Hero

MY HERO, by Dad

He was only five years old when he left the house alone. It was late October and the wind howled through the naked trees, mocking the weak reminding them that their time is near. The limbs of the massive trees eerily creaked against the eaves of the dimly lit house who's silhouette was a gift from a near by crescent moon. Crisp unseasonable winter chill ruthlessly engulfed the air as the familiar taste of winter fills the lads senses. And yet fear was not welcome during this young mans mission, for he was about to become a hero. This young boy, with barely half a decade of experience behind him, finds himself alone on a strangers feeble porch, where light cowers in defeat with only remnants of its existence in tact. He knocked relentlessly for over twenty minutes, alone, but his determination never waned. His tiny little hands burned from the cold penetrating his bare skin but he continues to knock, oblivious to the pain of the hard wood on his cold and sensitive bones. His knocks were originally passed off as tree limbs thrashing in the wind by the elderly gentleman who occupied the house. You see the last thing the man had expected was a brave young boy on a quest for help as his father was suffering an inevitably fatal asthma attack. The boy was only five and couldn't figure out the phone. His dad too weak to speak. It was his first night in the new surroundings and still the young man took it upon himself to venture out alone because he knew it was up to him to save his father. And he did just that. With the will of a warrior he marched forward and even fear itself knew it was no match for the determined. The old man obliged the boys request. The father lives to tell his story, and Rayden, I love you son. You are my Hero!