Being a Hero in DayZ

[Xoon (DayZ) 1]

 

He tried to be the nice guy, the guy that would help, the guy people could count on. 

But soon he realized, that he was no Hero.

 

He would take food for himself, instead of sharing. He would not help, because he couldn't. Because he had nothing to spare.

The few rags he carried was crafted by himself, through much hardship. But not all was well. He could not count how many dead bodies 

he had looted, just to keep warm. All killed by him, the Hero.

He usually found himself at gunpoint, but he survived, even if it costed him his comrades, even if he had to drag the gun out of their lifeless hands.

But it came at a cost, he had been severely wounded, his equipment ready to fall apart and he was ill. The only thing he had left was his thrust wordy gun,

because it would never harm him. 

And at one point starvation took over, he was bleeding, he was seeing shadowy beings with sharp weapons,

he found a knife in one of his recent victims. And he gutted him, and finally he had found food.

 

But then gunshots ringed through the street, so he ran, and ran and ran. He ran to the cabin, because their he was safe.

And when he arrived be lit the fireplace. He felt warm, he felt dry, and he felt disgusted.

He ate his first meal in several days, he loved it, he disgusted it, and he shock.

He threw up, when he realized what he was doing, he was not hero, he was even worse than a bandit, he was his worst nightmare. 

 

So he walked out into the storming weather, and sat down by the bench overlooking the city.

The symphony of death rang through the streets down there, while he sat there with his thrust wordy gun.

He kneeled down, his gun slowly being raised up to his head. What had he done, he though.

But he thought, it can't end here, so he stood up, ready to reconcile. He would try being a hero one more time.

 

 

 

 

So he walked down into the city. He needed medicine, he needed food, he needed help. But he was ready to sacrifice  everything to help the next person he met.

And in front of the school building he saw a person. He saw that the person was in a sorry state. So he asked if he could help.

The person turned around and walked up to him. But he had other intentions, and in a moments notice he raised his axe.

The broken hero fired six shots with his thrust wordy pistol, but he was to late. The axe had sunk into his chest. And everything went black.

 

This was the tale of the Broken hero.