My legs moved before my brain gave the order. I wasn't thinking about bravery; I was thinking about the person I could see slumped over the steering wheel.
The response was a simple shrug and a stammered, "Anyone would have done the same."
Being a hero is not a career choice or a set of special abilities. It is found in the split second where a choice is made to prioritize someone else’s safety over personal fear. A hero is not someone who can fly, but someone who chooses not to look away when the world breaks in front of them. I Am a Hero
The woman who had been rescued gripped the hand of the person who had pulled her out. "Thank you," she whispered. "That was incredibly brave."
Then I heard it—the screech of tires and the sickening crunch of metal. My legs moved before my brain gave the order
"Hey! Can you hear me?" I yelled, tugging at the driver’s side door. It was jammed. Inside, a woman in a nurse’s uniform was blinking vacuously, blood trickling from her hairline. "The back door!" someone shouted.
The rear door groaned but popped open. The figure inside the car was pulled to safety just as a small flame appeared under the hood. On the sidewalk, as sirens grew louder in the distance, the reality of the situation began to set in. It is found in the split second where
Later that night, back in the quiet of a small apartment, the reflection in the mirror didn't show a person with superpowers or a costume. It showed someone tired, with soaked clothes and messy hair. There was no sudden feeling of being powerful, but there was a sense of no longer being invisible to the world.
