Romans & histoires Poem On My Father My Hero

I could feel everything about to fall or shift—the dread that opening it could unmake my whole world, or worse, show I’d always been right about myself. I opened it. The words were short, almost careless. I heard my father’s voice in my head, not as a hero, but as the tired man who came home from the border with mud on his boots and stories he never finished: You are not a mistake. You are the correction. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to see it.

Before Adrian could respond, I spoke first. “Enough!” Both men looked toward me immediately. I was breathing hard now while trying desperately not to completely fall apart emotionally right in front of them. “I’m tired,” I whispered shakily. “I’m so tired.” Neither of them spoke. “I spent my entire life believing my father was a respectable businessman.” I looked toward Victor briefly before turning toward Adrian again. “Then tonight I discover he’s a criminal responsible for destroying families.” My voice cracked completely. “And the man I love entered my life planning revenge against him.”

His little hands flew to my face. I saw the tears welling in his eyes and pulled him in tight. His heart had to be breaking right now. Under his pillow, he kept a photograph of Theodore. He had always known. He had always known Theodore was his father. Daddy was a powerful Alpha. A hero with endless strength. He was a hero's son. He wouldn't bow to his sickness. On every night the pain came, he would curl into me and whisper his father's name under his breath. In his dreams, his father had come back.

It was just you and me, and we were happy. I never told you this, but I’ve loved you for a very long time. We were kids when we first met, and you were my hero. You were everything I expected to be when you grew up: handsome, smart, and sweet. Stop being so hard on yourself. Your father would have been proud of the man you have become. Believe in yourself as I do. Sorry if I’m rambling. Even in a letter, I talk too much.

‘Do you not want to go see your father rescue you? Shaking my head, ‘No,’ I cooed, ‘I’ve seen it too many times already.’ My heart couldn’t bear to hear the screams of the fire consuming innocent lives again. The thought alone was enough to make me want to vomit. Though in my dreams, I never knew it was him, the shadowy figure with golden eyes. I had always thought it was someone bad coming for me, to attack me or finish the job that the flames hadn’t done. I hadn’t even considered that it could have been my father coming to rescue me, that it was he leaping towards me to get me out of there. He was my hero before I was even one day old.

"I never wαnted αny of this to hαppen thαt wαy. But I cαn’t undo whαt’s αlreαdy hαppened. αll I cαn do now is be there for her. For Ryαn. For αll of it." "YOU THINK YOU'RE A HERO?!" Dαd wαs shαking now. "You think showing up αfter seven yeαrs mαkes you α fαther? Mαkes you worthy of her? You think this is redemption? It's not. It's pαthetic." "Dαd‚ pleαse stop... pleαse‚" I begged‚ voice hoαrse‚ teαrs fαlling fαst. "Just stop yelling."

"I must have been about ten. My father... he wasn't an easy man. A veteran with some big ghosts to carry. One day, he and my mother had a nasty argument. The kind that makes the glasses tremble in the cupboard. Me, with my childlike wisdom, thought I could intervene, try to calm the waters." He looked at his own hands. "My father... he didn't hit me. But he looked at me with an anger so... empty, and said: 'Michael, the world doesn't need another hero. It needs fewer people sticking their noses where they don't belong.'" Michael looked up at me. "For years, that stayed with me. I thought he was right. That trying to do the right thing, trying to help, was a weakness. A naivety." "And then?"

She brushed my hair with her dried cigarette hands and pushed me out. Moreover, my life has been pathetic since my parents left me especially my dad. I remembered how everything happened… It was like yesterday. My day did everything for me… He bathed me, cooked for me, brushed my hair, feed me, carry my soft, small body in his strong, well-built body. I remembered calling my dad ‘My Hero’ or ‘My Love’ while he called me ‘His Angel’ He kisses me like a precious stone everyday. All the beautiful moments flashed back in my active memory like a tragedic-horror movie….

"My hero doesn't wear a cape or fly around rescuing people. He doesn't shoot webs from his hands, and he can't climb walls. He only has one superpower, and I think it is the best power any hero can have. My hero's special power is love, even when people don't deserve it. My hero is my Stepdad." Pride blossomed in her chest as she listened to Zion, his voice catching on all the emotions that flooded him. He was undoubtedly her hero too. "My Stepdad doesn't need a bat signal or a batmobile..." 'I love you' she mouthed as she closed her eyes and drifted, carried on the sound of the love in her brother's voice into a blissful slumber. "I love you too," the night whispered.

Whoever this adversary was, he moved so swiftly that I couldn't even catch a glimpse of his identity. A cry escaped my lips as my eyes landed on my father, lying motionless in a pool of his own blood. The weight of despair settled upon me as I dropped to my knees beside him, cradling his lifeless face in my trembling hands. "Father," I pleaded, my voice choked with anguish, "please, open your eyes, say something, anything!" I shook his body in desperation, but there was no response. Fear gripped me as the reality sank in—my father, my hero, was gone.