Update: Thanks to a review from "Hoganfan", I learned that my story seems to resemble It's a Wonderful Life. Which, I think, one Christmas episode of NW Zorro used as a base. I've seen the NWZ episode, so I can't in all conscience say that I might not have unconsciously copied some elements from it, but I like to think that my story is still different enough.
This story is an old work - I believe I wrote it around the time I posted my other two Disney Zorro stories here. I put it on my website, which I had not maintained over the years. It is fortunate that I recovered the fic at all. So, cleaning up the fic a bit, I'm posting it mostly for my own backup, but it would make me happy if there is even one more person enjoying it.
As for the story itself, I did have Disney Zorro in mind, but I suppose it was broad enough that you could probably substitute your favorite TV (or perhaps even movie?) version of Zorro and it might just work. In any case, I have not watched Disney Zorro (or barely any Zorro at all) for many years, so our hero might be hopelessly out of character for all I know. ^^;;;;;
I mentioned it in the summary, but this is a first-person fic. It could serve as both a warning and an incentive to different people (of course, I am usually partial toward stories written in first-person).
Disclaimer: Probably doesn't really need one for this story, except for occasional references to a certain masked bandit. ;-) Oh, wait. And for his alter ego, and his father. That should just about cover it.
Author's Note: Although this story came about in a rather unexpected way, I admit to being partly inspired by a fantastic story called "Doubt" by MaryAnn T. Beverly (the story can be found on the web). However, please excuse my lack of knowledge in writing in this tone.
On to the fic...
A Thing to Consider
Why are there so much suffering in this world? I don't understand, and probably never will...
I often wake up late at night to the screaming voices of those in prison. They are expecting a miracle to save them. And I'm supposed to be that miracle. The thought haunts me, whenever I can't save someone. It stays with me, days and nights. I want to shout, to tell them, to shatter their hopes, that I'm no saint. I'm an ordinary human being, even too plain for my own liking. I bleed when someone, or something, pierced my skin. I fall when I slip. I have a temper, if crossed. I cry, when hurt. Most of all, I have my pride, even though I have done nothing to deserve it.
Given my qualifications, or lack thereof, for this "miracle" job, should I just give up then? Oh, I forgot to add that I'm definitely selfish. Why, I can't even share my secret "work" with my own father. I just keep reminiscing about it here. Someone might find this diary in the future, but as long as I live, no one else would be allowed to know the deep, dark secrets it contains.
Maybe the world would be better off without me messing around with it. Who am I trying to fool? My work is not noble. In fact, it is one that has me hanging my head in shame. Substantial money is offered for my capture. Innocent people get hurt far too many times, just because they are believed to have information of my whereabouts. If I still continue with my work, my family, my close friends, someone I really care for would eventually be in danger.
Yes, I will give up. I just can't deal with the pressure anymore. My father wants me to act more like a man than like a coward. I wince every time I hear that, but he is right. A coward I am, I can't let him know what I'm doing in my spare time besides reading a book or playing the guitar. Even if I can tell him, I have absolutely no idea how to explain my work. In fact, I can't admit even to myself what exactly has caused me to start my crusade, let alone describe its exact nature. Why, indeed. Restoring justice is not my, or any civilian's, job, nor I should even consider taking it upon myself to do it in the first place. No one benefits from my "interference," as some nameless official put it.
I am walking outside any definable time and space. It is the most unusual scene, but the scary thing is that I am not at all afraid. My feet are light; I feel like I could literally walk on air. The last thing I remember before finding myself here is my rather heated discussion with Father. Actually, he did all of the shouting, saying that I was too aloof to care for anything that had been going on around me. I have nothing but love and respect for my father, but this time, I felt the need to defend myself, although not with any intention of making him proud of me. How could I, when I have been nothing but a failure in his eyes? I just got tired of being yelled at, like anyone would.
However, I never got a chance to say anything to Father. In the heat of the argument, my father lost himself in his anger, forgetting that we were standing in the open view. A would-be robber, creeping up ever so silently behind us, raised the musket at my father. Instinctively, guided by no thought nor reason, I leapt forward, knocking the gun out of the robber's hand, but not before the cursed thing was fired. I fell facedown on the ground, feeling my blood, and my life, oozing out of my body. After that, everything became blank...
I snap out of my thought when I notice someone, cloaked from head to toe, materializes from nowhere and walks toward me. A guardian, I believe, from the way he dressed, hood pulled down, covering his entire face, which was something I have heard about life after death. If I have not been feeling miserable I might enjoy the fact that this person has the black cloak on. That black cloak does not seem much different from the black cape, something I, rather my alter ego, must be quite comfortable with, having worn it often.
"Ready for your trip?" he asked kindly. His voice was familiar, but at the moment I could not quite place where I had heard it before.
I simply nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more.
"Good. We will begin shortly." Then he looked curiously at me. "Don't you want to know where we will be going?"
Personally, as long as we were not heading toward a certain dark underworld, I couldn't care less. But, given the state of the affairs right then, it probably did not matter much if I had to go to hell. I have been a big disappointment to my father. I have managed to upset the peaceful way of the town with my "taking the laws into my own hands." I have killed, the fact that I always regret, even though those that died by my hands were tyrants. Tyrants, you say? Right, a little voice chided me, that's what you keep telling yourself; you just don't want to believe that you can't control yourself.
What's wrong with the fact that I can't control myself? I am no one special. I have flaws, serious flaws. I..
"..and the couple was safe, secured in the knowledge that their prayer would not go unanswered."
Huh? What was that? The soothing voice of the cloaked man did little to calm my nerves.
Noting my blank stare, he turned toward me. "You have not been paying attention, son," he accused, yet amusement was evident in his voice.
Now I became his son. Oh.. who was he anyway? He was not the friar I know. In fact, I was not even sure if he was a man of the robe.
"I was talking to you, yet you still haven't said anything. If I don't know any better, I would believe you were mute."
"I am not," I protested, a little too self-consciously. "You don't expect me to chat away while I am truly confused, do you?"
"Of course not. I just wanted to get you to open your mouth." He put his hand gently on my arm.
Ah.. That made senses. Yes, of course. So why did I feel stupid all of the sudden?
"All right, let me get this straight. Am I dead?"
The cloaked man was not fazed. In fact, he probably wondered why I had not asked that question earlier.
"Depends on how you look at it." He paced about, then stopped near the empty spot where I had first seen him appeared. "If being dead means your spirit leaves your body, I regret to inform you that you are. However, if it means that the legend you started will not be continued, think again."
"Legend?!" I cried, aghast. "You must be mistaken, Sir. I don't think there was anything I did that could even be considered legend!"
"Have you truly forgotten the masked adventurer, whose blade would never stop righting the wrong, who has sacrificed his happiness for the sake of others?"
What was the meaning of all this nonsense?! I just could not stand listening to all these lies. My fists were clenched unconsciously, and I would be tempted to use them had the scene not suddenly changed...
We are no longer in space, but in something that looks like a room, although I am sure it is not. A shadowy figure suddenly approaches us, and I have to hide my amazement when I realize who it is. It is him, my elusive alter ego, although looking from the outside, I have a hard time recognizing him. Apparently, he takes no notice of us and continues to ride on urgently, although I must confess that I don't remember the purpose of his ride on that particular occasion.
The answer to my question comes soon enough. As soon as "he" reaches the barracks and makes straight for the Sergeant's room, I dimly recall that it was the first time he ever rode. But still.. I
"He looks so different. I.. Is that really him?" I asked, knowing full well the answer, but refused to believe it.
"It is really him, or more accurately, you," the cloaked man returned just as I expected. "That was your first outing."
He doesn't have to state the obvious, but I didn't think I should say that to him. "I know. But why show me this? What do I need to know that I don't already know?"
But you just contradicted yourself! You didn't know anything, especially why your alter ego did his work.
"Oh my boy, when you do speak, you speak a lot!" he said teasingly. Then he became serious. "You just have to continue watching."
Looked like I could not get more information out of him for the time being, so I simply sat down, waiting for whatever vision would be thrown at me next.
Not so long, I see the face of the prisoner "he" has rescued. I can't even believe I would be saying this, but the man looks at him with undisguised admiration. I must be so dense not to notice this before.
But stubborn as I am, I shrug it off as a mere coincidence. No one can appreciate my "meddling." This man would later regret it that he ever trusted me with his life...
Do I shut my eyes from the happy, hopeful faces? Do I close my ears to their cries, their cheers?
A woman comes to him, all-smiling. And he grins, looking quite wicked, and accepts her thanks.
A man waves, gratitude clearly written on his face. And he waves back, with his customary two-finger salute.
A girl shyly approaches him, a flower in her delicate hand. And he just hugs her close, whispering his thanks in her ear.
A boy runs up eagerly to him. And he just scoops him up and swings him around, a playful smile on his lips.
The disturbing visions keep flashing across the "room." They are weird to me, these pictures of lies that torment my very soul. I know I don't deserve whatever honor people choose to bestow on me, so why do I feel so torn to betray them, to stop helping them? I don't think I did the right thing by beginning this "work," but yet.. I am not so sure of my decision to quit anymore.
No, I have been wrong. They are not pictures of lies. The only one lying is myself. I am wallowing in self-pity. I hate to be responsible. I hate to take credit for whatever greatness he does.
We were back, again, to the great empty space, as swiftly as we left it. My guide then asked abruptly:
"Still want to walk away, knowing that so many people depend on you?"
Oh.. how could he even utter those words? It's no use now! I'm no longer alive..
"Well, allow me to refresh your memory, Sir. YOU said that I am dead, so, like it or not, I am not in any position to help anyone now." If the sarcasm in my voice could be measured, it probably filled a basin.
The cloaked man didn't even flinch. "I can return you to your body."
"Why would you want to do that?!" I must be near hysterical. What he proposed to do defied all of the values I hold dear. Only evil spirits return to the land of the living.
Wait- I am afraid to be associated with evil spirits, when in fact I have sinned so much I am probably at least one of them, or even worse.
"You are needed, my son. Your courage and bravery are something rare and such a breath of fresh air. I can't see you feeling sorry for yourself, feeling worthless, or feeling like the world is coming to an end, just because you had no idea how much people love you, respect the fight you stand for, and admire the selfless sacrifice you make."
I blinked rapidly. It dawned on my poor, worn-out brain then that I was brought here just to see for myself what my alter ego meant to the people. But, sadly, I still don't understand what "he" means to myself.
"Why did you single me out? Surely, there must be some other who is more worthy of your consideration."
For the first time, my guide seemed to hesitate. Then he, apparently had collected himself, walked slowly toward me.
"It was a purely selfish reason that motivated me to bring you here." He proceeded to throw back the hood that concealed his identity.
I gasped. A familiar pair of kind and caring eyes stared back at me. I did not know. How could I not recognize his voice? The voice of my own father..
"How.." I was at a loss for words.
"I am not him, my son. I am merely his guardian spirit," he explained.
I should breathe a sigh of relief that my father is still alive and well, but something really bothered me.
"Does my father know about my "work," or will he find out?"
The guardian, who looked just like my father, laughed. "He loves you; why does anything else matter?" Before I could protest, he continued, "To be honest, I can't tell you. You have to figure that out on your own. But just know this, no secret in the world can be kept forever."
Oh.. he is my father, all right. I could not help but smiled at the similarity between the guardian and my father, the headed-strong old man who likes to treat me like a child.
All of the sudden I felt tired. Before I knew it, I was on the floor, fighting to keep my eyes open, but failed miserably. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the guardian, his hood replaced, standing at the far end of the space we occupied...
I opened my eyes to the scene not so different from what I am accustomed to. In fact, I realized that I had not been gone more than a few seconds from the plaza where I was shot. The whole thing I had experienced before meeting with the guardian had not been a dream, since I felt the warm blood from the wound. The only difference was that the bullet had barely grazed my side.
Seeing that my father, with color almost gone from his face, was too stunned to do anything, I simply got up and, catching the bandit by surprise, kicked him down. I then asked for the rope to bind the would-be robber from my father, who looked like his heart would stop beating. Luckily, the Sergeant and his men took care of the robber for us, and after a brief visit to the town doctor, my father and I returned home.
I sat still in the sala, thinking, when my father came in and sat down besides me.
"Are you all right, my son?" His voice was filled with concern.
I looked up and nodded, although I was still pretty much shaken, given all that I had learned.
"I.." he hesitated. I just stared at him. "I take that back, that you don't care for anything. I do not want you to die, my son. You are the only treasure your mother left for me."
I cracked a smile. "I don't want to die either."
Now that part about dying was over, Father made it his duty to inform me that I should not recklessly throw myself against a bandit. He even offered to help train me, if I ever want to put up a fight against anyone.
I just laughed aloud, relief flooded over me. You don't know it, my beloved father, but you have been my inspiration long before all our disagreements ever formed, and will continue to be. I could not have done it without you.
"But I must commend you, my son. Wherever did you learn to "fight" like you just did?"
I just shrugged noncommittally. Then, to my surprise, I noticed the unmistakably glow of pride he usually reserved for my alter ego.
He got up and, before I knew it, simply hugged me. "I love you, Son. You don't need to be a hero, just simply be my beloved son."
A faint smile was tugging itself at the corner of my lips. Despite what he said, my father still would not miss any opportunity to chastise me. But the guardian was right; anything else does not matter. The moment here with my father was the precious one that I should cherish.
I returned his hug, letting myself be embraced, be loved. "I love you too, Father."
My alter ego is still a long way from ending his commitment to the people, but now, at least I learn that I am not alone in my journey. Rewarded or not, as long as the cries for help can still be heard, my alter ego would not back down.
Author's End Note:
Thank you for reading my fic. :)
Back when I wrote the fic, I'd gotten feedback along the lines of 'it (the fic) has some resemblances to A Christmas Carol'. Having never watched nor read A Christmas Carol, I cannot confirm or deny that. I suppose I just wanted to say that if it seemed like I copied anything from A Christmas Carol at all, I did not do it intentionally.
My tenses are wonky, I know. English is not my native language, but after having used it for more than half of my life, that should not be an excuse anymore. I guess I'll just have to keep writing more and hope my mistakes appear less.