Saturday 2am, the couple walking home. Dehydrated from the dancing. A little tipsy but not overly, you cannot dance drunk. Still, tipsy enough to take the wrong shortcut. Martial artists both, yet tipsy enough too that their reflexes are deadened when the local crew kick up a stir: wrong faces you see; wrong neighbourhood. Pushes to punches to glass from smashed bottles and but they fight and bear fists and guards as they were taught. There is blood. There are too many.
Tyres screech to halt. There are no blue lights. The officer is off-duty. It it hardly his business and but things like this are always caught at the corners of his eyes, through bushes, or unlit alleyways. Even in the dark it is clear who he is: announcing police. And but they are too far gone. They are like animals: feral, beating, pummeling, kicking. There is back-up, yet even at four minutes there will be nothing left of them, this struggling couple against the boots, the gritted teeth; the hatred. He interjects with force. A knife in the torchlight. And a wound opens.
This crew flees. Support arrives: officers, paramedics in the fast-response vehicle.
It is ok, it is ok, everyone is breathing, alive, silhouetted in the strobes.
The hero? The cop of course. A good police, like many public servants in difficult situations is noble and heroic almost by definition. A side-wound: spleen. It is ok, he is a motorcyclist, toughened, and has survived a worse hit there.
Tomorrow: "A Single Hero Averts a Tragedy" ?
Partly.
The couple? Serious internal bleeding stemmed, dislocations, fractures. Medical terms. They survive. Rehabilitation is a long word. And but often the time is abundant to count all its letters and count them again..
A good police is subsequently recognised; commended [the couple both attend the ceremony]. Impossibly grateful, they speak to him after. He is not so young and but exceptionally magnanimous and in modesty refuses their many plaudits saying, "There are heroes everywhere and not in some semantically suspect fashion no, in the true sense. You did not submit," he says. "You did not surrender nor lie down. You persisted and you are both here. Sometimes heroes," he says, "do not know that they are heroes."
~~~~~~~~~~~
And I hope that makes sense? Sometimes heroism is apparent and indisputable and but sometimes heroes do not KNOW they are heroes. Are you? Have you had an easy life without a day's pain; without a day's anguish; without a moment's heartache, distress, loss, suffering? I would be surprised. And yet you are here. You overcome. You master. You surpass even what you thought you were capable of yourself. I think we are all heroes that is all.. and thank you for reading I am grateful.. Jenna xo
Tyres screech to halt. There are no blue lights. The officer is off-duty. It it hardly his business and but things like this are always caught at the corners of his eyes, through bushes, or unlit alleyways. Even in the dark it is clear who he is: announcing police. And but they are too far gone. They are like animals: feral, beating, pummeling, kicking. There is back-up, yet even at four minutes there will be nothing left of them, this struggling couple against the boots, the gritted teeth; the hatred. He interjects with force. A knife in the torchlight. And a wound opens.
This crew flees. Support arrives: officers, paramedics in the fast-response vehicle.
It is ok, it is ok, everyone is breathing, alive, silhouetted in the strobes.
The hero? The cop of course. A good police, like many public servants in difficult situations is noble and heroic almost by definition. A side-wound: spleen. It is ok, he is a motorcyclist, toughened, and has survived a worse hit there.
Tomorrow: "A Single Hero Averts a Tragedy" ?
Partly.
The couple? Serious internal bleeding stemmed, dislocations, fractures. Medical terms. They survive. Rehabilitation is a long word. And but often the time is abundant to count all its letters and count them again..
A good police is subsequently recognised; commended [the couple both attend the ceremony]. Impossibly grateful, they speak to him after. He is not so young and but exceptionally magnanimous and in modesty refuses their many plaudits saying, "There are heroes everywhere and not in some semantically suspect fashion no, in the true sense. You did not submit," he says. "You did not surrender nor lie down. You persisted and you are both here. Sometimes heroes," he says, "do not know that they are heroes."
~~~~~~~~~~~
And I hope that makes sense? Sometimes heroism is apparent and indisputable and but sometimes heroes do not KNOW they are heroes. Are you? Have you had an easy life without a day's pain; without a day's anguish; without a moment's heartache, distress, loss, suffering? I would be surprised. And yet you are here. You overcome. You master. You surpass even what you thought you were capable of yourself. I think we are all heroes that is all.. and thank you for reading I am grateful.. Jenna xo