Rain falls softly upon the silenced. Cooling water from the heavens bring a sense of peace to the scenario — the end of a struggle. Closer to the moment one turns the last page of a book, knowing the last sentence was read, than the excitement of starting a new chapter. More like the feeling of achievement although filled with regrets for the sacrifices along the way.
It will take a while until the flames are gone, until the smell of blood and the stench of death is cleared. It will take a long time until life reclaims the space where now lays who once was enslaved. A long time, perhaps enough to have this become a legend, a myth or even an inspiration.
Inspiration, this is how it started. the question being, what is a hero good for, when lacking the cause? In a presumably peace full and free world, what would become of the born hero. The one sworn to liberate while opening eyes and minds to recognise evil.
He walks slowly along the path. Once it was a picturesque suburban path. It held manicured lawns, white picket fences and quirky mail boxes. Now, it’s far from real estate prime location. Now, it held the left overs of limbless bodies, exploded cars, destroyed houses and smoke, lots of it. While the rain would continue to wash over the scene, creating little flows of blood and dirt.
He was a sworn enemy of state, a villain of biblical proportions a mass hysteria inflict-or. His main accusation: Not conforming. Instead of taking it as it was and become — like so many before him- a nobody, he raised to the attack. He became a leader of loners, misfits, forgotten and unfortunates. The kind of people once preferably to be ignored.
The state was now in complete chaos: no government, no police, no justice system nothing but the rain falling onto the scenery. Where will it go from here? He knows it is time to take the reins and fulfill his promise: Freedom to live, no more petty rules, no more hold backs. The man is left to rule himself. Well, the few left that is.