Holding out

for a Hero

“I made my short story with AI”

Its buzzing like a swarm of angry bees Its

almost here

Then the eerie chime of an ice cream truck

coming from its shadowy depths a sound

designed to lure us in Its trying to seduce us

I clasp my hands over my ears when a shadow

falls over me and crouch down deeper behind

an abandoned bus People are shouting giving

orders crying out With a pang I think about

James soft paws waking me up in the morning

meowing for his breakfast I cant give up

The ancient scent of death and decay hits

me paired with something sharp something

modern a bitterness that clings to the back of

my throat and has tears running down my face

as if trying to cleanse me I can feel it on my

skin in my hair I dont think Ill ever be fully

clean again If I make it out

I want to write down what I see if not for

myself then for whoever f inds my notebooks

yet the words escape me They pop into my

mind but the second I try to put them on paper

they vanish A monster made of shadows

confusion and blinking lights Occasionally I

see faces but they seem to have no features

Ive seen it swallow people whole the people

who were captured by the chimes and the

lights who seemed to have gone mad and

ran straight at it They disappeared into the

black fog all of them wearing the exact same

expression of ecstasy I wonder if its their faces

Im seeing

We need help I look around frantic waiting

for something someone to come and help us I

am surrounded by people in uniforms in suits

mothers and children Some of us are armed

all of us are huddled behind whatever we

could f ind Waiting for it to be over Waiting to

be saved In the movies this is when the hero

shows up I search the faces around me for

traces of a plan heroism anything Anything

My mind is racing still scribbling nonsense

into my notebook Shadows Lights Chimes

Lure it somewhere Into sea Volcano

Its getting closer though thickening the

air with the scent of death I cough and gag

A woman holding her little boys hand is

crouched down next to me She has her scarf

bound around her face and gestures for me to

do the same We need someone to stand up to

do something

Its ancient this thing I dont know how I know

it but I do Its been here forever Ancient Scent

of death Panic rises in me with a wave of hot

bile and I swallow hard forcing myself to think

about James purring his soft warm little ribs

vibrating

My heart leaps as the woman next to me stands

up and takes off her scarf her eyes full of

stars Will she

But then she lets go of the boy opens her arms

and runs into the shadows freezing a scream

in my throat No

His feral cry jumps me into action He cant

be older than six making a move to follow his

mother his face red and contorted

No I drop my notebook grab him and set

off running in the opposite direction a plan

illuminated as if it was waiting for me to f lip on

the light switch Im done waiting for the hero I

will be the hero

Nicky Bosman

Nicky Bosman is a

psychologist writer

and PhDcandidate

at GGZ OostBrabant

and VU Amsterdam

She is interested in

understanding and

writing about how

people navigate the

complexities of the

modern world without

losing their sanity

wwwlinkedincom

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