0
</a> What specifically makes a hero? Is it the sole act of saving another person from tragedy? Can a hero justify villainy through external heroism? Can a villain redeem truly terrible acts through heroic actions? I think about these questions a lot. I think a lot of people have their own opinions on these questions, too, but to be a bit blunt I don’t think their opinions are worth listening to unless they have personal experience in the subject. Too many people talk from an outside perspective and claim the holier than thou attitude which poisons our world more than it ever should.
I think a hero’s greatest virtue lies in the strength of their core values. Stray and suddenly the shimmering hero status fades away like a blanket of ashes snatched by a stray gale. The focus required separates the great from the average. So, what do I think about the questions above? Any two-bit shmuck can be at the right place and time and be considered a hero by a few people, but they are only such by chance occurrence. These people who take the credit of luck and call it effort—they aren’t heroes. A hero doesn’t passively hide under the comfort of convenience—they tackle the front lines; throwing themselves into direct risk for the sole purpose of bringing others out of said risk...most of the time, anyway (we’ll get to that.) A hero understands how the game is played—how the mythical force behind the curtain operates all of the little bells and whistles of the world. A hero makes a choice. Thought it was anything more? Are you disappointed? You ought to be, the world doesn’t hand you favors; it hands you choices.
I’ll admit I am pretty bad at seeing patterns until they’re long established. I guess by the above definition that would make me a poor candidate for being heroic. Would the outsiders call me a hypocrite at this statement alone? I’m afraid I think so. So, I am one of those stumblers, but I guess I haven’t fully explained what makes me an exception rather than the rule. A stumbler who falls into the role of being a hero so frequently and consistently it rounds back around and becomes not-stumbling. It becomes choice through continual act of being choice less. Imagine a one-hundred person tournament of rock-paper-scissors. Now, I know you know this game, so I don’t have to waste time explaining it. A tournament designed specifically around a game of chance, and yet at the end of the tournament there is a single person who manages to beat the odds and pick the winning hand every single time.
Now, a hundred may seem big enough, but imagine a game of a thousand people—ten thousand—ten million—billion. Someone is going to end up winning every single time, sound crazy, right? Now, life isn’t perfect, and I’m not the person who wins every single time, but I’m one of the few who has made it at least to the semi-finals.
My life has been riddled with all sorts of hints that have become clearer in hindsight—that just slipped by in initial review. It’s the choices that I make that keep me up at night more often these nights. These choices that make me a hero, and the ones that made...me...
choicechoices
(god, talk about an awful day.)
Now that I’m thinking back more on it, Flintstones might have been showing reruns that morning.I think I just had problems pronouncing my l’s
Ted Koppow’s
“
“
atweren’t
had
Ted Koppow. I
corrected
wasBecause Karl understood.
She always said that to herself quietly, inside her mind.Always stressed.Them’s the breaks. No dinner tonight. Them’s the breaks.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
<sup></sup>clicked
terrified
least
on top
She was always worried about something.
Don’t you dare open this stall little bitch it’ll be the last thing you see.
you shouldn’t be in here
top it. You’re free. Nothing can
“
I deeper
thathad