SF/Fantasy

A Hero, I Am

by Kat OtisJune 27, 2017

I am a hero.

Heroes are brave, selfless, and kind. They never skip the village's weekly archery practice or fight with their father about it while they're supposed to be quietly stalking deer. They don't freeze when the bandits come pouring into the clearing, don't run and hide as their father bleeds and screams his last. They never get lost in the Old North Wood and they certainly don't cry themselves to sleep in a bed of moss.

When heroes discover something wrong in this world, they show their courage by making a plan to fix it. They never cower in the darkest shadows they can find, going from hungry to starving and desperately wishing they hadn't neglected their archery and woodcraft. They don't prioritize snaring a rabbit over finding a way home. They certainly never despair of anyone coming to help them and vow to from now on only help themselves.

If a hero finds a bandit with a broken leg in their pit trap, they calmly secure him and bring him back to the village to face justice. They never fall shivering to the leaf-carpeted ground or vomit back up what little food they'd managed to find. They don't grow angry at his taunts about their abandonment of their father, or if they do they do not show it. And they certainly never take up their bow in shaking hands and need three arrows to kill him while he lays helpless.

Heroes who are hunted by bandits come up with clever plans to turn the tables and capture the bandits in return. They don't hunt the bandits from the cover of the treetops instead of facing them in a fair fight--at least not after they've evened the odds. They never fail to be moved when a bandit no older than themselves begs for mercy. And if any died, it would be because of their own treachery; it is certainly not because the hero planned from the start to kill them all.

When heroes return home, they tell everyone the tale of their triumph. They don't flinch from the blood and vomit still staining their week-old clothing. They never wake up sobbing in the night because they didn't do enough, didn't act sooner. And they certainly never slink away from their village in the middle of the night, because they can no longer stand their neighbors' pity.

That is not my story.

Because I am a hero.

A hero.

I am.

About Kat Otis

Kat Otis is a 2009 graduate of Uncle Orson's Literary Boot Camp and her work has appeared in Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show. Her driver's license claims she is a resident of the Commonwealth of Virginia, but as she has lived in four different time zones during the past three years, she is inclined to be skeptical.

All stories by Kat Otis →

More from Kat Otis

The Sword of Saints and Sinners

Every condemned man and woman of London has the right to face my sword before they die, but I pray they will choose not to. The first man to face death is dressed in his Sunday best and plays to the jeering crowd as he walks to the gallows. As the executioner ties the noose…

Letters from Goodyear

On my eighteenth birthday, I was kicked out of foster care with a duffel bag full of second-hand clothes and a battered envelope addressed to Elle. I hadn't been Elle since I was six, which my mom would've known if she hadn't abandoned me. But at least she'd sent me a birthday…

Time and Time Again

"Smoke break?" My co-worker Paul leaned back in his chair to peer around the side of the wall separating our two cubicles. "You said you were quitting," I said, pretending to focus on my monitor even as my adrenaline spiked at the thought. "Not cold turkey," Paul countered. My…

A Sonorous Expiration

President Abraham Lincoln stopped breathing entirely and the assembled doctors all consulted our pocket watches; it was 6:50 A.M. After several moments, the terrible silence was broken by a prolonged inspiration and a sonorous expiration. He still lived, but not for long. I rose…

A Sonorous Expiration

President Abraham Lincoln stopped breathing entirely and the assembled doctors all consulted our pocket watches; it was 6:50 A.M. After several moments, the terrible silence was broken by a prolonged inspiration and a sonorous expiration. He still lived, but not for long. I rose…

The Secrets of the Universe

The god gave his keys to my brother, but I knew it was a mistake. Keys are a woman's domain. My first key belonged to my dowry chest. Mother gave it to me when I was but five years old, promising to help me fill it with everything I would need when I was grown and married. It is…