The Darkest Night
Bedtime Stories: A Musing
My mother told me stories about heroes.
In the stories they didn’t always wear capes or have super powers. But they were all stories about people making a difference, saving the world. And to a young girl it was something to strive for. There was always the hero, who never lacked courage, never cried, never showed fear even when coming face to face with the bad guy. Something was always magical about them like they were invincible. It’s no surprise to me now that that’s why I was drawn to him at first. The idea that there was someone who could actually save the world, and not just try to with money. It infatuated me, made me not see straight and by the time the haze was gone it was too late. I was already to invested in our work, in him.
On the other side of the coin there was always a super villain. Sure there were the everyday bad guys, the ones that the hero fought for practice with their catchy nicknames and creative quirks. But there was always someone in the corners lurking, watching waiting for their chance at actually winning. As a child these were always the characters that terrified me. I know now that that fear, the feeling of complete terror that had me checking the closet and under the bed at night was completely and utterly rational. Part of me wonder, what if? What if I had noticed earlier? Would this have actually happened?
My mother’s favorite part of a hero story was the girl. The one that made the hero drop everything and run to. It didn’t matter if he was in the middle of the fight of his life, if she called there was nothing that could keep them apart. I never liked that part of the story probably because I knew deep down I would never be her.
I was the part that everyone skipped. Not the quirky apprenticed side kick that always had a witty remark. Not the girls that I tried to hate even though they were good people. I was the one that no one sees. The one who sits worriedly back when everyone is saving the world; the one that just has to make everything work. It didn’t matter if they could fight, it didn’t matter if they weren’t ugly, it just mattered if despite of all of the circumstances that screamed failure they were willing to make the sacrifices that needed to be made.
My mother always told me stories about heroes, where the hero always got the girl and good guys always won.
But the stories were never true.
In the stories they didn’t always wear capes or have super powers. But they were all stories about people making a difference, saving the world. And to a young girl it was something to strive for. There was always the hero, who never lacked courage, never cried, never showed fear even when coming face to face with the bad guy. Something was always magical about them like they were invincible. It’s no surprise to me now that that’s why I was drawn to him at first. The idea that there was someone who could actually save the world, and not just try to with money. It infatuated me, made me not see straight and by the time the haze was gone it was too late. I was already to invested in our work, in him.
On the other side of the coin there was always a super villain. Sure there were the everyday bad guys, the ones that the hero fought for practice with their catchy nicknames and creative quirks. But there was always someone in the corners lurking, watching waiting for their chance at actually winning. As a child these were always the characters that terrified me. I know now that that fear, the feeling of complete terror that had me checking the closet and under the bed at night was completely and utterly rational. Part of me wonder, what if? What if I had noticed earlier? Would this have actually happened?
My mother’s favorite part of a hero story was the girl. The one that made the hero drop everything and run to. It didn’t matter if he was in the middle of the fight of his life, if she called there was nothing that could keep them apart. I never liked that part of the story probably because I knew deep down I would never be her.
I was the part that everyone skipped. Not the quirky apprenticed side kick that always had a witty remark. Not the girls that I tried to hate even though they were good people. I was the one that no one sees. The one who sits worriedly back when everyone is saving the world; the one that just has to make everything work. It didn’t matter if they could fight, it didn’t matter if they weren’t ugly, it just mattered if despite of all of the circumstances that screamed failure they were willing to make the sacrifices that needed to be made.
My mother always told me stories about heroes, where the hero always got the girl and good guys always won.
But the stories were never true.
Notes
The Darkest Night.......
This has been a brain child of mine for quite a while but I never thought I would write it because there was a part of it that I never thought I could make work. But thanks to my rekindled addiction to superheroes and a 3am brainstorm this is actually becoming a reality (which slightly terrifies me).
This isn't a story about heroes though, it's a story about people and all the ugliness that comes with trying to do the right thing when everyone is telling you no. It's a story about wanting the one guy that you can't have, the one that knows you so well and bring up the good and the ugly in you.
I hope you fall as in love with this story as I already am.
-Abby
Omg pleaseee update this. It kinda reminds me of Arrow and I love it. I honestly have no idea why it's rating is less than a 10, you write amazing. I'm hooked!
9/10/17