“And alone we go, every man, under the dark web of night and cold light to find something worthy to do. Sometimes it calls to us, like some odd fire in the sky, and we must go to it and find out why it calls. We don’t want to listen but we must listen because it has a truth to share. Who are we, who were we? We are strangers to ourselves. Once we were warriors and once, we were men.
Where is this foreign voice coming from, what is this odd light? We must rise from our silent seat and go to it. We go by foot or car or bike, or ride shotgun but there aren’t any conversations. How do we get there, from where did we get there? We pass the same clubs and
barbershops, the same gas stations and the same hundred men standing without purpose. Each head turns and we swear they look just like us. Trapped in some dreamtime we pass rubble, and market stalls, poppy fields and sand. We raise our arms and wave our hands but no one waves back.
Cold lights continually pass through our window. We’ve seen them before a hundred nights in a row. Those who come back come back alone, with their hands empty. They never really searched. They say, “I looked! We’ll come back. We’ll do this again another night, and another night.”
Those who search want to find the faces they don’t remember, of the people who once loved them and likely still do but time has come and washed that hope away. We wait for it to strike us; we hope that it will strike us in a way that nothing ever has before so we’ll wait over and
over again. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end for heroes is it? Life like some odd fire in the sky beckons us. We must go to it or stay in our gloom. Flashes of life call to us, and we must fly to it or continue to bleed inside our room.”
from the book We Fight Monsters.