Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. The concept of this story is a bit overused, but I really just wanted to share my own opinions on this topic
The Meaning of a Hero
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
"In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae
Alex frowned at his reflection in the mirror. His face was sullen. A small scar right above his eyebrow trailed off into his hair line. Cold, brown eyes stared back at him. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything else.
"You're going to be late." A voice said from the doorway of the bathroom.
Alex turned to the man. After Ja- his former guardian had di- passed away, Mrs. Jones assigned Ben Daniels to live with him. It had been extremely awkward at first, but after a lot of shouting, they were on good terms.
"Right." Alex grunted, brushing past the spy and grabbing his backpack, "We're just going to be talking about World War One all day."
Ben made a tsking sound, "You never know."
He rolled his eyes at the older man, "I'm Alex Rider. I know everything."
Ben snorted and swatted him out of the house.
Alex grabbed his bike and began pedaling to school. He enjoyed mornings like these, where no one was there to bother him.
He reached Brookland Comprehensive with a minute to spare. All around him, gloomy students marched into the school, like prisoners to their imminent fate.
Alex shuddered.
Twenty minutes later, he sat in his English class, scowling at the teacher, Miss Frank, who had handed them a packet of papers as soon as the students walked in.
The teacher was young, fresh out of college. Alex knew she liked to judge individuals based on their work and their actions. In his case, he knew she hated his guts. Rumors were something the young woman liked to listen to.
"Good morning, class!" Miss Frank smiled at the class, except for Alex. She gave him a small look of distaste, "As you may know, today is Remembrance day."
Alex glared at his hands. Wasn't she supposed to be somber and sad?
"To commemorate the end of the first World War and the lives lost," she continued, "I've assigned a small prompt for you. If you don't finish today, turn it in tomorrow. Get to work."
Alex glowered at the packet in front of him. The first few pages were statistics about who'd died and how they'd died. The next included poems that made goosebumps crawl up Alex's arms.
He reached into his backpack to grab a sheet of paper and his pencil.
"It must have been so cool!" A group of boys next to him were talking, "Did you study the Schlieffen Plan?"
Another guy leaned forward, "Yeah. Pretty stupid plan, if you ask me. If the Germans hadn't gone through Belgium…"
On the other side of Alex, a group of girls were laughing at something similar.
"I just don't get it!" One girl, Alyssa, a popular girl, was whispering, "How do soldiers get PTSD? They don't physically beat the other guy up with their fists, do they?"
Now burning with anger, Alex focused on the blank piece of paper in front of him, turning the packet to the last page.
PROMPT: Explain what makes a hero. Use the content in this packet or your own knowledge to support your answer.
"Don't be stupid, Lys. Prisoners of war get tortured or something. That's why they get PTSD."
"Yeah, but not all of them get captured."
Alex placed his pencil on the paper, fuming with frustration. He wished he could get up and throttle the insensitive girl.
Shaking his head at his own thoughts, he began to write.
The Meaning of a Hero by Alex Rider
What makes a hero? In our society, a hero is defined as someone who places other people's needs before their own. Heroes are seen as people who go beyond the norm and do something to change the world. They sacrifice any part of themselves for the greater good. They're people, admired for an action or a set of characteristics.
But, really, who are the heroes of life? Are they the battle-scarred veterans returning from war? Are they the silent spies, working and killing on behalf of the government? Are they the teachers who guide children through life? Are they the simple arms of a loving mother? Or are they none of those?
People are flawed. Heroes are not. People are tempted. Heroes push aside those temptations. People limit themselves. Heroes somehow manage to push themselves to their breaking point.
If this is the case, heroes don't and can never exist.
People who claim the spotlight are examples of people who have given into temptation. They crave attention and fame. Are these people heroes if their actions are motivated by this?
However, I do believe there are such things as heroes. Heroes in the shadows, quietly saving lives. Heroes hiding in plain sight, doing small, simple deeds. Heroes all around us.
Heroes are the people you'll never hear about. They are the people you'd least expect. They are the hated, the outcasts, and the laughingstock of society.
This is for those who have been forgotten. It's for all those spies who can't ever tell their family what they do. It's for the shunned, who sacrificed their reputation to save another person.
Get the full story before you judge. You might be laughing at a hero.
THE*MEANING*OF*A*HERO
Alex waited patiently for Miss Frank to pass back their papers. He knew he'd written a daring response to the woman's prompt. It was directed at her and her judgement of him. Anyone could see that.
When Miss Frank passed by, she gave him a concerned look before handing the sheet of paper back to him.
Alex glared at her retreating back, before looking down at his paper. Below his neatly written essay, Miss Frank had scrawled a few sentences in bright green ink.
Very insightful, but your logic is flawed. Your ideas were not supported fully. I've recommended you to see the school psychologist. Please meet me after class.
Alex had the sudden urge to crumple up the paper.
"I should have just written some crap about soldiers." He muttered under his breath. He looked to the top of the page to see what he had gotten.
3/10.
Shit.
A/N: Um, hi? This was a plot bunny... I typed half of this up yesterday at like... one in the morning... and finished the rest now... at one... in the morning. Goodness, I knew I shouldn't have had that coffee...
Don't forget to review! Please excuse my not-so-great writing.
'Til another story/chapter of a story/ another one-shot...
-Al