"Powerless"

We were alone. We were lost and naïve and dying. We were the Power Rangers. Physical death, an end to our bodies, never imposed itself as an object of fear. With the reckless abandon of youth, we consistently subjected ourselves to close proximity with that specter of doom. We were just children, desperate to become a perfect embodiment of everything beautiful and safe in the world. Teenagers, selected by some alien force we did not understand to protect our fragile world from the evils of intergalactic imperialism, eager with youthful idealism to become forces of good and the stainless heroes of childhoods lost. And yet, slowly, everything we strove so diligently to protect and sanctify began to negate our existence. We allowed ourselves to become ideas. We ceased to exist as humans, fallible and capable of fear.
With stupid, naïve trust we removed the duty of protecting and caring for our lives from the incompetent hands of our parents, and into the cold technology we did not understand. It was a kind of magic to us, the science. The machines were devoid of the emotional failures of our parents, mothers and fathers, families, and things dreamed of suffered from. Our “families” had abandoned us in a startling reality. Selling our childhoods for their own safety, they betrayed us to a scathing world and bound us to protect it. Despite their brilliant logic and ceaseless calculations, the machines eventually exposed their fallibility. Thus was our twisted fall into adulthood. Everything will break, heart and body included. Our resentment was understandable, even reasonable.
Extravagant villains plagued Angel Grove like locusts, a common occurrence and ordinary experience for us Power Rangers. Ivan Ooze, a vile creature from an ancient past formed from foul primeval filth, was unlike the thoughtless antagonists of previous encounters. The machines guarded the interests of innocent citizens against “bad guys,“ such as these, before the welfare of their own existence. Zordon was the seemingly infinite being whose wisdom and obligations controlled our destiny. The first time we fought the minions of Ivan Ooze was at the direction of Zordon. He told us to leave him, to go out into the city, and protect its inhabitants. In our absence, Ooze himself entered our command center, and the source of our powers. Ravaging the wires and circuit like some demented flood, he destroyed not only the life support of our powers, but of Zordon. Instantly, the suits, weapons, and abilities granted us by alien intervention vanished.
The brave commander had died. The “brave commander” had orphaned us, powerless against the evils of the world. It was “a calculated risk.” If his machines calculated the worth of citizen’s lives against our own, we would obey as child slaves incapable of free will. Billy, the stereotypically nerd, once recited to us, “When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man.” He had realized before all of us that we had no control in the decisions of our life. Whether to laugh, cry, reject our responsibilities, or fall hopelessly, madly in love had not been our choice. Zordon had managed every aspect of our developing adolescence. Zordon, omnipotent, infallible Zordon had failed to protect himself, and doing so, failed to protect us. Yet somehow, paradoxically, the responsibilities that had forced us to abandon our childhoods and assume the role of hero, a title we believed only adults could hold, had prevented us from ever really “growing up.” The “Power Rangers” were infallible. We were not, but the blinding perfection of childhood ideals masked our faults. Zordon’s power had protected us from physical harm, and protected us from making mistakes. Upon his death, we floundered in the magnificent void of freedom.