Personal Hero Novels & Stories

She was a good friend, a true lover and a girl who wished for the peace to reign in her land. “How are you feeling, Ying?” “Sad, angry, useless, confused but still hopeful. I wished I had gone back for her, I wished I’d been fast enough to secure her freedom. I wish I’d done better for her” Ying lamented Desire could feel just how much pain he was going through. She feels useless too, thinking only about herself and not her friend. She bursted into tears and Ying had to limp over to the bed to hug her tight and promised her that everything would be fine, even though it was almost like a self promise to himself as well.

Sharon Hiding. Behind a computer.” “No. Not hiding. Sacrificing. You’re not a coward. I know that you know you’re facing this head-on. You don’t want justice for them; you want it for all the victims in the world and the many people out there who have been wronged and forced into a life they didn’t choose. You’re not just doing it for granny or yourself. You’re doing it for them. For the people that you don’t even know. That’s heroic. I think the brain, they say, is most impressionable before age twenty-two, so if you were going to go bad, then you’d have gone bad already. You chose the other path. It’s a harder path. The hardest. To be kind and good.”

"Thank you, small one. You taught me much. About being both things simultaneously. About holding contradictions. About—about choosing wholeness over simplicity." "You're welcome," Grace said. Whisper turned to me. "Thank you, Eva Morrison. You are—are exactly as legendary as stories claim. You are also more human than expected. This combination is—is instructive. Heroes are not separate from humanity. They are—are humans who choose heroism despite fear. Despite cost. Despite everything." "I'm not a hero," I said. "You are exactly hero," Whisper said. "You simply don't recognize it. Perhaps that is—is most heroic thing about you."

But as I got to dig deeper, I found out, mind you it wasn’t easy either, that this name which I went through hell to discover, turned out to be a dummy. I almost gave up digging. It seemed to me my savior did not want to be found out and I ought to respect his wishes. But I was so bothered and even from the shadow, I wished to be of help in any way for this kind person who, in my understanding, did not want to announce his good deeds to the world, when I am one of those results. A patriot.

That's horrifying, no wonder she was so desperate before. [But that still doesn't justify stealing someone's account.] [Still, she's really changed. Even her eyes are different now.] [I'm actually tearing up. when she said she wants to rely on herself.] I looked at her–at the clarity and stubborn resolve in her eyes now–and then at the comments drifting past. The last trace of resentment in my heart quietly dissolved. After all, I once suffered in that same parasitic family, too. I could feel it–the fake heiress, driven by vanity and fear, was gone.

Mom is one of the most famous reporters in the country. She exposes all kinds of wrongdoing, and the public hails her as a champion of justice. What she doesn't know is that while she's out fighting for other people, I'm being viciously bullied at school. When I finally work up the courage to ask her for help, she gives me a disgusted look and tells me to quit being so dramatic. Eventually, my bullies beat me to death and bury my body in a reeking drainage ditch. When my body is finally dug up, Mom is the reporter sent to cover the scene.

"I want to write about your present. About what you're doing here." "Why me?" I asked, fidgeting with my coffee cup. "Because you're proof that our worst moments don't define us. That we can choose to use our pain to help others," Rebecca explained, her tone earnest. "I'm not a hero," I protested, shaking my head. "No. You're something better," she said with a warm smile. For the next hour, I told her about the families I'd helped, the programs I'd developed, and the difference one person could make when they refused to give up.

"No!!! I can't forget about them!! Why don't they like me? What's wrong with me aunt?!! Am I not likable, don't I deserve to be liked or loved huh?!!!" "Sit," I sat on my bed and cried silently "what are your five top Best personalities?" She wiped my tears and I sniffled. "Uhm," I started thinking hard when I couldn't think if any I started to think that's why people don't want to be friends with me "I'm honest." That counts right. I feel so much relief that I have at least one good quality. "And...." "I'm trustworthy, empathic, compassionate, friendly." I stared at my laps and I wondered if I'm truly any of those things.

TASHA I instantly perceive the distrust and self doubt he has about himself through his soft, stuttering voice. And my chest squeezes tightly. Painfully. What!? How can he even ask me that!? No fucking way! He is the most beautiful soul I have ever known. A tough candy with that soft mushy cream right at the center. He is the strongest person I know. He is fucking smart. Kind. A lover. A fierce fighter who couldn't be beaten down. A very, irresistible, beautiful soul.

Ella shouted recognizing him, then ran to hug him and he started changing back to human abstracting the rest. "Thank God you are safe," Ella said but heard nothing from Eddie, she pulled out from the hug and all was surprised as Eddie had already passed out. Tough times never last, only tough people do. A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself. Work hard for what you want because it won't come to you without a fight. Remember your dreams and fight for them. Life is full of beauty. I've had to learn to fight all my life - got to learn to keep smiling. Saving our planet because there is a moment in fighting when the strength of muscle isn't everything be