Yea yea I know, go cry emo kid.
Just my thoughts gotta write somewhere lol.
The Broken Hero
The most of modern idea is that of the broken hero. The guy or gal, this case a guy, who does good but becomes shattered because of it.
Its true, this idea of the broken hero. He looks on to all, wishing that everyone could know what he does in the night, protecting them and keeping their streets clean for their children to walk around safely where otherwise some sort of danger could befall them from the sketchy sorts that would prowl were he not there. His absence brings these people back in droves, thinking all is safe, no one willing to step up from their daily lives to do what is right.
He sits there gazing off into nothingness all the fights, and horrors of guns knives and blunt weapons that have been pulled swung or connected with him flashing back in his head. Like the Vietnam vets sitting in the Waffle Houses, he is one with them, but with one subtle difference, he has a cause. The cause he believes so strongly in that he sacrifices sleep and sanity to uphold. To protect those who need it to keep those who are innocent in such a state as they possibly can.
On his own personal crusade. No one is with him, and many of his friends are against him. Taking up arms against one they once thought of as friend, and now as foe as their thoughts have differed in this moment. A critical moment where he tries to do what he thinks is best, but can never be entirely sure.
The idea thought hat he cannot save the world crushes him. Seeing horrors that mankind can bring upon one another more so than most. Coming home to a volatile home where he is unwelcome and even hated at times. The support at home a rug swept out from under him leaving little foundation. The friends he looks to, kept distant by what he does. Their disbelieving when they ask where all the new scars, bruises or cuts from a knife that he could only block with his arm as it came slashing down upon him, come from when he tells them some made up story protecting them from the truth. The truth that he is both horrified and proud of at the same time. He just took down several guys, sustaining injuries yes, but he just swept some scum from the street for a good amount of time. As even if they are not put away they will not come back again too willingly for they think he is not alone himself.
It is much worse when he decides to tell a certain individual of his exploits their not believing them only breaks his heart further. Making him wish he could only show them, but knowing full well he cannot for that would risk their lives and thus bringing possible harm to them, and idea he could never live with.
His friends sacrificed as he tries to save them from anything and everything. Protecting their honor when they do not know it has been infringed on. Making themselves the object of hated and loathing as they break. Being there for them constantly trying to pull the pain of that person into themselves, believing that it is something only they can take large amounts of. He gazes into their eyes, seeing their pains and broken hearts, and yearns to mend them. Like a carpenter of the soul he tries, but always fails. Never realizing what cannot be done, thinking themselves superhuman based on their luck on the field. He knows he is not, his body tells him differently every time that he stands. Wincing in the immense pain in his body, the knotted muscles and bruised bones aching as he forces them to move once again, promising sleep as the sun rises once again. The only thought that keeps the broken man going. The understanding that eventually the sun will rise again, and he will see the light.
But he will never see the light, for the broken man can never love, for he can never be loved. He can admire, care to the greatest extent possible, but he can never let someone in, for the fear that that person that he does let in will see the broken shards of his soul and stamp them into nothingness, and then leave the empty void that he knows so well even emptier. The world he sees is empty of happiness, and yet he smiles as he stares down the barrel of a gun, throwing his foe off by that single half a second he needs to switch hands, strike the weapon away, and then disable his foe in one swift movement.
He smiles, and never knows why. Something imprinted on his mind he supposes, never smiling of happiness, just of the thought of living. He continues on, knowing that he will never be thanked for what he does. The police and sheriffs that thank him for what he does as he turns in a miscreant only turn around the next day and pull him over, talking down to him like he were one of the ones he has just disposed of. Only upon seeing his name on his license do they realize what they have done, worrying that they might have turned an asset into an enemy by their words. The greatest of good hides the darkest of evils.
Perhaps that is what scares him the most, that idea of good and evil. Is he doing what is right, or does he become that which he fears most? Has he become the object of his own hatred, the foul individual who steps forward thinking that they are right and he is wrong? The philosophical madness grows in his mind, until he can no longer tell right from wrong and soon falls. Falls into the darkness of his heart, relying on everything that fuels his anger and rage for his strength. He carries on for a long time, enjoying this, and then one day as he picks up a single length of chain, and looks at it in his hands does he realize he has become chained by this feeling, by these ideas, and seeks to break free. But only finds that he cannot.
His body is now hardened, able to take more hits than a common individual can in order to see things through. His mind is focused on one thing and one thing only, to see that all is clean, that the streets remain safe, and that order prevails in the day. The castle walls around his heart more fortified than ever, wary to not trust anyone as anyone could be trying to do him wrong. Always looking behind his back never knowing what is entirely going on, becoming paranoid as he goes. He wanders on, with this chain adding more and more philosophical meaning to it, and soon finds it to be one of his greatest assets. Never fully knowing why, only that it is.
He is the broken hero, no more will Clint Eastwood ever ride into the sunset triumphantly. Destroyed by that he seeks to thwart. Destroyed by the life he has chosen for the betterment of what he thinks is everyone, as well as the contentment of his consciousness. His friends long distant, never caring anymore as he spits out more lies in order to keep them from the truth in which they need not know. His heart is now gone, likely never to be found again. His purpose in life one that he will never see to the end. All flashes in his mind, as he becomes the one sitting on the side of the road, never allowing himself to fall into that which he fights. The thought of becoming that keeping him straight, but only that. The world is cold, and the snow begins to fall inside and out.
He looks out on the bleak horizon, and only thinks to himself as the sun sets once again…
Member of:
Friends (Gonna try to get some names out
)
Do I live?
Christmas Spirited
Tearful
Joy
Anger
Artistic
