Powerless

He was a hero at one point. Citizens loved him, villains hated him, and the world almost worshipped him. He was nearly as powerful as God himself, and definitely more benevolent.

But that was a long time ago.

Now he’s a normal man, a bitter man. His powers fled him some time ago, the result of some egomaniacal super villain. At the time, he still had hope for humanity. “So what if my powers are gone?” he had thought. “At least people would try to live up to my example. They would try and live by what I taught them.”

He was wrong about that. Things seem worse than ever. People seem to have forgotten him, and the example he set. Rather than help each other, people hurt each other, rob each other, and kill each other.

For a while, he still hoped that maybe things would get better, that someone, anyone, would remember what heroism was. But after seeing so much hate, so much death and crime and destruction, his hope died a painful death.

Now he’s an old and bitter man. A man whose thoughts revolve around how hopeless things have become. A man with no one and nothing left to live for, but refuses to die.

When the three men approached him on a crowded sidewalk full of people in broad daylight, the man didn’t notice. He was too busy thinking about how terrible the world had become. Most of his thoughts revolved around that these days.

He only noticed when two men went behind him, and one went in front. The one in the front, a tall man with a scar directly under his eye, said, “Gimme your money.”

“I don’t have any on me,” The old and bitter man said, while wondering what drove these men to crime. Would they have become criminals if he were still a hero? Does it even matter?

The man with the scar frowned, and said, “That’s a damn shame. That was the only thing that might’ve kept you alive.” The two men behind the old man grabbed him, and all four of them went into an alley. As this was happening, the old and bitter man was yelling for help. There were many people around, after all, walking around in a rather large crowd. One would hear him, one would help. Right?

No one did. Some turned at the sound of his screaming, but none of them did anything.

A punch in the face quickly silenced him, and the goons proceeded to beat him.

As he was knocked to the ground, and being beaten to death, he realized something:

Any hope for this world died the day he stopped being a hero.