No True Hero [Raven; LJ Idol season 9, week 7]
I killed a man tonight.
I sit in the basement, unmoving, the words the only thought in my head. I killed a man.
Eventually I force myself to move. The armor, the costume, the vigilante's mask come off and get put away entirely by rote. The clothing is littered with cuts and burns. I know my body has marks to match, but I barely feel them. My ears still ring from the explosion, adding to the static that dominates my mind. I killed a man.
I can't bring myself to climb the stairs up to the house. I lay down on the cot instead, curled up on my side, staring unseeing out into the room.
I killed a man. There are no excuses. No rationalizations of it was an accident or I had no choice. Maybe he deserved it or the world is better off, but those words are hollow, so hollow. I am not judge or jury. I am not an executioner, I think, and those words cut like a knife.
The door opens. The stairs creak. I close my eyes and roll over, facing the wall. There's no feigning sleep, but maybe Dani will take the hint and leave me be. She shouldn't see me like this. Maybe she should never see me.
She's Dani; she doesn't leave. I hear her kneel beside me. The touch of her hand is warm against my back, and I realize I hadn't bothered to get dressed. She sets to work cleaning my wounds with gentle hands. I say nothing, do nothing except turn onto my stomach at her wordless request, and then again onto my back. I never look at her.
She's Dani; she doesn't speak. Doesn't ask me what happened. Only when she's finished does she slip her hand into mine and softly ask, “Bed?”
I pull my hand away and turn over to face the wall. She doesn't argue. Silently, she spreads a soft blanket over me. Smooths a hand down my hair. Kisses my temple.
She treats me like the hero I no longer am.
When her footsteps have receded up the stairs, when the door has closed, the tears finally come.
I killed a man tonight.
I sit in the basement, unmoving, the words the only thought in my head. I killed a man.
Eventually I force myself to move. The armor, the costume, the vigilante's mask come off and get put away entirely by rote. The clothing is littered with cuts and burns. I know my body has marks to match, but I barely feel them. My ears still ring from the explosion, adding to the static that dominates my mind. I killed a man.
I can't bring myself to climb the stairs up to the house. I lay down on the cot instead, curled up on my side, staring unseeing out into the room.
I killed a man. There are no excuses. No rationalizations of it was an accident or I had no choice. Maybe he deserved it or the world is better off, but those words are hollow, so hollow. I am not judge or jury. I am not an executioner, I think, and those words cut like a knife.
The door opens. The stairs creak. I close my eyes and roll over, facing the wall. There's no feigning sleep, but maybe Dani will take the hint and leave me be. She shouldn't see me like this. Maybe she should never see me.
She's Dani; she doesn't leave. I hear her kneel beside me. The touch of her hand is warm against my back, and I realize I hadn't bothered to get dressed. She sets to work cleaning my wounds with gentle hands. I say nothing, do nothing except turn onto my stomach at her wordless request, and then again onto my back. I never look at her.
She's Dani; she doesn't speak. Doesn't ask me what happened. Only when she's finished does she slip her hand into mine and softly ask, “Bed?”
I pull my hand away and turn over to face the wall. She doesn't argue. Silently, she spreads a soft blanket over me. Smooths a hand down my hair. Kisses my temple.
She treats me like the hero I no longer am.
When her footsteps have receded up the stairs, when the door has closed, the tears finally come.
I killed a man tonight.