Reynolds, John M "Achilles" II 12-22-03
It is not a question of whether I am superior in every way to my fellow man, but why and when I became this way. When I was born, was I not as soft and pink as any newborn, or beneath that childlike exterior, did my heart truly beat with steadier countenance, and with nobler thought? Could my skin have been strong as iron then -surely not! For my mother, smart as she was, would have noticed something like that. The doctors would have noticed that their needles would not penetrate my skin.
And what of the months that came before my birth? Had I been different from any other child, surely I would have ruined the womb that I was carried in, and hurt her badly. My mother says I was perfect from the moment she set eyes upon me, but that cannot be helped-she is a mother and therefore she is bias and my superior wits and brain state that I must throw out her words as nothing more than that.
My first recorded Deed of Good, the first one with any reliability, came when I was but a boy of six. I remember it clearly, for that was the year that I started the ISSA, along with a dear friend of mine, at the time, Dr. Yonnon J Drew. We had worked very hard that past year to keep things on schedule and we were very pleased to be having our opening day ceremonies on the very day we predicted-much to our critic and competitor’s chagrin. Before the event Yon was exceedingly fidgety and nervous; he never had my natural charm, poor man. He took a short walk to “blow off some steam” and I trailed behind him to make sure he would be okay, and also to make sure he was back in time for the ceremonies, as he was known for being late.
Here memory fails me. I can’t recall if I ran into Yon or not, but I believe I did as he was later very angry with me for no apparent reason. The press is no help here either, as the events that followed, the ceremony and, more importantly, the attempted assassination of the good doctor, overshadowed any disagreement we might have had. Yon gave his speech first, and did remarkably well for all of his nerves. I was next, they gave me a little step latter so I could reach the podium-it was quite embarrassing-and my speech went quite well, I had given many by that time. I was nearly through with it, about 83.5 percent done, when I saw a man in the back of the crowd take out a pistol. No one else noticed, because most of their backs were to the man as they were facing me and the stage I was on. Yon was sitting next to me, along with some other rather unremarkable dignitaries, and I quickly assessed the situation: Yon was the target, the gun was pointing straight at him, and no one would notice until it was far too late. I can’t say that I weighed my life against Yon’s or that I deemed him more worthy of the next few years than I was. What I did was pure instinct. I jumped on Yon and put myself between him and the bullet. Maybe I was hoping they wouldn’t shoot a child, I don’t know.
The gun man shot the moment he saw me move toward Yon. He had time to launch two well aimed bullets toward him. One was meant for Yon’s chest, the other his head, between the eyes. I, of course, ruined the plan. The first bullet went into my back and the second into the back of my head.
But they didn’t wedge their way into my flesh, cutting and tearing along the way, as they would have a normal person’s. Rather they slightly dented my flesh, and my scull as if I were a car or some man made of metal, for about two days until the dents disappeared.
It was the look in Yon’s eyes that got me. The amazement, the gratitude and love. I know he had some hard times before that, accepting me for who I was, accepting me as a friend. Our gap in age startled him, as did my diminutive size that was a result of my age. But somehow my saving him made me more human, more real.
To the rest of the world it made me less so, and they loved it. I was lauded as a hero-celebrated as a god from that day forward. And yet, despite the whole world’s admiration, out of what I got that day it was really Yon’s friendship and trust that I valued far above the other. They could have bowed on bended knee and it would have meant little if he wasn’t there, standing beside me.
From the notes of John Reynolds II, AKA Achilles.
Dated: December 22nd, 2503
And what of the months that came before my birth? Had I been different from any other child, surely I would have ruined the womb that I was carried in, and hurt her badly. My mother says I was perfect from the moment she set eyes upon me, but that cannot be helped-she is a mother and therefore she is bias and my superior wits and brain state that I must throw out her words as nothing more than that.
My first recorded Deed of Good, the first one with any reliability, came when I was but a boy of six. I remember it clearly, for that was the year that I started the ISSA, along with a dear friend of mine, at the time, Dr. Yonnon J Drew. We had worked very hard that past year to keep things on schedule and we were very pleased to be having our opening day ceremonies on the very day we predicted-much to our critic and competitor’s chagrin. Before the event Yon was exceedingly fidgety and nervous; he never had my natural charm, poor man. He took a short walk to “blow off some steam” and I trailed behind him to make sure he would be okay, and also to make sure he was back in time for the ceremonies, as he was known for being late.
Here memory fails me. I can’t recall if I ran into Yon or not, but I believe I did as he was later very angry with me for no apparent reason. The press is no help here either, as the events that followed, the ceremony and, more importantly, the attempted assassination of the good doctor, overshadowed any disagreement we might have had. Yon gave his speech first, and did remarkably well for all of his nerves. I was next, they gave me a little step latter so I could reach the podium-it was quite embarrassing-and my speech went quite well, I had given many by that time. I was nearly through with it, about 83.5 percent done, when I saw a man in the back of the crowd take out a pistol. No one else noticed, because most of their backs were to the man as they were facing me and the stage I was on. Yon was sitting next to me, along with some other rather unremarkable dignitaries, and I quickly assessed the situation: Yon was the target, the gun was pointing straight at him, and no one would notice until it was far too late. I can’t say that I weighed my life against Yon’s or that I deemed him more worthy of the next few years than I was. What I did was pure instinct. I jumped on Yon and put myself between him and the bullet. Maybe I was hoping they wouldn’t shoot a child, I don’t know.
The gun man shot the moment he saw me move toward Yon. He had time to launch two well aimed bullets toward him. One was meant for Yon’s chest, the other his head, between the eyes. I, of course, ruined the plan. The first bullet went into my back and the second into the back of my head.
But they didn’t wedge their way into my flesh, cutting and tearing along the way, as they would have a normal person’s. Rather they slightly dented my flesh, and my scull as if I were a car or some man made of metal, for about two days until the dents disappeared.
It was the look in Yon’s eyes that got me. The amazement, the gratitude and love. I know he had some hard times before that, accepting me for who I was, accepting me as a friend. Our gap in age startled him, as did my diminutive size that was a result of my age. But somehow my saving him made me more human, more real.
To the rest of the world it made me less so, and they loved it. I was lauded as a hero-celebrated as a god from that day forward. And yet, despite the whole world’s admiration, out of what I got that day it was really Yon’s friendship and trust that I valued far above the other. They could have bowed on bended knee and it would have meant little if he wasn’t there, standing beside me.
From the notes of John Reynolds II, AKA Achilles.
Dated: December 22nd, 2503