The Savior of The Poor

I always thought of myself as the good guy. I helped those in need, those who couldn’t survive in the deep economic pit this city has fallen in. When the money was gone, the violence started. I just wanted to help.

I knew the police were corrupt, that they would target the poor and the homeless for “dirtying the city’s appearance”. It didn’t matter that almost 50% of us were now moneyless and near starving. There were activist groups, of course. They mostly just pitied us, though, made us sound like we were dirty, sad animals near death, like they could put us on a daytime talk show commercial someone old would give a penny to.

The worst were the other supers. Maybe once before all of this happened, they were good people. There are stories about “The Golden Age” a few decades back when super humans would save their fellow man and fight evil out of good hearts and bravery. But then the military came in, and then Hollywood. Now they’re just spineless celebrities that do enough for good press and money, without starting any controversy or pissing the big corporations off.

This all lead to where I was about a year ago. We had just hit the biggest plummet of our city yet, and I was just learning to control my powers. I’m a weird sort of telepath, I can’t see or hear what other people do, but I am able to make them see what I want. A reverse mind reader, if you will. It started with just one image. One image that would change the world.

There was a woman walking home with her groceries. You could tell she had just purchased them; they were in the store’s labeled bag. But she lived in the wrong place. The police started chasing her and then beating her. Beating her to the ground, beating her bloody. They screamed at her for stealing, for ruining the city and the economy. If I hadn’t stepped in, she would’ve been killed. I focused as hard as I could on each officer and told them she had struggled up and ran away.

As the ran after her apparition, I pulled her into the alley and treated her wounds as best as I could. She spoke to me and I got to know her. She was immensely grateful, but what hit me the hardest was her family. She was a single mother to three and all they had. If the police had murdered her, her families only provider would be gone forever. Her children would be lost in the system and she probably wouldn’t even get a funeral.

After that, I couldn’t stop. Who else had kids? An elderly mother there were supporting? Who needed money for medicine and doctors’ visits? You can never see the story behind the person, no matter how dirty or bad they perceived to be. To me, it didn’t matter if they stole, vandalized, or even sold drugs. I didn’t know how hard their life was, what they did to get by, I helped anyone.

I started roaming the streets night and day. Anyone the police would chase, stop, or abuse got away without a trace. I trusted my community and the people I lived with more than I ever would the police. In my mind, I was letting people live, letting their families live. I was more super than any hero Hollywood could throw at me. But little did I know, it had gotten out of hand.

I didn’t realize I had gotten regulars. People who knew me and what I did and took advantage. People in big violent gangs, people who started a life of crime just because they now knew they could get away with it, people with bigger plans. The crimes kept getting worse and worse, bank robbery, assault, even a murder.

But I knew these people, they were my neighbors, my friends. They were so grateful and they celebrated me like I was a saint. Even when the crimes kept getting bigger and worse, I couldn’t stop. Who was I to judge who deserved to live and die? I just protected life. I guess I shouldn’t have protected it so much.

It all started about a year after I began helping people. It gave them time to finish their plans without getting caught. The Great Revolution. The people of the underbelly of society had revolted. They burned big corporations to the ground, fought back at the police, and began overtaking their city. At first, I was completely for it. I fought, I burned, I helped my fellow man when they were downed or wounded. Everyone was so excited and proud that we were making the change that needed to happen, including me. We couldn’t have known what was really happening, known who was truly running the show.

As the revolution wound down, those last couple weeks were glorious. We celebrated, we held each other, and most of all we praised our leader. The man that had so conveniently rose to stand for our rights and our ideals. Little did we know that he had his own people spreading this idea the whole time we were rioting. So, when he became our next leader, no one was opposed, it felt natural.

Within two months, he had beheaded almost all of what remained of the upper class, including those who fought with us against their own families. His secret police would drag anyone who whispered against him to the front of the square to be executed. The people still don’t have houses because all building efforts must currently be put toward his tower and statue. Anyone caught building their own shelter would be dragged in by the secret police. No gatherings of more than four people. He’s afraid that we’ll overthrow him like his gang overthrew the last oppressors.

 Every day we must gather to hear a speech about how he loves all of us and what he did for us. How he saved us all and how we must we eternally grateful. Today, I step out into the bright morning light when the periodic speech begins. But I am not with the people on the ground, I am up on the balcony with our ruler, and he is introducing me to the masses as the key tool to the world’s worst dictator’s assent.