Just Another Hero

The Passing

How do we see the world? Well maybe our perception is set because all we know is death and destruction. But what if it was different to what we imagine, what if this world is just a transition. If so what is the next realm like?

The day was slowly darkening upon a house in the south east of England. A young man had been injured saving a child from being hit by a southeastern bus, though tragically getting in its way while this act of heroism:

The rain came pummelling down as though it was slopping from a bucket being carried hurriedly. It was an evening of misery and pain.

Out of the distance the noise of incoming ambulance as though charging with the light brigade through the storm of noise on the ever-crowded roads.

The words of a stranger. "You'll be alright mate, can you hear it, that's the ambulance, they're going to be here soon, just hold on."

Those words, they resonated the coldness of the weather, the fear of the inevitable and the anguish of the desperate.

It was growing darker than it should; the hero of the hour was slipping, slipping into the eternal passage, wondering whether he would survive this. If he did not was there only death to look forward to?

The ambulance was here now. The crowd was being driven back shadows in the red light, a light so red that they could be angels of death.

"Clear."

The body pulsated once in heavy stress of the electric charge.

"Again. Clear"...

*

In a dark alley, a man lay sprawled out. All around him lay needles, surgical syringes. They had contained Morphine and Heroin. The body convulsed, as though it was being pulled and squeezed in different directions. Saliva dripped from his chin, eyes rolling endlessly round: He had taken too much this time.

Gary had been made homeless in London, and had fallen quickly into the arms of 'pushers'. Once he was a proud man, commanding a good job, house and wife. It soon changed when he had his mental breakdown. His only daughter had been taken from him, and that was enough.

Now his only thoughts were on where was he going to get his next fix? After that nothing mattered.

Gary had had to knock down an old lady to get this amount of fix, she ended up in the hospital and although he didn't know. She had passed on.

*

"...Charles Serdinio, you have been convicted for the murder of; Vanessa Jean Carose, Joan Cartman, Frederick Stevenson...

The judgement has been, for you to die, by lethal injection. Of which I am about to administer. Do you have anything to say before you leave this world?"

Charles Serdinio; a very sick man. He was a child molester. Before the authorities had managed to capture him, he had already buried twenty-two of his victims in bog marshes.

The media had classed him amongst the sickest criminals; alongside Mira Hindley. His last victim was a seven-year-old girl, who strayed just too far from her parents.

Had justice, finally come for him?

*

Mary; a catholic girl, originating from Ireland. Had recently moved to America, into the suburbs of Massachusetts. Care free, lively and kind.

Her parents had taken her to experience what a shopping mall meant, in America.

"Mommy, are we going to see Father Christmas today?" said Mary with an excited voice.