Tales of an Extra: The Hero No One Expected

I had a perfectly ordinary life once, but everything changed that one evening. Fate can be a funny thing sometimes—just as we begin to accept things as they are, something suddenly comes our way to change our life in ways we never expected. The hardest part is always the change. Something similar happened to me once too. It all started when I was around 10 years old, and my perception of the world was still naïve, shaped by the views of my parents and society.

On a completely normal summer afternoon, I was playing by myself in an alleyway. The alley wasn't particularly dangerous because it was close to an old man's house that my folks knew. He was a grumpy guy and would always scold me for playing in front of the deserted alley whenever he went out and saw me there. I loved playing there alone and would always try to replicate the things I saw on TV shows. That afternoon, I was trying to mimic a kick I had seen in a cartoon. I kicked a tennis ball, and had it bounce back to me so I could kick it again. I was so engrossed in it that I completely lost track of time, and by the time I was done, twilight had appeared. My mother would always scold me when I returned after dark, as it wasn't safe, especially considering I was playing in an alleyway. The day continued like any other, with the sun low in the sky, casting long shadows across the path home.

As I was making my way back, I saw him. He was sitting alone on a bench under the old oak tree, his long white beard flowing down like a cascade of snow. His clothes were tattered, and the first thing that struck me was how out of place he looked. He wore a long, faded robe that might have once been a deep blue, but now it was a patchwork of grays and browns, frayed at the edges. His robe was cinched at the waist with a thin leather belt, and underneath, I could just make out a simple tunic that was equally worn. His sandals were barely holding together, the straps weathered and cracked from years of wear. Due to the fading light, all I could see was his robe, but for a moment, I thought I saw a shimmer, as though a different set of clothes overlapped with his—a shimmering cloak that seemed to blend with the twilight. I quickly dismissed it as a figment of my imagination. I was curious but wary, so I decided to walk quietly past him. It wasn't every day you saw someone who looked like they'd stepped out of a storybook.

"Hello," he called out. I panicked and grew more wary, so I pretended not to hear him and quickened my pace. My instinct warned me not to get involved with this old man, plus my mother's warning about not talking to strangers unnecessarily echoed in my mind.

Seeing that I had quickened my pace, the old man slowly rose from the bench, his movements surprisingly fluid for someone who looked so frail. The bench creaked under his weight as he straightened up, and for a moment, he seemed taller than I had imagined, as though he carried some invisible weight that only became apparent when he stood. His eyes, though framed by deep wrinkles, were sharp and piercing, locking onto me with an intensity that made my heart race.

"May I talk to you, young one?" he asked, stepping forward. The way he moved, with deliberate grace, made it hard to believe he was as old as he appeared.

I was shocked. Who uses the phrase "young one" nowadays? But strangely enough, my wariness began to lessen. I stopped a few paces away from him and looked at him. In situations like these, a saying always comes to mind: "Hope for the best in your heart and prepare for the worst in your mind." So, I steeled myself for anything that might come my way.

The man looked up, and I noticed a clear sense of recognition flashing in his eyes. I was surprised by how bright and knowing his eyes were. "You have seen hardship and betrayal, it seems, young one, but do not be wary. I bring you no harm."

My heart skipped a beat, but I waited for him to continue. I had painfully learned from experience that people sometimes say things to lower your guard and strike when you're most vulnerable. My doubts stemmed from my own experiences, and I was still a kid back then, not completely able to hide my emotions as adults do.

"It seems you are still wary of me and will not trust me," the old man said, his voice tinged with a weary understanding. His smile was thin, the kind of smile that felt final, as if it were a farewell in itself. The more I looked at him, the more I noticed how pale he had become, almost ghostly, as if he might vanish at any moment. The edges of his figure seemed to blur, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I could see the light around him struggling to keep him solid, as though he were fading from existence.

"There's something you need to know," he continued, his voice growing softer yet more urgent. "Something very important. But it seems you're too young to understand or fully comprehend what I'm about to say."

I bristled at his words. 'Why do people keep treating me like that?' I thought, feeling a pang of frustration. "I'm not that young; I can understand what you're saying. If you have something to say, then out with it. Besides, I think you need to rest—you don't look so good."

He chuckled softly, the sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. "Thank you for your concern, young one, but I have come from a very far place in search of hope for my homeland."