The Hero WC 277

On his way to the post office, a man happens upon a crime in progress.

The Hero

I have been escorted to the perimeter of the crime scene. A cacophony of sirens and flashing emergency lights attacks my already overloaded senses. Reporters swarm at the edges of the yellow tape. I can smell the blood. I can sense the fear, the relief.

Package in hand, I had been walking down Evers Street on my way to the post office when all hell broke loose and made new, traumatic memories … as if my time in Iraq during the war hadn’t been enough to overload my senses. Before I knew it, I was smackdab in the middle of a crime. Two men in hoodies began to attack an old woman just ahead of me. I dropped my package and, without a thought for my safety, started running into harm’s way.

What followed was a free-for-all. The two men went flying and ended up on the sidewalk, bloody and unconscious. The woman was bruised and bleeding but holding her own. The police arrived quickly, as did the reporters.

After a whirlwind of activity, I now find myself at the perimeter of the crime scene, heart pounding, and trying to catch my breath as people crowd around me, yelling:
“You are a hero!”

“I can’t believe your bravery.”

“To run into harm’s way like that.”

“You saved that old lady.”

And on and on and on…

Even the police are treating me as if I’ve done something special.

I try to explain … but no one will listen!

“I didn’t do anything! The old lady nailed them both with her purse and her cane,” I say. “I didn’t do anything! Honest! I am not a hero!”

But no one will listen.

WC:277