The Mighty Fallen

“Hail the Hero, our Savior, our Light in the Darkness! Blessed be the lands he walks across. Blessed be those who have stood in his presence, of those who have fought beside him and survived. Hail this stranger from distant lands, this stranger that has purged the world of all evil!”

This was their cheer for me. For a stranger who had barely turned twenty, for a no-namer who fought because he was told he must. I was the one to start this war and I was the one to end it. I lost friends, gained friends, and lost them again. The battle started with all odds against me. Without me, they would all be dead. I am and always will be their Hero.

It has been years since I have heard their applause, seen their smiles. Now, they look at me with disdain and pity in their eyes. Now, all they see is the blood on my hands, blood that will not wash away no matter how many times I have scrubbed them.

And what of it? No one returns from war a saint. I did what I had to. I saved them. I fought when they wouldn’t. What would they be without me? No one. Dead. Gone. Lost forever. I did this all for them. I became what they wanted me to be. Where is my reward? Where is my peace? When do I get to rest? They all get to move on with their lives, laugh and smile while I am left to watch from the shadows, to be a pariah of the people. To be shunned by society until my death.

I was their Hero. Now, I am their recall. I wasted years of my life for them, and a monster is how I will be remembered. A stranger shrouded in darkness who strikes without cause, who revels in the chaos and fear that comes with war. No matter how much I fight, how much I run, “Hero” was always a temporary title.