Davey had heard these types of mantras before. It’s always the same type of sentiment. “You could be better if you just tried” is how he interpreted them. Little did anyone know how much of a hero he already was. What he’d already been through. The people he’d already saved over the course of his life. But no one knew his real age or identity.
Davey wasn’t really a kid from the Bronx surviving middle school, surrounded by a bunch of kids whose only priorities ever seemed to be what they could do or get for themselves. He was a survivor of an era long past, with several scars to prove it. Some physical, but most mental or emotional. And now, like nearly every day at the Bronx Middle School for Juveniles, he was right in the middle of another potential fight, with sarcasm oozing from the gang of delinquents who had no idea what he could do to them if he really wanted to.
Today’s prompt was challenging for a few reasons. First, it was long. And it hinted at heroes, which I had just considered writing about the night before. So I tried to stay away from the cliche hero type.
English