Heroes

Gunshots. Screams. That is what I hear, and I start running.

I know I do not belong here. I stick out from the crowd, and everyone knows my name. I feel like I have the world’s largest target on my back. And my front. Except instead of concentric circles of red and white, It is a serial number reminding me that no matter what I do, I am still always going to just be one out of hundreds, thousands, millions. I am nothing. Yet today, right here, right now, I am expected to step up for myself, step up for my community, step up for the world.

I’ve crossed the line. One...Two...Three...Four...Five….I count the invisible paces I left behind me in the yard.

I stand at the rear door of the house, a real fancy brick two-story that would soon be red, but for now it remains a deep violet. My one hand is wrapped around the key to my future and the other trembling with a persuader. My key could open any door, yet this is the path I’ve chosen. Everyone wants to be a hero sometimes, and I’m not going to wait for my opportunity to come to me.

The course is already paved out for me. Turning around is not an option, and I dare not even look back. I feel as if I am just going through the motions. I can picture it in my mind. There I am, at the scene running, running as fast as I can, running from the past. But I know that if I keep running in the course prepared for me, I will end up running in circles. I cannot escape the past, and no matter what happens today, I will have no future. I will still be nothing, just one out of hundreds, thousands, millions. My future appears dull, I will always be dark. But for today, today I will be golden. And that much no one will be able to take away.

I slide the lockpick into the keyhole with my steady right hand as I wipe bullets of sweat from my furrowed black brow with the other. A hint of gold peaks above the buckeye-surfaced horizon in the early August morning, I don’t have much time. The thought of turning around creeps back into my mind. I reassure myself that I must do what I came for, not just for me, but for her, and for the better of a society so desperately in need. The stock market crash hit us all hard, most of us that is, and none harder than me. Years later, Cleveland is only getting rougher. Look who’s talking though, but I suppose that just proves my point. What the heck is a businessman from Oakville, Alabama doing with a lockpick and a gat on a man’s back porch? Doing business. And being a hero, that’s what.

I am still running. My thoughts distract me from the pressures that surround me. The past five seconds have consumed my energy. My legs are on fire, and I am presently nearly 5,000 miles away from home. It feels as though my hope is melting away. But I keep running, harder, faster. And I am only halfway to where I can stop. And by now I could not prevent myself from getting there if I wanted to, my body would carry itself the rest of the way even if I left my mind here. And I have no desire to lose my head, so I choose to keep running.

My right hand is shaking now too. The pick is rattling in the door, and I hear something else. It’s the pounding of my heart from my chest amplified throughout my body. Together the two sounds ring in my ears. My knees knock as I continue to work to open the door. I am over halfway done. My left hand grips the heater tight now, so tight I think it will melt my hand. I glance up for only a moment to see my reflection in the door window, to see the fear burning in my eyes. But it’s too late to turn back now.

The end is in sight as I gasp for breath. I make my way towards it, still sprinting. I need not look behind me to picture the scene. I know exactly how it is, I can feel it. There is no one alongside me. Strangers, friends, I left them all behind. And two holes in the ground. They may appear empty, but they are not. Before I left, I filled them with my ghosts, my demons, my regrets, my fears. I cannot afford to have those weigh me down. I already have such a great weight on my shoulders. I am not just running for myself, I am running for the rest of the world, for everyone else that does not belong here either. I press on toward my goal, goaded along by those I sense at my heels. I dream about the future, my future, my goal. My dream becomes more and more of a reality with each stride I take. I imagine myself standing up in the center, crowned and shining, soon I will feel it firsthand.

I open the door and remove my key, leaving the hole empty. But this keyhole was nothing compared to the emptiness of the hole in my heart. Now my heart will forever remain locked, hardened like the bricks of this house. There is no key, and no one can pick this lock. I focus on the task at hand. My right hand’s work is done, but now it is time for my left. The hardware inside its grasp now feels cold, and I feel the color drain from my head down to my black boots. The solution I only lived in my dreams is about to play out firsthand.

Disappointment could eat at me, but I do not let it. I have not yet failed, but I shall not entirely succeed. I will undoubtedly achieve the expectation and receive the recognition from the world, but I already know that I will not escape from the boundary I have set for myself just yesterday. Nevertheless, one chance is all you need. Everyone wants to be a hero. I will be a hero, I already am. And prior knowledge of my shortcoming does not prevent me from attempting to rewrite my fate. I have spent a lifetime of training for just ten seconds.

And now I only have five paces left…four...three...two...until...I have crossed the line.

Disappointment eats away at my skin. I am about to accomplish my goal, but I already recognize my failure. She would not have wanted this. But it is too late now, I am already here. I must complete what I started. I take two steps across the hardwood floor, and I am met by a silhouette across the hall. Feet frozen and frightened, I frantically raise the rod, my finger fixed on the trigger.

Gunshots. Screams. That is what I hear, and I start running.