My dream documentary host was narrating the story of a small mining town in Alabama. To get to work the inhabitants daily crossed a swamp that unbeknownst to them was built on a buried nuclear waste dump site.
A village person related how the swamp water seeped through cracks in his boots. Another person said that he'd often walk ankle deep through the water for yards at a time; in the rainy season it could be up to a half a mile. One day, he took off his boot at the end of the night and discovered bleeding sores.
"Finally," said a third, "it was like everyone in town was bleeding from the ankles." The sores wouldn't heal, just reopened at the slightest touch, and spread, seemingly contagious.
"We didn't know what it was," the voice of the first interviewee floated over the closeup of men's ankles bleeding underwater, their hands scratching at the sores.
Meanwhile in another part of the village, Superman, born here the year the toxic site was closed and buried, was flying through the air saving people from a venomous local hawk.
An old-timer reminisced about the bird's sharp and evil talons, over footage of the hawk catching a rabbit. The rabbit shrieked and twisted in agony as the venom took hold.
Pan to Superman, flying in to rescue a baby from a tree. He barely stayed to receive a tearful thank you from the distraught mother before relaunching into the air.
The narrator began reciting statistics on his stamina, range, average versus maximum flight speed - "our Superman tends to be a little lead-footed compared to others I've heard of." The video showed Superman coming in for a fast, steep landing. Over his shoulder a speck began to enlarge until
"Left shoulder," the narrator yelled suddenly, his voice cracking, "Superman, hawk coming in hard, your left." Video Superman rolled and weaved at the very last second, managing to miss being skewered through the ribcage. Instead a small piece of claw lodged itself in his left thumb.
The narrator was already on the phone to 911. By the time Superman arrived, which is to say, stumbled from the sky into the ER, a gurney was waiting to whisk him to the prep room.
The hospital was all out of antidote but one of the younger doctors, a surgical resident, was testing a brand new procedure to prevent what had been an excruciatingly painful 48 hours that rendered the patient unusable for open casket. The latest deaths of the 12 in the last four months, they had just burned the bodies on a pyre, on the bank of the Mississippi, like it was the Nile.
The narrator gasped as he read his next notes, his intended statement rising, falling on a note that indicated shock and a question, if somewhat rhetorical. "They are going to amputate SUPERMAN'S arm??"
I woke needing water. Played my first game of soccer in two years last night. It was so good. I am sore.
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