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I never told anyone what happened the day I watched someone fall. Metaphorically or physically? It could be both. The fall of leadership, respect, something great. The rise of self hatred, loathing, something terrible. It was a beautiful sight. I daresay I'm one to thrive on calamities and defeat; I'd be right up there at the forefront in the event of human kind's destruction, laughing and taking note.

He fell with an elegant air of grace disguising the humiliation and betrayal. It was any hero's nightmare. Did his back hurt the knife? Very good question. It broke it. He was struck that bad with the very political blade he forged with his own bare hands. Like most leaders, he never saw it coming. He was ignorant in that sense. Thought that the many people he had learnt to trust would never let him fail. He was wrong.

He stood up on that tower, arms raised, voice penetrating the hearts of everyone listening. It's a pity that such a charismatic being would be no more. He could have been great. But once the tip of that knife touched him, it took everything away from him. He fell from that tower and trampling feet never let him get back up.

He let his powers falter, never used them again to help anyone but himself. I suppose this is how superheros turn against themselves into supervillians, isn't it?

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submitted at 11:45pm

5 June 2011