'Just what is a hero?' She asked herself, as she stepped forward, out into the blinding light of a place she would never have imagined standing in at that very moment. Her idea of justice is to kill those who plague the world. Was that really viable here?

Hezalea stood behind a warm, wooden podium decorated by a blue and gold banner, in front of a crowd that whispered endlessly at the foot of the marbled stairs below the platform. Her surroundings blurred all around her as a medallion was placed around her neck. She felt dizzy, confused, and completely repulsed by this situation she had found herself in. The medal rested calmly on her chest, the word ‘HERO’ engraved on it, glimmering daintily under the blazing sunlight.

It mocked her, along with everyone else in the crowd. Despite their cries of cheer and faces of pure joy, Hezalea could not stand it anymore. She wished they would all melt away from the summer heat, no matter how impossible it would be. No matter where she looked, everything repeatedly screamed at her, “You killed your friend”, and that certainly did not help at all. Her jaw tensed as she felt a hand on her shoulder, and before she could push it off, she remembered where she was.

“Would the star of today’s event like to say a few words?” The announcer asked her, gesturing to the crowd. He handed her the microphone and patted her back encouragingly.

Taking it, she turned her head to the podium that seemed to look much farther away than it actually was. The expectant crowd stretched beyond it, maintaining a deathly silence as she stood there. She could not see a thing. There was nothing there, other than a blob where the audience used to be. A fresh sting had formed behind her eyes as though someone was spraying lemon juice onto her nerves. Hezalea tilted her head down to look at what seemed to be her hands, stained so deeply in a familiar red that she thought her own eyes were bleeding. She knew she was only seeing things, but as her heart rate skyrocketed, she was not so sure anymore.

She murdered an innocent person. What else was there to say?

She was a cold-blooded killer; not so different than the monsters she had once sought to destroy.

The days when she once dreamt of knocking down villains one after the other were over. They could never have come true, because reality was much more unforgiving, and the kindest were usually the first to take the fall. This was especially true in Japan. By thinking she could save the world, she was already weaker than the masses. Hezalea had realized that just in time, but her friend was far too late.

'What is a hero?' She asked herself again, and someone coughed in the crowd. Do they even exist? Hezalea looked up. They were becoming restless, but that did not matter to her. It never mattered, because she never liked the attention. They could leave, for all she cared.

A brutal image flashed through her mind like lightning, and she could see someone lying there, motionless, a face of terror frozen on her face. The face of one who knew something that could jeopardize the structure of the world itself, masked as a heretic and an outcast to be shot on sight.

In this world, true heroes were shunned because of fear. People could not count on them, because tragedies had happened before. Heroes have fallen in their times of need, leaving them helpless; Powerless against those who abused their positions, reduced to mere puppets on a string, forced to bow their heads and blend in with the rest of the crowd. Loose threads would be mercilessly snipped off, and anyone who dared to rise would face a fate worse than death.

Hezalea was just another puppet, even if she once thought she was working for a good cause. There was no such thing as a ‘good’ organization, because at this point, everyone was hungry for power over this weak society. She could no longer regard herself as a hero. Not that she ever thought of herself that way.

“The government isn’t what they seem to be. Hazel, we have to get out of here,” her friend’s disembodied voice echoed inside Hezalea’s head. She wished she had listened.

Japan should have been called the lawless city, despite there being a system of government. Terrible things were allowed to happen, and the inhabitants simply lived on as though everything was perfectly normal. In this society, a hero was someone who upheld that status quo.

Sometimes, people would go missing, but you did not ask about it. You did not peek into the alleyways. You did not question why a familiar citizen has such a big suitcase, and why there is a dark red stain on the bottom. You simply turned to look the other way and went on with your day. It was a tragic lesson taught to many at an early age, and her friend wanted to challenge that. She questioned the authority itself. As a result, the flower had been plucked.

Finally, she snapped out of her trance and clenched her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she was still in front of the same audience, except everything was clearer now. The deceptive sun had hidden behind a layer of clouds, allowing Hezalea to gaze into the horizon for the first time. She saw a bustling city, filled with buildings upon buildings until it reached its borders. Beyond that, was a barren wasteland, the beige sand almost reddish, as though the desert itself had bathed in the blood of the fallen. This was not Japan. She lived there at some point, but anytime there was an event, she'd be carted out, blindfolded like cattle to a slaughterhouse, into the middle of wherever this was supposed to be. It did not have to stay like this. She inhaled.

“I am not a hero.” Her sudden statement caused a few to jump. She exhaled. “I never was, and in the eyes of the public,” she turned her head to look at the emcee, “I never will be.” Murmurs rose among the onlookers, and the group began to grow. Hezalea frowned. “A hero…” Hezalea swallowed the lump in her throat. “…Is someone who does good deeds, thinks about others, and stands by your side. Someone who is strong enough to protect everyone, to the point of inhumanity. Someone who acknowledges the truth,” she tightened her grip around the microphone, “even when the world turns the other way. Even when they are staring death in the face, a hero perseveres. I am not what many of you think I am.” She breathed in again, and this time, her breath began to shake. “I am a coward.” Her hand trembled. “I am a traitor and a murderer.” Gasps in the masses seemed to draw the air out of her lungs. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that she thought the crowd could hear it through the microphone. “Now, the only hero I ever knew is dead. I am not a hero.” Hezalea’s breath hitched as she gingerly placed her hands on the ribbon and removed it. “Therefore,” she breathed deeply, “I must reject this award, as I believe there will be someone a thousand times more deserving of it someday, no matter how long it takes for them to appear. …Thank you,” she choked out, before turning away from her unmerited glory. No one was on her side anymore from then on, but that was fine.

Perhaps, now, she was one step closer to being… a hero.