I Need A Hero

Chapter 1: The Man of Stone

It was the same dream he'd had a million times before. He was back at the Centaur Lounge, cocktail in hand. Puss was off sweet-talking a group of fairies that looked as though they had gathered for a bachelorette party. The large room was thick with the smell of sweat and hay, and there was almost an electric feeling in the air. He was staring at the wall of liquor behind the bar, letting the beat of the music seep into his pores. As he gently closed his eyes, lulled by the buzz from his mudtini, he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder from behind. It was rough, yet he somehow did not feel afraid. It was him. He knew it, without having to look. "Shrek" the voice belonging to the hand called. The grasp grew firmer. 

"Shrek" It said with almost an urgency.

"Shrek!" 

"SHREK!" Fiona screamed.

Shrek's eyes flew open. His wife was staring down at him, her red locks covering the anger on her face. It was only a dream, he thought to himself. 

"I told you ten times yesterday to set an alarm! They've been waiting for you for 20 minutes."

Without missing a beat, Shrek jumped out of bed, threw on his trousers and matching white tunic, and stumbled for his shoes.

Fiona had her back turned to him, but he could sense the tenseness in her body. "Out late again?" she asked, almost cautiously. "I heard you coming home at 2 am."

Shrek scrambled to think of a logical excuse. "D-Donkey was...having plumbing issues again." he stuttered out, face growing red.

"Shrek" his wife slowly called out. "I have one question for you."

Shrek turned to meet her eyes, a mixture of confusion and fear swirling in his stomach.

"Yes?" he tentatively asked.

"Am I Medusa?"

His brow quickly furrowed. 

"Wh-wha-"

"Then why have you turned to stone before my eyes?" she asked, with a quiver in her voice. 

Before he could respond, she ran out of the room, clutching her briefcase. He knew she was crying. He had seen her tear-stained face countless times throughout these past few months. He couldn't bear what he was doing to her, but he couldn't stop. It was like a disease, one that had crept its way between the cracks of his marriage, threatening to ruin the very foundation of his life. The life he used to so desperately want. The life he somehow managed to get. But it wasn't his anymore. It was dead.

He clambered down the stairs of his house, trying to shake off these thoughts. Just one day at a time, he told himself silently. 

His children were waiting for him at the dining room table. Farkle was sporting his new checkered fedora, greasy auburn hair peaking through with a glisten. Fergus had his signature red Angry Birds sweatshirt on, complimented by the sleek, black rolling backpack at his side. Felicia, his only daughter, was a sight to behold. Her frizzen dirty blond hair was collected into a nape-of-the-neck pony tail, and she had her narrow transition glasses resting at the bridge of her button nose. She was the fashionista of the house, and today she had on a beautiful, ankle-length, blue argyle sweater dress, complete with a set of bedazzled ballet flats.

Shrek had to take a second to take in this sight. His kids, his own children, were his greatest work. They were perfect. They were smart, attractive, nic-

"Dad, come on! We're going to be late for band rehearsals!" Farkle yelled. 

Back to reality.

He gathered up their instruments into the trunk of his onion carriage, connected the horses, and they were off to Swamp Hills High.

As he guided the horses across the early morning fog, he thought back to his wife's words earlier. I'm not stone, he thought to himself. I am a man of flesh and bone, thoughts and emotions. He loved his wife. He loved his wife. 

But, did he? He was starting to feel his joints stiffen.