What Makes a Hero

It wasn't until I felt myself slipping away that I started to fight. I thought of everyone and everything I was leaving behind, and suddenly, I didn't want to go. Maybe I would finally see Mom and Dad again, but I had so much to live for: Dinah, the League, Star City. The pain of never hearing Dinah laugh again or see her blinding smile was almost as bad as the final blow I'd been dealt that left me lying here as the life drained out of my body.

I wondered who would cry at my funeral. I smiled wryly at the thought of the old bat sobbing his eyes out over my death, but sobered up quickly as my thoughts drifted to Black Canary again. God, I'd miss her. I'd miss everything about her: her eyes, her laugh, her smile, the way she flicked her hair off her shoulder, her cocky little strut, even her piercing Canary Cry that had almost left me deaf on several occasions. At least my last moments were happy, as I remembered every single thing about her.

But my last thought made me want to cry:

I didn't even get to tell her I loved her.



Everybody dies. Even the best, even the young, even the heroes. Funny thing is, no one asks how or why they died. What did they die for? To save a loved one? A stranger? The world?

But in the end, I guess it doesn't really matter. They made a difference, they saved lives, and they changed the world.

That's what makes a hero.