Author's Note: Haha, I've popped out again from the little hole that I've been hiding in, and finally posted another story. Though I'm pretty sure maybe everyone has forgotten I exist now (I say that jokingly, of course, but it is possible) This is a collective voice piece and therefore, it isn't really characterised by any dominant individual narrator. Really, when I wrote this piece, I didn't quite think of anyone who could be seen saying this, it's really them talking together, in a way. And this story could be more suited for BB, another show I'm writing for, and one of the lines here kinda was inspired from that show itself, and the basis of sleeping in class and what not. But I do admit, placing some of the focal points of the struggles of being an unknown saviour from BB here opens up a bit more insight, I think. Though if you don't agree, feel free to say so (if you even watch BB). Please leave some comments, I'd really appreciate it!
Untold
Is this life really worth it?
You spend these days for the four years, watching as your grades casually slip by your fingers, seemingly out of grasp. You see yourself dashing to every class after the bell goes, and you're still late though you huff and puff your way through. Your sleepy eyes close oh-too-naturally when the teacher drones on about some needless subject, and you're found out; you're given a shelling again. You could hardly keep awake during the day, save for the times where being awake mattered, where closing your eyes could mean a certain death. After all, one must always be alert no matter what when life was on the line.
The starting of your saving days saw no death, but it neared the end where your eyes had seen bloodshed. Young, yes, but the hallow shells of the empty eyes told everything about you - war. You had seen death, you had seen war, you had seen blood. You had felt pain.
And as you stand, being lectured by the teacher, or as you send back news of your grades back to your parents, only to receive nothing less than a scorching scolding, you open your mouth, but close it again. You want to tell them about this life you lead, you really do. Yet this is way beyond your hands. This is something that must remain a legend, a myth, only to be studied during class as mythology and nothing more. It's not like they'd believe you, anyway, would they? And the unfairness of it all seizes you, gripping you in a clutch equivalent of death. No one has heard of your chivalrous deeds. And really, no one would ever come to know.
And you ask yourself, is it really worth it?
You stop and doubt, sometimes. It's never one death, you know now. With every death, a little piece of you, your heart, dies along with it, until at the end, is there anything really left? You can't answer that question.
And you certainly can't tell anyone about this.
It's hard to know that you've put in so much of your life and effort and energy just to save the world when it's hidden from the saved themselves. There is no gratitude, no understanding, no "You're so awesome!" from anyone, and it's hard. You're the hidden helper, the guardian angel that hovers above all, saving yet not being saved, giving but not receiving. It would be impossible for you not to pause and wonder.
But then you remember. You didn't get into this for gratitude. Now, even as you had accepted this heavy burden, you had subconsciously known the consequences. Yet, although with the knowledge of what could happen, you forged on and determined that you were doing it for the people, and because you cared.
Is it worth it?
And finally, you can answer your question.
