War Hero

We had a solider living across the road from me when I was growing up. Saving many during the war even though we lost. New regimes immediately followed like a virus, sweeping a broken country to serve a new government.

People like him were tucked away, lucky to not be a prisoner of war. He stayed hidden in plain sight, keeping his thoughts and opinions to himself; he like most were lucky to have his body as intact as his brain. Maybe it was why he never tried to defend us all again....

My brother was eleven when he was shot outside his front lawn. Murdered on the spot by corrupt police. I remember standing on the other side of the street with my parents; they were screaming for justice, but what is justice now but only a burning reminder of what the war cost us.

He spoke to me, only once.

“Am I as hated as it appears?” he asked, standing at a bus stop consuming a cigarette. Worn and thin, battered down by this new life, skin like old milk and bags under glass eyes.

“No.” I replied, “but you are missed...just like the other heroes”
“This world has no place for heroes.”

“Maybe it's time you create one.”

****

Just another little ficlet as I guess you could call them to keep me going. My weekly creative writing group starts in Bristol in one/two weeks so I'm looking forward to doing more final pieces. 

Otherwise, thank you for reading :)