They praised me when he died.
Like I had done it.
Like I was some sort of hero.
There wasn't a news station in all of Illinois-- in all of America-- that wasn't proudly boasting my name.
So why did I feel so bad?
Because he's dead, Max. Vinicus is dead, and it's all your fault.
Ah yes. That must be it. That and the fact that Nora's not in jail. I'm still a superhero. We have the money, but only because Nora was legally obligated to give it to us. Either that, or she was trying to cover up her tracks.
No one believed me when I said I hadn't killed him. And everyone thought I had hit my head when I said it was Nora. They told me I was being humble. I wasn't being humble.
As I sit here at his grave, flowers in hand, I begin to wonder. If society hadn't told Vinicus he was a villain, if they had taken a moment to hear him out, how much different would things have been?
He was a bad guy, don't get me wrong. He made an unbelievably terrible mistake, and that's not something one can easily recover from.
But they didn't even listen.
The city didn't care what happened to Vinicus' body, but I did. I made sure he had a proper funeral, and a proper burial. My family and I paid him the respect that he had been denied his entire life.
Sure, Vinicus wasn't perfect. None of us are. But that's what makes us human. Varying degrees of mistakes. And as I dropped the flower onto his grave, I knew that what I had chosen to write on his gravestone held absolutely true.
"Here lies Vinicus Cauldwell. A hero at heart."
YOU ARE READING
Heroes at Heart
Fiction générale"I've tried telling them I'm only fifteen. That no sane government would force a boy my age to fight crime. 'But Max, you're a superhero! Isn't this what you want?' Actually, no. I just kind of want to get through high school. Then we'll talk about...
