Fallen
Fallen
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When does a man fail at life? Is it when he sells his friendâ??s life so he can protect his own, or is it when he first runs away from what he knows is right so as to keep himself alive? Is it as an adult when he stands by and watches the woman he loves marry his friend without saying a word, or can we take it right back to when he is growing up and constantly fails to assert himself? Or is it at the moment when he knows that he can redeem himself but chooses instead to hide?
to be, or not to be; that is the question
He thought it had been an easy choice in the beginning. He'd been offered everything that he had been denied. He had been offered a chance to do something that they weren't able to do. He'd been shown a possibility, a possibility of greatness. It was only after he was in too far that he questioned it. Was it really all that easy to go against everything that you knew was right, everything that you believed in, everything that you were?
And now, now he had the chance. The chance to take it all back, the opportunity to do what they had not been able to do, what each of them had failed to do. He had the chance to be the hero. To be the hero, or not to be the hero.
And he paused.
by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
It had been hard at first, to put aside it all and to do what he was asked. He struggled, yes, he struggled a lot, especially those first few times. He learnt to lose all humanity, all compassion, and instead harness any anger, resentment and hatred. They were his friends apparently, according to them, anger, resentment and hatred was what he had to live with. Anger, resentment and hatred became his life. Anger, resentment and hatred consumed him. They made him whole. But was it ever really that easy to forget all compassion?
It was now. It was now that he had the chance to do it, to be it, to achieve all that he had dreamed of. It was now that his chance had come. Now he could right some of his wrongs, take back some of his hatred. Now he could put all that was weighing down on him to sleep, to end the constant heart-ache.
And yet he paused.
for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrongs, the proud man's contumely
Time never did heal all wounds. Some were healed, some were forgotten and his were embittered. Sometimes he blamed that on himself; sometimes he realized that they were as much to blame as he was. Was it not they who were the oppressors, they who scorned him with their insults, humiliated him time and time again? Was it not they who made him this way?
Now was his time to prove them all wrong. Now was his chance to show them he was not who they thought he was; that he was braver than they, better in some way than they were. But something questioned this. Something queried his logic. For why should he be trying to impress some old, dead friends anyway?
And so he paused.
the dread of something after death
To die would be a chance to a dream. A chance to sleep free of his guilt. A chance to escape all that he had brought upon himself. To die would be to be born again into peace with himself. But he was still afraid, he was always afraid. He joined in fear of death, he lived in fear of death and he would die in fear of death. Or rather, he would die in fear of something after death. A suffering prolonged for all eternity. A death drawn out to pay the price of his failings. A death that was no escape from his life.
But now was his chance to escape the inevitable, to change his destiny, to undo what he had done. Now was the time when he could choose to make amends for some of his actions. Now was his chance to eliminate the dread of something after death, to die a hero, to forever be remembered.
And still he paused.
conscience does make cowards of us all
He was ready, he thought, he was ready to do what must be done, to repay his debt, to fix his past mistakes. He was ready to do what he needed to do. He knew that it was now, now that he had to act. But how could he go out there, how could he play the hero, how could he rescue his rescuer when he had failed even to stand up for his friend? Failed to keep his promises? Failed to rescue himself? How could he, know what he had done, pretend to be the hero?
It was now he had to go. Now he had to act. Now he had to be someone. It was now he needed to be brave. Now he needed to be heroic. Now he needed to love like his friends had. But conscience changes everything and puts fear into all our plans.
And silent, he paused.
be all my sins remembered
He could, he would, he can, he will. He can play the hero, he can do his duty. He can save the life that saved him. He will do what he should have all those years ago. He will repay his friends, his friends that he had failed. He could, he would, and yet he can't. And he won't.
He could have gone. He should have gone. He would have gone. And still he can't. His chance was missed and his opportunity let pass. He would not die the hero, nor would he be remembered as the traitor. His sins remembered by few or none, for few or none still remained.
And he turned away.
Two generations of heroes had fallen. Two generations, and both at his hand. He was indebted to both, and both he killed or let die. Two generations of heroes and their friends had fallen. But two generations of heroes would be remembered. And two generations of heroes would be praised.
He had failed his friend, and he had failed his friend's son.
Two generations of heroes had fallen, but it was the coward who lived on.
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a/n: peter yay! I wrote this a while ago, I kind of like it? I don't know.
oh, and I don't own the 'to be or not to be' parts - they belong to Shakespeare's play Hamlet.