Heroes are enviable people. They do what they seem to like to do. They add value to society, get respect from most groups in society and become legend over time.
Let me tell you a story of a hero who did not wish to have these advantages but still gave help to those who needed it. Fizz was just walking down Blookstreet when he met a group of men who every child could tell that they were drunk, horny and contentious.
But that didn’t bother Fizz.
A few steps away from this dangerous group and something would happen. Everyone knew that. Everyone who lives on Blookstreet and everyone who was still on the street itself.
Well, that was nobody except the old creepy man who nobody knew the name of. He was apparently homeless, since the old smelly clothes never changed, and the hat was fully taped.
He always looked at everyone who was walking down this more-or-less busy street. Not even cars were often on the road. If only one or two confused drivers at rush hour. Everything that happened here was fascinating for him. But what exactly happened that day, he would still want to tell every passer-by years later who happened to want to walk down Blookstreet.
Fizz walked calmly, safely, without taking large, but not too small, steps into the group. His gaze somewhere in the void. It was like he was dreaming. In the next moment he was surrounded by the men.
Oh well. No need to stop walking, is there?
He tries to just keep on walking straight ahead.
Of course, in his direction was the largest closet of black-clad people, dark beard, brown eyes, upturned black cap, with a red clip, a T-shirt that said something about … „Bright* Angel“?
Oh … „Hell Angels“ … Oh well. Still no reason.
But a guy from behind suddenly started talking. Fizz stops.
Not because he was afraid, wanted to fight, or even wanted to say something pointed back.
God forbid! Fizz hated people and conversation.
So he did what everyone should do.
The old creepy man couldn’t trust his eyes. Some eyes from Blookstreet disappeared behind curtains. You’d hear voices.
Laughter? Whisper? Some drunk men got up and ran away.
The rest followed, the guy with the Hells Angels T-shirt followed at the very end. Threw one last fearful look in the direction of Fizz, but the … He just went on on his way, only a very small, insignificant spot in the distance.
„Blookstreet would never be threatened again“ , shouted the old man as he got up from the fence on which he preferred lean on. He checked on Fizz a last time too, but he
… was a hero now.
*In German: Hell = bright
I wish you a beautifully bright and heroic day, stay curious, and …
Thank you for reading!