Hero
He lay on the ground, clutching his wound. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they would never reach him. He was fading, but he felt peace.
He’d woken up that morning ready to make a difference. He donned his underclothes as though they were a spandex suit. His collared shirt was buttoned all the way up, hiding the logo that painted his chest. Around his neck, a tie held a majestic cape that would flow with the wind as he dove into battle. His glasses were not to aid his vision, but to hide his true identity. Outfitted with this heroic attire, his day began.
His theme song followed as he walked down the street; it quieted only to put emphasis on what he knew to be his call to action: a shriek coming from a back alley. The man ripped off his glasses to expose his true identity. Buttons flew as he tore through his collared shirt and exposed the hero’s brand. With a jolt of energy and a chest full of courage, he sprung into action.
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His black hair was slicked back with too much grease and a scar of unknown origin traced his jaw. Ink crawled down his arm as though it were venom coursing through his veins. His imposing body struck fear into the heart that was once bursting with courage. It was too late to back down, but it did not matter . . . a hero never backs down.
The source of the shriek was a woman being backed into a corner, trying to save herself from the cold blade being wielded by a villainous
The town fell eerily silent after he was killed. A mix of relief, confusion and fear washed over the residents who now assumed that the worst was over. And it was— for a while.
“Swimming vigorously,” dodging bullets, and cannons, while exhibiting “super-human strength,” he is able to evade the soldiers and make it home to his wife. The author skillfully takes the reader along this journey, while all along, dropping clues that our hero is already dead.
Now far enough away from the night club opening, Jessie could hear the distinct sound of a woman screaming. The heart wrenching sound made her stop mid step. Cold terror washed over her as she neared the corner of the alley and peered around it. There were distinct shapes - someone on the ground writhing in pain, one cowering against the wall, and three that approached her. She heard the poor woman crying out for help and saw one of the advancing shadows reach a hand up to strike her across the face. Nausea broiled in the put of her stomach and Jessie took a cautious step in. For a moment she weighed her options - trying to decide what to do. Did she fight or did she fly? Whatever - or rather whoever she thought she saw obviously wasn't real. There was no Superman. But this woman still needed help. Jessie clung to her phone as though it was a bludgeoning weapon and dialed 911. She took a step forward - about to call out to the attackers - when another shadow landed in front of her.
All i could hear was the faint yelp of a gravely injured man. As i looked around, i found the source of the adamant yelling.
In everyone’s life, we experience fear. It is an emotion which seizes everyone’s attention and actions. It can cause a person to perform something they never imagined doing. Yet, after constant submission to the same feeling of fear, one becomes desensitized to it. The same chemical reactions in someone's head which caused their heart to race and mind to blank no longer has those same effects. It leads a person to wonder how they can survive past this dreadful feeling. Yet, there are people who stand in the face of fear and experience these feelings so no one else has to, heros. One of the main traits of a hero is standing resilient in the face of fear and the adversity which accompanies it.
When he made it to the hospital for surgery the doctor had told him that he would lose his eye. But that didn’t stop him from doing what he wanted. Soon after he became apart of the Special Operations Forces elite.
Upon his arrival to the fight he realizes that a naked female is present in the boxing ring and he has no control over his body’s response to viewing her. His first battle seems to be in his mind regarding feelings toward this lady. He is frustrated with her beautiful appearance that causes him to be visually aroused and hates her being there. At the same time he can tell she is frightened and wants to save her from the groping, inebriated men. Once the lady is gone the fighters are blindfolded and the narrator is about to encounter a physical battle that he was not expecting. Once his vision is obstructed the name calling begins. He hears someone yell, “I want to get at that ginger-colored nigger. Tear him limb from limb” (Ellison 200). He wonders if he is the only one blindfolded. The fighting starts and the narrator is hit so hard in the head that blood flows into his mouth. Somehow he is able to move the blindfold so he can visualize what is going on. He is now able to avoid some of the blows but still fighting so he does not bring attention to
He closes his eyes, and the relief is indescribable; a cessation from the trauma was immensely welcome. At this moment, he began to desperately cling to the hope for an afterlife and long for the compassionate God soon to be expecting him.
The scream came from a young elven woman, who currently was surrounded by a pack of trolls and they snarled at her and waved their weapons in her direction. The elven woman was covered in bruises and was struggling to stand on her legs. She held a dagger in a shaky hand with fear written on her pretty features.
“His voice cried out, growing ever fainter when the wind blew dust on to his wounds"
The first had had so many hopes and dreams for the future, but the second hadn't lasted a single night before being cast aside for the third… and even when re-donned, in the end, it’d ultimately been the least effective of the lot.
Compared to many people, my choice of a hero is very unorthodox. Not only is the hero of my choice not a real person, but they are also not a recognizable character from a well-known work of fiction. In fact, they are a character of my own creation. I dubbed her “Axl Bauer,” a representation and combination of the people I respect.
This most fearsome warrior has proven himself from the youngest age as worthy of honor and respect. He is driven by his father's legacy of shame and has no use for unsuccessful men. But as he projects his image of strength, we
His voice was monotone as he rounded the corner. He had taken his heavier armor off, figuring he wouldn't need it around King's Landing. He had been wrong before, but lucky enough for him, he could hold his own. Long brown locks hung in his face. His boots adorned with splatters of dried blood. Beads of sweat from the fight made his forehead shine in the light, yet he wasn't breathing heavily. Those men weren't even warmups. They were nothing but street trash.
Francis asked. He simply nodded and motioned for him to come talk to him. As he got closer he felt a sudden thud in the back of his head and silence. He fell to the ground blurred vision, ringing ears and a pounding head. The man walked over and placed something over his head.