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| Courtsey: The Warrior ~by Nuhuup |
I seriously thought that the race was over.trophies spluttered the drawing rooms of those odious clans.
All this happened when I kept on walking in the empty rows collecting scrumps of food left by viewers who had been watching the race.
This day was not any different.after my mental scribbling I folded my baricades to sanitise myself again to victory.
This was then that somehow I felt anguished on the death of heroes.and it was not heroes alone who were dead,but also dead were the romantics,the go getters and the idealists.
The gentleman I once knew who offered his seat to ladies,his smile to kids and support to the needy now acted as if grotesqued by his own appearence.
He seemed dead now.
But then why had I killed him,maimed him beyond recognition.
His sautered wounds still throbbing kept glancing those awkard silences at me.
And then I realised that this day had to be different and not only different but awesome.
Why should I think myself as a second fiddle to myself.the bromide has caught me too soon and too much.
But now it had to die and not me.
Enough is a word which when used threatningly can make one reach unimaginable proportions.
Now I had everything although with crippled limitations but even then everything.then why now I don't romance the way as the protagonist of those movies.why I don't find myself as the leader moving further in his office but as a man who would wait for instructions to be thrown at.
The time has come for me to die and for the hero to rise again,from my ashes,yes if he demands so but then he has to rise, alone.
~Harsha
