Immortal Hero

• Zoe Dalziel, Grade 7, Pacific Hills Christian School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

It is not always fun being an immortal hero. People look up to you, believing that you will always be there for them. Whenever there is a crisis, they always expect you to fix it. This is not a good thing. People need to learn how to stand up for themselves, fight back. Compete against the odds. But alas, they do not. They stand back and watch you do all the work.
They call me White Flame. But what use is she when she is trapped in a deep, dark dungeon? Her weapon thrown into the rapids? What good is she when she is dragged through the city on her hands and knees, an iron collar around her neck, waiting for the world to be taken over?
They torture me. Suck out my immortal life. They kill me time and time again, why has my blessing become a curse? They humiliate me; show me off to their friends like a child showing off a new toy. But what am I, but a chess piece in the long game? A pawn, cowering under the Queen’s might?
But I must not destroy my soul in a pit of helpless despair. I must not believe in the near future being ruined. I must fight back. Fight for the city and its residents. Destroy all odds and save this thrice-accursed world, and myself.
I look and see a mouse! Oh, how has it survived the rats? Survived the odds, just like I must. I pick it up and put it in my lap. It stays still, then runs straight into a brick. It looks at me, and then runs again. Of course! When the King, may he forever walk free of shadow, helped design the castle dungeons, he created many a safe exit, if he was ever trapped in here. Just before I was captured, he told me. Told me as a friend.
I gently pick up the mouse and move it aside. The cold, grey, slimy brick barely moves when I pull. No guards are down here; they complain too much. They demand pay rises. Besides, my mentor designed this particular cell to be inescapable. I pull again, patient, and it budges a bit. The mouse nuzzles my hands as I take a break, and I gently stroke its head.
Finally the brick comes out. It is just big enough for me; the King was slimmer back then. Back when he was alive. I slip in and reach out, feeling the fuzzy warmth of the mouse on my hand. I pull it in, and then creep along the dark tunnels. The mouse chatters the whole way, its squeaks echoing down the narrow passageways. Then I see it. Light! Oh how long have I longed for that? That glimmer of hope?
I walk out into the light, to find myself in the dark, down an alleyway. It is time.
Time to save this world.
My world.