Meet the Heroes, Issue 2, Epilogue

Friday, December 14, 2007

Epilogue

Jane Doe arrived unnanounced to Mercy Medical Center, another body found in the flood. The doctors wondered at her scars and skeletal trauma. The collected the stable facts: white caucasion female, mid fifties, had given birth at least once, in excellent health (before drowning). The flood had removed her clothing. Dental records gave her name as Erica Thomas. There was no surviving family to contact. Janes and Johns pulled from the river were many these days, but everyone could sense she was special.

A few of the orderlies and nurses got permission to spare the body from cremation. They found a plot out on old Seven Hills Cemetary, dug her a hole and burried her. She was a hero, they said in her eulogy. Any mother who died in the flood was a hero for being a mother at all.

Each woman present created her own tale of what Jane Doe had done to receive her injuries. None made her a victim, but a heroine, fighting for her children and for justice. It fit. It fit her every aspect. Even dead, she was vibrant and attractive, the envy of all present, beautiful, strong, heroic, at peace finally after the great struggle. They wept for themselves. This woman could have lead them and nurtured them. She'd have inspired them to greatness. She'd teach them to be strong.

As they tossed mud on her, they resigned to fate. Not everyone can be a hero. Few people can. The choices involved are glamourous and brave at a distance. Up close, they are poison versus rot. Heroes strengthen others while destroying themselves. Heroes live in guilt and die in hell. To be a hero is to regret. Knowing the ending, very few volunteer for the job. The ones who do were doomed from the start.

The night before, Kosmos had told me that they didn't need me and I'd be better off leaving. It was the first and last fight we had. He died the next day, as did The Son, as did Mercy, as did many others who weren't heroes, but victims. I stayed, despite what he told me. In a fit of anger, he said, "You can't possibly imagine what will change tomorrow if you stay." But they needed me. He was lying to save he. I hated that.

I can't even wish I had died. How awful if I ruined what they did by being a self pitying kid. So, I watch them sling mud on Jane Doe, a.k.a. Erica Thomas, a.k.a. Mercy, beloved of Harmless Man and Mother of the Son. She'd seen them all die and somehow managed to let go and drown. There are no heroes, just good and bad people too stupid to stop fighting, like me.

Ebard