Hero

• Mali Glasson Green, Grade 8, Blackwater State High School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Beyond Words 2015' competition

The beeping of her heart monitor was what woke him. The soft, incessant sound couldn’t be heard in the hallway outside her room but somehow, they reached deep within the earth to the dark pit in which he slept. Normally, he would not tolerate anything that would interrupt his slumber, but this was different. He even made the effort to come in his human form, a relatively handsome man in a dark blue pinstriped suit. Within minutes of rising, he found himself wandering the halls of a dreary hospital, following the sound.
When finally, he stood outside her door, he found himself hesitating. He did not even know if she would want to see him. He had tried to kill her, after all. Though, he supposed, she too was no innocent; she too was guilty. Dismissing his doubts, he pushed himself through the closed door, his body becoming solid once again on the other side. The sight that awaited him saddened him as much as a monster could be saddened.
A woman lay in the bed before him, various wires sticking out of her still limbs and a long, clear tube winding its way around her face like a snake. Her skin was a thin as parchment and marred with thousand of scars, each a different shape and all inflicted by him. He knew how every one had come about; what every one meant. She looked little like she once had. The years had not been kind.
He should be sad, he supposed. Perhaps he should weep? That is generally what humans do at their friend’s deathbeds, right? Although, he was no mere mortal, and she was no mere friend. She was his beginning and his end; it was her hand that had brought about his death, but also her hand that ushered back into this life from the next one in his current form. As much grief as this woman had caused him, he would not lie to her. He respected her enough for that.
Her eyes flickered open and focused on him. It took her a longer than it should’ve to recognise him, and when she did, a small smile played on her lips. She gave no other indication that he was there. He sat at her bedside in one of the uncomfortable, plastic chairs and stared at her for a long minute before hesitantly winding his hand around hers.
To anyone else this might be strange but it was completely natural to them.
Then again, to anyone else, this whole affair might seem strange. The idea that good and evil could coexist seemed ludicrous, as it was not how the stories were told. But good does not always win; even the sun has to kneel to the night sometimes. And then there were situations like this, in which both sides are left with nothing but each other. But that is truth about stories, sometimes there is no victor. One is not always stronger than the other and one does not always take the crown. They simply cease to exist, or are left to limp away, holding their wounds. That is the truth behind the words on a page. They were the truth behind the lies.
The silent serenity that had surrounded them in their final moments was interrupted by the incessant beeps that had long since faded into the background. The needle slipped off the broken record and the light began dribble from her eyes, the lifelessness almost resembling that of his. The noise drew out, signifying her release, and ultimately his.
Together, they greeted Death, and became one oncemore.