Hero Upon Death

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
When a story is all to possible, the feelings become more intense. This features a young boy who has had to grow up more then anyone ever should be made to.

Submitted: July 27, 2011

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Submitted: July 27, 2011




Hero Upon Death

Thirty seven years after the war and my uncle still sees dead people in his sleep. I’ve learned not to close my eyes at night, because that’s when he’s most dangerous. When he sleeps, he screams. He screams to his comrades to run. He says not to wait for him, but it’s too late they already have and for that they paid dearly. When he tells his comrades he’s sorry and begs to them to forgive him they can’t hear him. Their dead, and he’s still here, bound to earth by guilt. The guilt consumes him in every waking moment. So he consumes drink, trying to drown out his thoughts with the alcohol. Drowning his life with a whiskey lullaby ‘till he’s not responsible for the pain anymore.

“You’re worthless, and you’ll never be anything but that. You’re worthless, absolutely worthless. You are nothing, nobody cares about you and they never will. You’re unlovable.”

Over and over he screams as he bangs the dark haired boy’s head on the ground. The words have rhythm and after awhile it’s all I can think of. It becomes true, and I feel the need to be punished. I am unclean. I am unneeded. He throws the boy against the wall, I try to feel sorry for the boy but I can’t. I am him and he is worthless. I’ve discovered the trick to surviving. Becoming unattached, when my uncle comes in with rage I do not hide for when he finds me it’ll be worse. I stand there and stop caring. When he punches me in the face it does not hurt. I am invincible I cannot be damaged. How do you harm someone who cannot feel pain? How do you kill someone who cannot be reached? You cannot, and so, when he snaps the little boy’s arm I sit back and watch, knowing it will hurt later, but for now I am a observer and I will let this little body take the punishment.

If I had grown up with parents, maybe I wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t need to be punished anymore. I would’ve been a good boy, I swear. I don’t know what makes me so bad, but maybe my parents could have fixed that problem, cured that disease. Ten years I have listened to my uncle as he tells me the truth. I am worthless and that is why I don’t have parents. I do not deserve a loving mother and father because I am unlovable. I don’t feel bad, and I hold out small hope of a day where my parents come get me and hug me tight. But having these thoughts is just another bad thing I have done.

Life, that one word symbolizes everything I want. The way I’m living, cannot in any way be considered a life. My name is Darren, at the age of one I was abandoned by my family. I was given to my uncle, he owns me. I’ve learned over the years that my opinion is nothing, that my actions are meaningless, that I’m hardly a person at all. I just want you to know that I do have feelings; I want you to realize that in my world when pain and loneliness obscure my actions I retreat to my mind. This is my glimmering oasis in a desert of depression. In my mind I can be anything I want to, in my mind nothing bad ever happens. There’s a law against being cruel.

Out behind our trailer, there’s a cliff. It’s my cliff. That is where I go when the loneliness of the world starts taking its toll on me. Sometimes I think about my life. Then I think about the cliff, and I wonder. One step, one step over and the suffering would all stop. Way I see it I’m a hero. When my uncle screams, I listen. When he lashes out, I take the blow. It’s better that way, me protecting the world.  Maybe when I die, God will give me wings and the pain that follows me will stop. And all it would take is one step.



© Copyright 2018 northway. All rights reserved.

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