hollywood stars and businessmen who longed for Midwest-like open spaces that didn't require them to traverse across highways and byways to get to. Barely over eighty miles from the floor level of Downtown Los Angeles was the mountain-locked Victor Valley, made up of the tri-town communities of Hesperia, Victorville, and Apple Valley. During the Nineties there was a boom in home construction in the High Desert; large housing projects were erected almost overnight, comprised of forty to fifty homes per community. The infrastructure of bridges and roads were tested to the limits as those who wished to have larger homes than the ones available in Los Angeles County made for the last large community of San Bernardino County and the cheap prices it yielded. By the year 2000 the High Desert had become a destination for those seeking a cheaper yet better way of life for themselves and their families. The Mojave River, the only other river to flow northwards besides the Nile in Egypt, was stopped up at Silverwood Lake and kept to a trickle to avoid flooding during the short rainy season. It was a convenient place to live: Two hours away from Vegas, two hours from L.A., two hours from the Colorado River, and two hours from the beaches. Local businesses were beginning to compete with national and international chains and franchises that planted new sites in the expanding desert. The local economy grew at an alarming yet well-received rate. The mostly blue-collar and median income population got along well enough, though crime did increase as people flocked to the area in droves. Still, the relative peacefulness of the open space attracted good people more than the depraved. The light pollution of Los Angeles was held at bay by the San Gabriel Mountains to the south and west, making it possible to see the stars at night in their glory without much hindrance.

     Most of the homes of the large housing tracts were identical; each home mirrored but identical in square footage and room setup. The homes were on half-acre lots with manicured lawns and double-wide driveways. The houses were painted beige, soft vanilla, and light mint green. The outside walls were stucco, the roofs topped with clay shingles and tiles. The roads radiated from the center of the community, making concentric circles that spread from a central park and broke off into tiny cul-de-sacs. Though there was a hodgepodge of people that lived in the community from various income levels, races, and ethnicities, the people got along rather well and peacefully.

     On Cactus Court, a small cul-de-sac with ten homes lined up around it, there was a good mixture of families and individuals who had taken up residence there. Two of the homes were occupied by families where the patriarch worked in construction while the matriarch stayed at home with the kids. Two homes were occupied by retired couples who loved to walk their dogs or sit on their front porch and wave at passersby. Two homes were occupied by single-parents: Both mothers who worked often and had teenage kids who would come home from school to an empty house until their mothers came home at night. One house was unoccupied. Another was occupied by a trio of college students who went to the local community college and worked part-time at random jobs. One home was occupied by a young bank manager and his new bride. The last home was owned by a single man who loved to tend to the flowers and vegetables that he grew in his front yard next to his fence. He would stand outside in the morning hours and water his plants and wave to the neighbors when they got up to leave for their various jobs, classes, or to drop the kids off at daycare or school.

     One of the teenagers who lived with his single-yet-working mother on the cul-de-sac, a young man named Antonio Iris, liked the lonely man on the block. He admired how laid back the lonely man was. The man was in his late thirties, yet he looked no older than twenty-seven. He had sun-kissed skin, the kind women go to tanning booths to achieve, and healthy, curly, long blonde hair; he looked like the stereotypical California surfers do after years of riding the waves every morning. He had dazzling blue eyes, an athlete's physique, and almost always wore flip-flop sandals, board shorts, and a surfer-brand tank top shirt like Redwave or Billabong. He never seemed to sunburn, even though he spent hours in the garden in his front yard. He grew all sorts of plants in his yard: Chili peppers, tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, spinach, thyme, parsley, cilantro, and various other herbs. He had prize-worthy flowers that lined his yard: Azaleas, bougainvilleas, red roses, lavender, jasmine along the ivy that grew along his house, and daffodils that sprung from the ground twice a year. Antonio noticed that the man must have been retired or had some kind of personal wealth stored somewhere because, as Antonio noticed, he never left his house for work. He had someone deliver his groceries. He left at night on occasion, but never for very long. Despite the air of mystery that surrounded the man, he was very friendly and inviting to all his neighbors. He smiled at everyone that lived nearby. He brought them the yield of his small garden in hand-woven baskets and homemade greeting cards. He was happy, from what Antonio could discern; he was cool, level-headed, well-learned, and quiet.