Tale of no heroes 1
Tale of no heroes 1 bar stories

average_guy Yes, this is a pen name.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
It was night. A black night, painted red with blood. The buzzing in his ears from the gunshots reminded him of his alarm clock,

Tale of no heroes 1

It was night. A black night, painted red with blood. The buzzing in his ears from the gunshots reminded him of his alarm clock,

waking him up at five in the morning each day to get ready for his miserable job; his miserable life that he lives only for one sole reason- because suicide wasn't part of the routine,

and there was no point in breaking a working routine. His fists were shades of dark purple and red, with lumps and scrapes from overuse in a fistfight. He was no hero, but he saw no one else act- this world has no heroes.

There she sat, on a cheap manufactured bar stool. She was alone, dressed in leather tight pants and a leather jacket with a white crop top underneath.

She was no whore, she was no party girl, but to her, her outfit was beautiful. To them, however, it spelled "object".

Two men, one who stood around six feet eight, the other whose belly would break the barstool if he were to sit next to her.

Mister big man thought he was everything- he sat next to the glamorous girl, and with unreasonable expectations attempted to get her to come home with him and his "brother".

"No!" She shrieked, as the piercing cry stabbed the wall of blank, drunken faces at the shady bar. No one cared- it was nobody's business. Only this time, someone did care.

He was fed up with this world where people of a group were so hesitant to step out and be a hero- he planted down his bottle of cheap dollar menu beer and stood up from his chair.

"The lady ain't yours, bronco" he exclaimed, this time gaining the eyes of every half-sober eye in the bar. Rape- common; a man astray from the croud- an extremely rare sighting.

Big man and fat boy turned around, as fatty reached in to his coat pocket.

One step, two step, soon he found himself breaking out into a full out sprint, ramming his right shoulder into fatso's bloated ugly gut.

Many drinks, had he already- putrid vomid mixed with fresh blood slugged out of fatso's hairy face- the girl, she managed to escape, leaving only one angry big man.

Their fists were clenched- mister hero stood so much shorter than big man. Big man's massive, long, bulky right jab bloodied the man's nose on impact, toppling him off balance.

He followed with a left- shattering our hero's jaw, and sending shrieks through his eardrum. His hip bashed into the sharp corner of the bar desk, as he grunted loudly in pain.

Big man raised both arms up ready to slam our hero's spine into pieces, only to be interrupted with a sharp blow to the face from a liquor bottle, filled with rage from our hero.

Big man's face paused along with his body, stuttered by the blow- the crunching of pierced glass mixed with sharp stinging of alcohol upon wounds was enough to rival even that of his size.

Our hero stuttered backward and paused to gather his breath- they were both ready oncemore at about the same time.

Big man charged- hero rapidly grabbed a table and slid it before big man could reach him.

Big man's gut slammed hard against that table, followed by our hero grabbing his head by the hair and bashing it through the table.

Wooden splinters sparkled his face- hero slammed big man's face downward oncemore, this time, his kneecap blasted big man's face bloody.

Big man digged his fingers into our hero's hips, attempting to lift hero up and bash him back down. Hero extended his right foot, striking big man in the groin and propelling him outward.

Big man lay on the floor in pain- he was out. That left fat man- whose finger pulled the trigger with shaky aim. The tip of our hero's ear was struck by the .44 round.

He bursted a grunt in pain, and rushed to cover. Five more wild, careless rounds were let loose- our hero knew that was when he could come out.

He rushed oncemore towards the reloading fat man, whose shaking hands spilled his bullets ad he tried to load.

Before they both knew it, our hero was on top of fat man, bashing his knuckles into fat man's face over, over, and over.

After that, he stood outside to catch some air. He was no true hero- he wore no cape, he dawned no costume, he never even saved anyone else after this.

He was just a man, just a night, and the day after, just a man, just another day. There are no heroes.

~Just another average guy

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