Songbird: What it Means to be the Hero

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The soldier could not remember how old he was, nor what he’d been doing before that moment. The normal life he had led before quickly faded to memory amidst his new reality, any comfort he might’ve felt from it was similar to a distant dream.

A messenger came up to him, offering him a sword and shield. “The people need someone to fight for them, and you will be this person. Go on, don the chainmail of the soldiers before you—you will become one of them. With any luck, you may even be the one to rid us of the great evil that we face.”

So, the soldier went to war. At first, he hoped that he might one day be able to return home; within time, there didn’t seem to be a home worth going back to. Everyone changes, when the pressure of the whole world rests on one’s shoulders.

“This is going to be a tough fight,” the commander spoke to all of them. “I won’t deny that there are many of you who will not be returning. But, despite the odds, this is a battle that we have to win. Our homes cannot afford for us to falter here.”

The soldier stepped up. “I will lead the charge, if you would allow it.” He didn’t want to. Why would he? Yet, still, it felt right. It seemed like that was what he was supposed to do and, thus, his only option. He was filled with an overwhelming—albeit terrifying—desire to be the one heading the charge.

The one responsible for any losses that, ultimately, could not have been avoided.

The commander thought about it for a moment, before nodding. “You’ve proven yourself capable in every other scenario we’ve put you in. Go on and show our enemy what might you have—maybe, with your power, they’ll start to realize we’re better left alone.”

From then on, the soldier found himself leading the charges. He never quite reached the ranking of general, not officially, but he might as well had held the position. The things he’d seen and the sacrifices he had to make… they weren’t fitting of someone of his rank. It was supposed to be something someone higher up should have to deal with.

Yet still, he endured it, and his silence meant that others assumed he was comfortable with such a weight on his shoulders.

One battle after another, the soldier fought for his people and his country. He saw allies and enemies fall, and nearly found himself joining them on a few occasions. It was not one single battle that led to his distance, his paranoia, his readiness to jump into action. And since, unlike some of his comrades, he was able to join the next charge, there was no problem with the way the world warped around him.

It was only something of his imagination. His imagination affected him and him alone; as long as he had control over his own mind, then it was fine.

Though… even that was hard to do on occasion.

“You’ve done it,” the commander said. He was beaming with pride; the soldier that he’d spent so long training became one of the army’s most valuable assets. “Thanks to you, I reckon we only have one more battle left. After that, we’ll all be able to return home. Isn’t that exciting?”

The soldier nodded, but the words of the commander seemed distorted. Like the soldier was hearing it from underwater. After a moment, the soldier realized that an answer was required, so he mumbled, “Yeah.”

“I know things haven’t been easy, but you’ve got to look on the bright side. It’s almost over. I’m sure you’ve got a family happily waiting for your return—thanks to you, our enemy hardly touched our lands. Name one thing you’re looking forward to doing or seeing whenever you get back.”

The soldier tried thinking about it, he really did. He knew what was waiting for him—his family and friends that he hadn’t seen in so long, the comfort of his old home. But he felt like he was going to find something else; something darker, something far from the peaceful place he might’ve otherwise hoped for. Even if they were still alive and well—which he knew they were—would home really be the same? Certainly not, after the way his mind warped even his allies and comrades, and how he sometimes found himself struggling to interact with them from time to time.

So, after a moment, he simply shrugged. There was no point in continuing a conversation he wasn’t going to be a part of.

“Trying not to care, then?” the commander prompted. “I’m sure they’ll all be happy to see you. Before long, you might even be able to put this whole thing behind you!”

That seems unlikely, was what the soldier thought, but never said aloud.

The commander laughed at his own remark and went to give the soldier a pat on the shoulder. The soldier, however—somehow reminded of not-so-friendly brawls and battles—stepped away from it.

“Don’t touch me,” was the only thing he said. It was, very possibly, the most substantial thing he’d said in a while…

“Right, you were never one for physical interaction. Why don’t we get going, then? With you at the head of the charge, I’m sure this will be a swift and decisive victory.”

If only that had truly been the last battle he faced. Countless years of conflict and turmoil ended in what felt like mere moments; before long, the soldier was storming through what remained of the enemy camps, making sure that no part of them could return.

And then he was able to come home. He was no longer the boy he was when he left, or the soldier he became in the field—he was a hero. They gave him a celebration as if he had single-handedly defeated their enemy; he earned himself and his family a more stable life than they had ever had before. Anything he could’ve ever wanted, he would have, so long as he asked for it. He didn’t desire anything himself—not anything that anyone else could’ve given to him, at any rate—but he appreciated that he was able to do that for his family and closest friends.

Not like he could really manage to say anything upon his return.

He kept expecting something, waiting for a call to battle or a surprise attack. He kept hearing or seeing signs that his fight wasn’t over. But in time, all of his physical wounds healed, and his scars faded. Everywhere around him, people moved on.

Yet he, for reasons he couldn’t explain, could not.

“You know, you’ve changed a lot since you left,” the woman remarked. When they were kids, they loved each other. Now their different experiences had made them strangers all over again, and he couldn’t find the emotions he’d once held for her. “I didn’t think you’d be so much different…”

“People change,” was the extent of what he could tell her. In truth, he didn’t have a good answer on it all himself.

“I suppose so. Do you think… we have to stay like this, though? I was thinking back to before you left, back when we were kids. I want that back. I know that things have changed, but they don’t have to make that big of a difference, do they?”

Of course, the soldier only mumbled something. He didn’t know what it meant; maybe it was an excuse, or a sign that he knew what she was telling him was false. But it certainly wasn’t an agreement.

When he gave no definitie answer, his once-friend-now-stranger stepped away. “I don’t know what’s wrong. You were able to conquer everything you faced, and you came back victorious. Without you, surely much worse would’ve happened. Why are you still so distant, then? Why do keep looking back to that old sword of yours, ready to pick it up at a moment’s notice?”

“You don’t know what it was like.”

“But that doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re a hero. You’re the whole reason all of us are still here today. You should take advantage of that.”

He simply shook his head. Because, ultimately, there was so much he left unsaid… that he would never be able to accept the future without first getting rid of this ache of scars that would never heal.

The scars that no one else could see.