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Mister Universe

Oh, hello there. What, were you expecting to meet some gigantic muscle man in a posing thong strutting his stuff? That’s all for show. The name’s Isaac. Nice to meet you. Please, have a seat.

I’m afraid I really do have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s a chair right there.

Ah, I love it when I see that confused look. People always wonder how I do it. It’s funny, really. Go ahead, take a seat. I prefer to stand a while longer. I agreed to this interview because you seem legitimately interested in the truth of my story, and I don’t mind telling it, provided that truth is known without embellishment.

You see, I started off as all young men do. Small, weak, inexperienced, and vastly ignorant of the way things work in the world. In that way, I was no different than any other child. I would imagine great adventures sailing across the high seas or plunging into the depths of the earth after hidden treasure and ancient civilizations. Sometimes I would slay a dragon. Other times, I would be a great barbarian fighting for his people to conquer and spread his influence. Sometimes I would be the good guy, others the bad. And it was fun for a time, just being like that. My friends told me it was some of the most real pretend they’d ever experienced.

I suppose I always was good at weaving a good story. In that way, you might say I could create whole worlds. But in due time, that gift was set aside and forgotten. I grew older, and I had to deal with the harshness the life has to offer a young man entering his teens. Cliques began to form, and the cutthroat nature of the teenager that rears its head in puberty began to blossom in its fullness.

I watched these things unfold, and I looked at them from the perspective of every frightened teen who wants to fit in. Jocks and fit people with aesthetic looks and charismatic personalities became popular. Those who didn’t fit that mold would fall behind.

I didn’t want to fall behind, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I dusted off my old gift and fashioned a story for myself. I imagined myself as the perfect ideal for popularity in school: Fit, buff, rugged, with piercing eyes and a winning smile.

I would indulge in this fantasy every day. I would flex in my mirror and picture muscles growing. I would push myself at the gym and lift weights under tutelage from the fitness teachers. I pictured myself growing bigger and faster than any of my peers. And as time went on, that’s exactly what happened. I outgrew my fellows in every physical aspect. Girls would fawn over me. I became popular, even joined the football team. Everything was perfect. And when I flexed and grinned in the mirror, I would say, “I’m just a stereotypical jock.”

And that’s what I became. I lived on the high of popularity and social superiority. And then I brought my old friends with me. It was easy to strongarm them into the roll. A few words here and there, a little reluctant role playing session, and suddenly they seemed to fall right in line. I was their great barbarian leader again, and they my loyal horde. The metamorphosis was astounding to the teachers and aides.

Naturally, I became captain of the team. I pushed every one of my teammates to be their very best. I’d add the occasional affirmation with talk of being the perfect jocks, one team, one unit, working as one, that sort of thing. For a time, I think we actually did. It was strange to lead such a group. One minute, I’d scratch an itch or flex a muscle, and suddenly I’d feel that strange sort of tingle, and I’d turn to see the rest of my ‘bros’ had done the same. Every time it happened, we’d just stare at each other, blink, and laugh that deep husky chuckle that came so naturally now.

School hardly mattered to any of us. We’d pass, and that was all that mattered. But, of course, in due time, reality began to set in. College was coming up, and while many of us were scouted for our incredible skill in sports, we all knew somewhere in the backs of our heads that being the dumb jocks we were couldn’t last for much longer.

Coming out of that fantasy had to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. My first semester of college was brutal, and my friends felt much the same. One or two of them never could bring themselves out of the world I’d woven for them. They still play in the NFL, though one of them, unfortunately, is dealing with some very serious charges. I feel responsible for that to an extent. True, his will is his own, but I molded him into what he is. I pushed him to be competitive, to grow, to become so aggressive and violent. You have to be, if you want to play professionally. I just never thought he’d take it this far.

*Sigh*

Once I’d finally stumbled out from that cloud of being the dumb jock, I realized I still hadn’t truly found out who I am, what I could do and be. I’d limited myself, because of this dream I’d been living for so many years. I was attractive and muscular, but those traits weren’t going to be assets in a college classroom. They were only a hindrance in this new and alien world that I’d suddenly found myself in.

High school is meant to prepare you for college, but since I didn’t pay attention in high school, I didn’t develop the skills necessary for my work. I had to get a tutor to catch up.

That tutor and my lit professors saved me from what could have been a terrible fate. Lucrative, perhaps, but certainly terrible. I would’ve been stuck either as a model or possibly a male escort with the way I was going. I didn’t want to be a stripper. I could’ve gotten into manual labor, if I’d wanted to take that route, I suppose. As for professionals, the odds of making pro were infinitesimally small, and I didn’t want to risk it, once we’d had that first sobering talk.

It’s amazing how quickly my imaginary world was torn down by this one person’s words. I actually cried when it happened, you know, but it was necessary for me to see the world for what it was, if I was ever going to grow enough to find my place in it. I’ll always be grateful to him for that, because without that sight, I never would have awakened the academic in me.

I devoured all manner of literature and works ranging from fiction to non-fiction. The classics, the advanced, theses, journals, fantasy. You name it, I would read it. I learned, and as I learned, I found my mind expanding faster than I could have ever imagined. A whole new universe had opened itself up to me, and I drank it greedily.

Sleep didn’t really seem to be a bother to me. I just kept thinking to myself that I didn’t need sleep, and I found that I didn’t. It was nice from time to time for the sake of dreams, but it wasn’t really necessary. *Chuckle* You wouldn’t believe the number of studies doctors had me participate in when they found out.

I found myself in need of glasses, eventually, as my eye sight began to strain and I became near-sighted. It wasn’t a major loss, though. Glasses were great to use off-field, and I could use contacts when I played. Yes, I still played sports. I had to, if I was going to keep up my scholarship.

As you’re aware, I graduated with honors. While I did grow past most of my old self, there is one thing that did remain with me, a sense of competition. I drove myself to be the very best I could be in every field I participated in. And as a result, I eventually received doctorates and degrees in a variety of them. I crafted a new world for myself, one where I could indeed be the very best. And I realized that the best in academics and the best in sports didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

And where does that leave me now? Well, as you know, I participated in a variety of contests for bodybuilding and strength testing. And I was fortunate enough to win this year’s Mister Universe. Some call me a muscle god. That’s half true.

You see, I’ve discovered that these stories I weave have a ... well, for lack of a better word, power behind them. Each time I tell one, it seems to come true. I dreamed of becoming Mister Universe, told a story, and then achieved the reality. I wove the tale of both worlds coexisting, and here I stand before you, the proper balance between the great muscular man and the inner nerd.

I can perceive whole galaxies and picture the worlds that reside within them. I craft a tale of travelling, and suddenly I’m there. I walk among men and I can see their hearts, what makes them tick, their desires, their fears, their worlds that they’ve built. And I’ve found that I can alter them on a whim.

All the research I’ve performed indicates that these are the attributes attributed specifically to two entities: either superheroes or gods. Considering nothing about me seems to feel super, and the fact I haven’t seemed to age all that much in the last couple of decades, I’m fairly certain that I’m closer to the latter. Fantasy would likely classify me as a younger god. I’m not certain how it happened, nor am I sure why. I simply know that it is. And I’m grateful for that gift.

Now I’m content to simply live my life with the prize money I’ve earned and focus on learning and growing. I love analyzing a person’s story, picking it apart and putting it back together again, so I can understand how they tick. And, occasionally, if I should happen to feel particularly generous, I add a little to that story.

Now, seeing as I’ve been so open with my story, how about we take a look at yours?

Maybe I’ll give you a gift, too.