Friday August 3rd, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the hero.

Pretty relaxed harvest this morning, as we're just on the cusp of our late summer crops being ready. Managed to get a few pints of cherry tomatoes, blackberries, and raspberries, along with some fingerling potatoes and green beans. Can't forget the usual assortment of cabbages as well.

We'll also be bringing our first taste of peaches and nectarines, but the main selection of those won't be until next weekend.

My sister and her husband decided to save themselves a couple hours of driving by staying in Kelowna tonight. They'll meet us at the market tomorrow morning and then follow us back here afterward. Can't wait!

Mine:

He looked at me over top of his glasses and whispered, "Every man is the hero of his own story."

I offered no reply, choosing instead to dip my quill in the inkwell resting between us. He watched closely before offering a slight smile and doing the same.

No further words were spoken for the rest of the evening, as we were far too busy transforming our mundane existences into something worthy of being adorned with majestic, mystical capes.

4 Comments:

Greg said...

That sounds like a delicious meal you'd make from all those vegetables. I'm starting to feel hungry just reading about it – good job I'm off to Borough Market in an hour or so :)
Heh, the reference to majestical, mystical capes is a fantastic way to describe a hero! I like the idea that writers are busy creating their heroic identities day after day. Or anti-heroic for some of us (me) I guess...

The hero
The reporter looked at the child her producer had picked out of the crowd to be briefly interviewed. He had a face like a crab that someone was trying to eat, odd tentatcles here and there around his body, a strange translucency to his skin (she shuddered when she thought she could hazily see organs), and according to the card, wanted to be called the Kalahari Kalamari
"And what do you want to be when you grow up, little – ugh, yukky tentacles!" she said, quite unable to stop her exclaimation at the end of her sentence.
"A hero!" said the little boy triumphantly.

g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

Your mention of cabbages reminded me of the fine and unfortunate Cabbage Vendor in Avatar: the Last Airbender

Yep, all of yesterday's relevance is gone.

I think I can summon enough to do the prompt, though.
- - - - - - - - -
There are certain things you can't help in life: your species, for instance, or your class, or whatever abilities with which you find yourself endowed.

There are certain things you can help: You can determine your own morals, your values, and how you affect your surroundings, either for good or ill.

But try as you might to keep low, and do your part to make your corner of the universe a little better---but on your terms---you can still catch someone's attention who's going to want you do good how they want, to be their hero.

And sometimes you just don't want to be the hero.

ZeroCore said...

It does sound like a good meal.

Hero?

I stood there looking at the out stretched hand of a smiling politician in the perfect suit. The suit just called me a "hero" like it really meant something. How can I be a "hero", I watched may friend die as I returned fire against someone I couldn't even see. I held out was was left of my right arm to shake and watched the color drain from the suit's face.

Marc said...

Greg - hah, that's a fantastic description of Kalahari :D

g2 - awesome description of a reluctant hero :)

Zerocore - that's a great take on the prompt, and an excellent use of perspective.