Heroes

The short story below is based on a dream that I had a few months ago. It was one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had, and I can still recall most of the details. It worked around in my brain so much that later that day I wrote it down:

The dream was about two young boys. They were maybe 9 or 10 years old, and they were the best of friends. The first boy was small, but he felt the keen hope of youth, and when the two of them would play together he would pretend that they were both grand heroes, saving the world from evil and making it a better place. He would even dress in costume, wearing the reds and blues of his country. Sometimes he would wear the outfit to school or at times when it wasn't appropriate and other children would tease him, but that didn't matter. He knew in his heart that he was a hero.

The second boy was bigger and had already lived a harsher life than his friend. He looked out for the first boy when the other children would tease and make fun of him, and because he was bigger, he could shield his friend from the worst of their bullying. He did this because when he played with the first boy, he could feel the other’s joy and optimism. He believed because his friend believed and that made his own life better.

One day, some true trouble came to their small town. There were dangerous men with a hidden purpose that the two boys couldn't quite understand, but knew was wrong. The first boy decided they had to do something about it, they were heroes after all. The second boy couldn't let him go alone.

So the first boy donned his costume and the two of them set out into the woods searching for the men, hoping to learn the truth and expose them. They soon found what they were looking for, but it was different than their games of pretend. The boys ran away through the woods, terrified, their hearts pounding as leaves and tree branches snatched at their clothes and skin. Behind them they could hear the sounds of their pursuers, men with dogs and guns.

They were nearly out of breath when they came to a ravine that stretched out deep and wide in front of them. A large manmade pool of water was set in the middle, which at one time had functioned as some kind of reservoir or water-filled quarry. The reservoir's edges were bordered with hard cement and the sides of the ravine were steep and sheer. The only way to cross was a bridge that spanned one side of the water. They saw that it was in disrepair, with gaping holes in several places that left barely enough room for one person to cross at a time. The boys paused for a moment, but knew they had no choice. The sounds of men and dogs were growing ever closer.

They started onto the bridge. The smaller boy led the way, his red and blue costume marking a bright flare against the now setting sun. They moved at a quick walk, trying to keep their speed up even in places where they had to hold their arms out to either side to help with balance. They were about two thirds of the way across and were navigating a particularly narrow section, when the first boy heard the second give a small cry. He looked back and saw his friend wobbling on the narrow ledge but pointing toward the far side. Following his friend's directions, the first boy looked to the end of the bridge and a spike of fear knifed through his stomach. Coming out of the forest in front of them were more men. Somehow, they had gotten around them and now they were trapped.

The men were forming a rough line just as the first boy stepped onto a wider portion of the bridge. They were dressed like soldiers and held their guns at the ready while several of the dogs savagely barked and growled, straining against their leashes. Suddenly, a white-hot fire flared in the smaller boy's chest, burning away the fear and indecision. In an unconceivable act of defiance, he raised his arms and clenched his fists. They were heroes. Maybe they would be captured, maybe even hurt, but they would get away and they would expose these men. He looked back for his friend, knowing that the bigger boy would stand with him. They would stand together as they always had.

But the other boy was not there. The fire in his chest sputtered and he looked around frantically. There was no sign of his oldest friend. Cautiously, he approached the ledge of the bridge's gaping hole and looked down. There, in the water below, the larger boy floated. He had slipped. Fallen. Ripples still flowed outward from where he had hit the water, a concentric ring of gentle waves that stood out against the horror of his unmoving body. The younger boy stood frozen, equally motionless, his brain desperately trying to understand what had just happened.

Then there was a loud crack as one of the men fired his weapon. While the shot went wide of its mark, it startled the boy and he jerked. His foot slipped and he found himself sliding off the side of the bridge. Frantically, he grasped at anything that might stop his fall. He was barely aware of the pain in his arms and legs as they scraped against concrete and metal while looking for purchase. Then, he slid past the bottom of the bridge and he was falling. His efforts had put him into a slow twist and a moment of pure panic followed as he saw that he was too far over. He wouldn't land in the water, but onto the concrete at the reservoir's edge. Quickly, he looked again to his friend, who had always been there, always protected him. But there was only the body floating in the water. A sad calm replaced the fear, and he spoke one last time.

"There are no heroes."

Then the ground rushed up to meet him.