The Bystanders: A Short Story

Once—long, long ago—I strode through time the way that the classic superheroes did; there were no worries about the consequences, nor about the pains I had inflicted upon the martyrs along the way. It had felt completely unimportant for me to consider the effects my actions would have upon the other people. The marches of my uncaring actions cast aside the imprints of myself onto the bystanders who stood, looking on, as I left conflict and suffering behind. There were no fears, no concerns, no afterthoughts of mine. I ruled the world.
Then came the rains. Then came the floods. Then came “the Incident.” A traumatic event tore everything apart that I had once created, slashing my life to shreds. Everything that I had once built for myself was consumed, never to return. I watched as everything I loved withered and turned gray while everything I touched shriveled and died. As John Fogerty puts it, “And I wondered, still I wondered—who’ll stop the rain?” It beat me down, broke me, crushed me until there was nothing left inside. “How can a man return from that?” I asked

There was nothing for me to say. I withdrew from the world, hiding within myself—I pushed all others away, wishing that the problems of my tortured soul would depart with them. For years, I endured that way, sustaining a half-life that gave me no peace nor happiness. After a time, I realized something—I needed to change something. Watching others, I began to seek for an individual to whom I could show respect; I searched for the qualities of a person with honor. I watched others for years, mentally creating an image of the person that I wanted to become; finally, I created a personage that took academics seriously and was a faithful member of his religion. Countless times, in each decision of every day, I asked myself a single question: “What would he do?” All throughout my life, I followed this character’s example until, years later, I became that