Not a hero in every story

Every morning that I wake up, I have to make a choice. Who do I want to be? There is no in-between with the life that I have. I can’t be a little good and a little bad. It wouldn’t work, there is no such thing as the balance of good and evil within one person. So why is it that I have to take the choice every morning of whether or not the city is mine to save or not? Since every day the city will need me, some days I might need the city. How can it be that even though I was not given the choice of this responsibility, I have the choice to abuse it? how long will it be till the city stops trusting me? It cannot be too long, they don’t say it but I see it in their eyes. It bothers them that they and I stand in different places. Yet that was the whole point was it not? So that not everyone must stand in the quicksand?

Whenever someone else seems to try and stand up here they get eaten up by the sand below our feet. I don’t. Not because I am so powerful and only wish for the good of this city. Yet simply because I almost thrive on the chase. I could not sleep at night without it. If there weren’t people trying to bring me down, how would I know that I am so high up? It doesn’t sound so much like a saviour now does it? that was the point. Most of the city is kept safe because of one thing, fear. Not always the fear of me, but the fear of what the nights can turn us into. There is one more thing that thrives because of fear, riot. Since the people are out of choices as to how they can stay alive, they begin to think fighting for it would help.

Yet as soon as the clock goes past ten and the sun is nowhere to be found. There is only one choice that everyone is left with. Hide. It is not like I am going to harm anyone, yet sometimes in my pursuit of safety, I get carried away. Not everyone bad in my eyes is bad in everyones. So the riots grow louder and I keep fighting alone. Some nights I have no idea what I am fighting. Maybe it is just myself, and my urge to misuse my responsibility. Possibly this is why most great superheroes we see in movies are either from outside of this world or their power owns them. Both keep them away from the greed of wanting more. Mostly because more can cause people to harm. Ones that don’t need to be harmed. The human greed inside me makes me more dangerous than the criminals since I begin to decide which one of them is a criminal.

With all of these thoughts in my head, I never realised when I became part of them. How could I be? I was the one stopping them in the first place. I was the one making sure they did not cause harm to the city. They knew that. Yet just because I did not fit their criteria, I was to be put down? Like a tank with gears that didn’t work. I was no machine, I was their hero. Yet, only until they could make stories about me that everyone accepted. I can’t stand it. The quicksand I put in to make sure I wasn’t removed, removed me. Now, I am simply a bad story.