The Destiny of a Hero

The Destiny of a Hero

Veteran's Day, He watched at home on his TV as he woke up fully getting motivated for the day. CNN had a piece on the may different observances of Veteran's day. He remembered the End of the first world war. He had not fought in it. He been in Kroms war and had in truth heard little about the first world war. They had called it Armistice day. He remembered it wasn’t in till the 50s some time that it had become Veterans day. He though about how so little of the world his sire allowed him to follow. It was always the Sabbat.

We watched the TV but at this point he wasn’t hearing it. In the last year the observance of holidays for people that fell in these wars of the 20th century had enraged him. Independence Day had become a excuse to eat hot dogs and watch fire works at lest that how he seen it. That was his war, He turned off the Television and sat their in silence for a long moment and thought.

He joined the continental army, Right out the box. And spent much of that first year at Breeds hill. The battle of bunker hill as it become known by history. His Friend Charley Right, they had grown up together. He remembered how he felt as Charley fell to the Musket ball that had priced him his head on the British’s first advance. If the order to don't fire to you see the Wight's of their eyes was given he had not heard it. He lost many friends that day in June of 1775. Who remembered them. Charley was a bakers son and made. mean meat pie. He would never taste his cooking again. John and Luke had fell as well who remembered them.

The people of the 20th centenary paid lip serves only. It seemed to him the sacrifice of his friends to others they were names on a paper in a age that did not have film. Brief descriptions here and their. He had this argument with chapel a year ago. Chapel could not see it for all his power, fame and stats Chapel was still very Yong. He fought in these wars of the 20th century perhaps when he 200 years old he would see it for now. He could not.

Blood rolled down his check as he thought. The siege of Boston. His home under siege. The truth was he could not remember their faces. He could not remember their voices. He remembered how he felt about these friends. How could he expect others to remember these things who did not live it If he had this hard a time remembering it.

He picked up the shirt from last night and used it to whip his face and tossed it on the ground. He turned to go down stairs to his room. He would remember his friends today as the county they fought to create cerebrated the veterans of the wars of the the 20th century. He was a veteran but no one would thank him today. No one would remember his service to this nation. He been dead since late in 1776, A casualty of the war of independence in the eyes of his long dead family.

he wondered if the line had lived on. If his family was persevered. If they even knew the sacrifice of his time. Blood had made him forget them his bound to Krom keep him fighting in his Privet war against the sabbat.

The Sabbat now threaten this city. No time to cry for lose all was doomed once again. Same shit different day, He needed a Drink. He pulled his gear together placing the Kabar he been given the other night were his sword would have been. He touched the coat that hung their it was blue with some markings dark Stains still in it from his last day of breath. He took his Long leather coat with the Dragon airbrushed on the back. The .45 went in the holster, The bench made in his pocket the flashlight still in his pocket. Out the door he went, He would eat get his buzz on read the paper then patrol. Same shit different day. It wasn’t like any these people would be remembered a hundred years from now. Their sacrifice was not unique. It is the destiny of a hero is to be forgotten. Same shit different day.