The Hero

Fire. Oh, the beautiful flames.

The raw, untamed rage of the Gods. Who can stand in the way of its destructive path?

Me.

Firefighter, Phillip Greene. I am the one who can snuff the flaming fury. The one to extinguish the fear you feel for the inferno. Along with the hot crackling embers that I douse, your weary hearts I save, your fragile mortal beings are salvaged by my hands. You need me. You love me.

—

Since career day in junior kindergarten, I had known what I wanted to be. A firefighter. My father was a policeman, but all I ever heard him talk about was paper work, and the iron taste of hypocrisy that resides in the precincts. Not firefighters, though.

Picture it: you are in the biggest, scariest red truck in town, blaring sirens because your job is quite literally more important than everyone else’s. The peasant cars must scurry away from your barreling monstrosity because you have a fire to fight, a force of nature to battle. After rocketing through the waves of civilian cars, you can blast burning buildings with weapons of elemental contradictions, extinguishing them of their fearful, dangerous effect. The greatest part of all, jumping into the fire and standing above the helpless as they gaze upon you with an optimistic flicker in their eye. Hope.

It is a powerful thing, hope. I have deduced from many encounters of those without it, that I am the bringer of hope, of salvation.

Last summer was hot, unlike the moist and uneventful spring that we must endure now. During the blistering hot summer, there were fires just about every which way you turned. Forest fires, house fires, camp fires, all sorts of fires. I remember vividly, in the heat, and after many weeks of trying to contain a forest fire on the city’s western edge, a house caught. That house just so happened to be attached to many other houses, and before we even got the call, nearly the entire neighborhood was in danger. Funny how most people think that the old wooden houses are the fastest to burn, but in truth, it is the newer buildings that have cheap materials that practically evaporate in the heat.

Hopping into that barreling red truck and making way like knights to a battle of glory. Dark and dense smoke rose above the town like heavy clouds come down to visit, fires blazed on. The consensus was that the buildings were gone, lost to the fire. But the people in them could still be saved. We few brave soldiers donned the nearly indestructible suits and plunged into the homes.

I am the impenetrable man, wading through the wreckage. Here, helpless humans, I arrive with hope.

Nearly thirty lost souls were dragged from the ashes, coughing and crying, but alive. As the fire took their homes, we were applauded, thanked and praised. As we should be. As I should be.

I have many dreams of that summer, a summer of prestige. Later, being pinned with medals of excellence, finally being rewarded.