They said I saved them all.
They called me a hero.
All I could see were all the half-remembered faces of the people whose lives I'd taken. All I could see were the hundreds of faces floating in my mind's eye, haunting, taunting. All I could see were the indistinguishable bodies lying limp in the dirt.
They hailed me as a model teacher.
They praised me for rescuing my team.
All I could see was the one I couldn't save. All I could see was the body, crushed by rocks. All I could see was the despair on the faces of my remaining students.
They expected a brave face.
They expected a smile.
They expected a larger-than-life savior.
I pretended, for them.
But in the night, alone, at home, I couldn't sleep. I was afraid of all the faces, blurring together into one. All the ones I couldn't save, and all the ones I killed. The nightmares followed me, dragging me downward.
They wanted me to lead them.
They wanted me as their ultimate protector.
I wanted to save them all.
I did it, for them, everything for them. But inside I was struggling with the darkness. Inside I was struggling to float. I didn't want to let them down. I didn't want to deal with the weight of all the lives, past and present, on my shoulders. I couldn't let them down. I couldn't hold myself up.
It was supposed to be the best night of my life, the night my son was born and I would finally have a family. It was the night I was starting to heal. I don't know how it all fell apart, but suddenly the world was falling at my feet, and everyone was looking to me to piece it back together again. I wasn't allowed to hesitate in that moment. I made the split second decision. I couldn't save them all. I arrived too late after saving my small family. Hundreds were already lost. Still they called to me, their hero, to save them all. Still they trusted me to rescue them all. It was my duty. It was the night I lost everything. I wasn't fast enough. I was the fastest man alive and yet I was still never fast enough. Never when it really mattered. Innocents dead. Homes destroyed. Souls crushed. My small family ripped apart. My wife, dying. My newborn son, cursed by his own father. I'd failed them all, everyone who mattered.
They would celebrate me as a hero for years to come.
But as I lay dying, staring at my son's-my son's-beautiful face, I couldn't help but think I was a failure.
A/N: Just a little short story to apologize for my long absence. High school is taxing. I got inspired, though, so here it is. Hope you all enjoy!