The Awesome Giant Bear got his start in crime-fighting as a P.I. in Tampa, ursine memory not being more than an extension our sense of smell, I'll say maybe four or five years ago and a pleasant time I've had. Little old ladies that smell of lavender and cinnamon buns showing up with requests to find their little troublemakers, small persons with sticky hands asking why the ice cream truck hasn't shown up two weeks into the school year . . . Life was full of candied lemons and sunshine. That is until the Mayor came by asking me to re-open the case that started me on this path. They just have to keep poking the bear . . . *grumble, grumble, grumble*


     I guess an explanation might be in order before I get into the main narrative. I, The Awesome Giant Bear, am to all outward appearances, genus/species Ursus Americanus Cinnamomum, also known as the cinnamon bear. Not a large 'man' in a suit nor an alien species counterfeiting itself as a bear nor a laboratory experiment gone awry. Just a bear . . . wearing a pretty snazzy fedora given me by my very brave, small person friend, Dottie. I say brave where others might say precocious, but this little bundle of laughter and fun was the only person brave enough to make friends with this bear without iron bars between us. Besides, she smells 'good' and that is enough for me . . . the candied hazelnuts and raisins not withstanding.


     Dang, I keep drifting like this, I'll never get around to my 'origin' story.


     Where was I? Oh yes, the zoo. I'd only known life split into two halves before Dottie. Mine, behind cold, iron bars and everyone else's on the other side. The 'nice' persons keeping us fed and clean and active always said the bars were there to protect us from the persons outside and I suppose if you're willing to believe that, you could have a 'full life' in relative comfort, but I figured early on that it was the reverse. You could smell their fear, their anger, their false bravado and it always saddened me that they saw us behind bars when it was them living in tiny little cages and walking around with their fears flowing all around. Hey that was kind of poetic.


     How it is that I have gained the ability to speak fluent 'two-legs' let alone English, Spanish and a smattering of French you might ask? Hard work and for the love of a very brave small person. Apparently, we ursine types have the ability for, let me get this right, cog-ni-tive reasoning. We just don't have much to say to 'persons' who fear us so much that they would have a 'season' set aside to shoot us. Barbarians!

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Comment by Sgt. Ian MacBrooke on July 28, 2015 at 2:35pm

This post was in response to a silly little request for origin stories using a FB meme to generate a 'superhero name'. I'm not sure if I'll continue. I just thought to give it a short go.

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