Her Name is Honor
This short story is my personal favorite. I wish I had photographs to compliment it with. When the dust of life settles a little bit I will enlist the help of a model to help me out with that. For now, enjoy reading "Her Name is Honor."
A letter had been given her by the social worker, she remembered, at the beginning of foster care journey. “It is your past, Honor, and you must protect it. Someday it will guide you to a mountain top and this valley you live in now will be under your feet.” She pulled the pages out now, sitting on the sidewalk, bruised and dirty from the street fight she had just won on behalf of girl weighing too much who needed to do something about the clothes she was wearing.
“You do not know us. We are but birth parents who cannot care for you. But you come from a family of strength, Honor. You will find your inner convictions built on the people you come from. In your lineage is a fine and powerful warrior who lived in a fiery world of evil and war. It was built into his heart from the beginning to defeat enemies of heart, mind, and soul, and to serve justice on behalf of his king, his people, and his community. Honor, live thus, and in this power that seems to have skipped generations until landing on you, dearest daughter. You are his heritage, the legend alive. Live it kicking and screaming, and live empowered to serve your community well. The community you find yourself in is your family, your kingdom, and you must protect its virtue while maintaining your own. You are loved, Honor. And you are released to be the warrior.”
Warrior? Indeed. She was, if nothing else, a fighter. As she folded up the torn and grease stained letter, and placed it back in the plastic bag that protected it, her emotions followed the same path as they always did upon finishing the reading of it. Betrayal rose to greet her in the form of tears stinging her eyes. If she were so born to greatness, why did she live like this? Were her parents so cowardly that they could not even hold onto her to raise her up to be so?
A warrior, yes. She knew this. She never backed down from a fight and she would not ever tolerate bullies controlling those they felt less worthy than themselves. Perhaps she did live her name, but not for herself. She defended the honor of those who did not possess the same physical prowess as she.
It was then the officer pulled up, shaking his head, and mumbled at Honor. “Get in the car, girl. You know the drill.” The awkward recipient of Honor’s defense quickly tried to explain to the officer that Honor didn’t start the fight, that she was only defending herself, but the officer held up his hand and told her to go home. Honor slipped into the back seat, waited for the officer to close the door before being chaperoned back into the house of the latest foster parents.
This home was different. They were alerted, of course, that Honor was being picked up. But they were never angry. They watched and coached her in a sort of awed silence, speaking only of the positive aspects of her strength, encouraging her that it was a gift if only she could channel it so. They were strange, religious people who read way too much, in Honor’s opinion, and always had a positive spin on everything. As much as she hated their goodness, she was grateful that she didn’t get hammered by their fists or passed onto the next family. Dinner and a chat (not a lecture, mind you, but a chat) always followed these altercations.
“Yes, officer, we understand. Thank you for bringing her home.” Honor stepped inside the cool house. The mother had the power to bring tears to Honor’s eyes, so rich was the love that seemed to drip from her lips. The father gently guided Honor to a couch where the chatting would begin.
“Honor, do you know that you belong here?” asked the father. The conversation never started this way before. Unsure how to respond, she straightened her back, not fearful but sensing something was going to change. “Am I being moved?” A smile crept onto the faces of the mother and the father. Honor felt confused, and uneasy. “No,” responded the father. “We have a great request of you. You see, we recognize your warrior spirit, and your defense of the weak. You are a defender of your community. You are a young woman of strong conviction. You fight for the right to be, defending the weak, and overcoming the cowardly who lurk in the shadows. You belong here. This is your community.”
Raising one eyebrow, cautiously, Honor replied, “And your request is?”
“Become a member of our community.” The mother, the sweet, meltaway mother, suddenly had a firm voice, making her request known, but speaking so with authority. “Excuse me?” was all that Honor could get to squeak from her lips as her concern and curiosity grew.
“You fight, and together we must tame the fighter to be a warrior, one who will conquer with mental strength as well as physical strength. You love justice, fight for peace, and passionately believe that all are created equal, and you beat it into your opponent if they disrupt this conviction in you. You can lead a revolution of change and equality if you will submit to the training, learning to fight the demons who haunt the community with powers you have yet to develop. We see you as the leader of our community, virtuous, powerful, and dangerous to the enemy. We want to make you our own.” The father spoke with such adamant conviction that for a short moment Honor felt something that resembled fear. But as a smile crept along his face she was soon at ease. They are asking me to join their community.
An old manuscript was pulled from a black trunk with rusted locks, the pages resembling those she carefully protected with a plastic sandwich bag that lived in her pocket. As the father handed it to her, Honor felt her heart both strengthen and weaken at once. “In these pages are the records of your family history, Honor. You are the warrior princess that follows the lineage of a fierce and righteous warrior. It is not an ordinary life you are called to. It is a life of defending your people. It is a life of the fierce battle for what is right. It is a life spent defeating evil. It is the life your teenage self has already begun to establish without knowing why, except that it is what you have been born to.”
“Where did you get this?” asked the girl named Honor. “From a source you do not know, but who knows you well, who will be your foe throughout eternity, but knows, and fears your defeat of them. Arise, Honor, and take these words as a sword, for it is time for you to arise and fight a battle on behalf of your community. Your weapons are stored in the deep recesses of your mind, and will require much control from you. They will be released to your power in the proper time, and you will know how to use them. You possess skill and patience you’ve yet to discover, but you will be your name. It will be the rise of a new community, and you will be its leader. Honor, will you join us?”
The door opened and in came the overweight, ill-dressed girl. “Ah, your sister has arrived.” She knelt at Honor’s side. “Are you joining us, Honor?”
“Yes. YES!” Honor’s vocal response was so powerful and from the depths of her being that she surprised even herself. Jubilant celebration erupted in the room as the community rejoiced at her acceptance. Yet from somewhere in the shadows of the room, Honor was sure she could hear the faintest sound of evil laughter…….
Her Name is Honor
She did not know where she came from. Most of her life had been lived among kids
just like herself, who did not have a place to lay their heads that would ever
be home, really. From foster home to
foster home, the teenager, Honor, had grown hard-hearted, but strong in
spirit. She had learned to protect
justice, while protecting herself emotionally. It was easier to beat up a bully wailing on a stranger than it
was to stand up for herself. She never
could figure out why she was named Honor. Who names their child that? Yet, she was no one’s child. She was a discard. She knew only one small piece of her past,
and she carried it diligently with her everywhere she moved.
A letter had been given her by the social worker, she remembered, at the beginning of foster care journey. “It is your past, Honor, and you must protect it. Someday it will guide you to a mountain top and this valley you live in now will be under your feet.” She pulled the pages out now, sitting on the sidewalk, bruised and dirty from the street fight she had just won on behalf of girl weighing too much who needed to do something about the clothes she was wearing.
“You do not know us. We are but birth parents who cannot care for you. But you come from a family of strength, Honor. You will find your inner convictions built on the people you come from. In your lineage is a fine and powerful warrior who lived in a fiery world of evil and war. It was built into his heart from the beginning to defeat enemies of heart, mind, and soul, and to serve justice on behalf of his king, his people, and his community. Honor, live thus, and in this power that seems to have skipped generations until landing on you, dearest daughter. You are his heritage, the legend alive. Live it kicking and screaming, and live empowered to serve your community well. The community you find yourself in is your family, your kingdom, and you must protect its virtue while maintaining your own. You are loved, Honor. And you are released to be the warrior.”
Warrior? Indeed. She was, if nothing else, a fighter. As she folded up the torn and grease stained letter, and placed it back in the plastic bag that protected it, her emotions followed the same path as they always did upon finishing the reading of it. Betrayal rose to greet her in the form of tears stinging her eyes. If she were so born to greatness, why did she live like this? Were her parents so cowardly that they could not even hold onto her to raise her up to be so?
A warrior, yes. She knew this. She never backed down from a fight and she would not ever tolerate bullies controlling those they felt less worthy than themselves. Perhaps she did live her name, but not for herself. She defended the honor of those who did not possess the same physical prowess as she.
Her combat boots, black hair, tattooed arms, braceleted wrists,
and pierced nose were decorated with dirt from the lot where she waited on the
curb for the police officer who would surely come. She never ran. Why bother? She was going to be escorted back to her foster home and after a good
fight, she was exhausted enough to just wait for them to get here. Sitting beside her was the overweight,
horribly dressed girl she had just defended. “Honor, why do you protect us? You are always getting in trouble. We are used to getting picked on. One of these days they are going to pick you up and not let you ever
come back. You fight for us, end up battled and broken and grounded and
moved. But you always do it making sure
we’re okay.” Honor just looked over at
the girl, gave her a snarly smile, and lit a cigarette before replying “Because
I can.”
It was then the officer pulled up, shaking his head, and mumbled at Honor. “Get in the car, girl. You know the drill.” The awkward recipient of Honor’s defense quickly tried to explain to the officer that Honor didn’t start the fight, that she was only defending herself, but the officer held up his hand and told her to go home. Honor slipped into the back seat, waited for the officer to close the door before being chaperoned back into the house of the latest foster parents.
This home was different. They were alerted, of course, that Honor was being picked up. But they were never angry. They watched and coached her in a sort of awed silence, speaking only of the positive aspects of her strength, encouraging her that it was a gift if only she could channel it so. They were strange, religious people who read way too much, in Honor’s opinion, and always had a positive spin on everything. As much as she hated their goodness, she was grateful that she didn’t get hammered by their fists or passed onto the next family. Dinner and a chat (not a lecture, mind you, but a chat) always followed these altercations.
“Yes, officer, we understand. Thank you for bringing her home.” Honor stepped inside the cool house. The mother had the power to bring tears to Honor’s eyes, so rich was the love that seemed to drip from her lips. The father gently guided Honor to a couch where the chatting would begin.
“Honor, do you know that you belong here?” asked the father. The conversation never started this way before. Unsure how to respond, she straightened her back, not fearful but sensing something was going to change. “Am I being moved?” A smile crept onto the faces of the mother and the father. Honor felt confused, and uneasy. “No,” responded the father. “We have a great request of you. You see, we recognize your warrior spirit, and your defense of the weak. You are a defender of your community. You are a young woman of strong conviction. You fight for the right to be, defending the weak, and overcoming the cowardly who lurk in the shadows. You belong here. This is your community.”
Raising one eyebrow, cautiously, Honor replied, “And your request is?”
“Become a member of our community.” The mother, the sweet, meltaway mother, suddenly had a firm voice, making her request known, but speaking so with authority. “Excuse me?” was all that Honor could get to squeak from her lips as her concern and curiosity grew.
“You fight, and together we must tame the fighter to be a warrior, one who will conquer with mental strength as well as physical strength. You love justice, fight for peace, and passionately believe that all are created equal, and you beat it into your opponent if they disrupt this conviction in you. You can lead a revolution of change and equality if you will submit to the training, learning to fight the demons who haunt the community with powers you have yet to develop. We see you as the leader of our community, virtuous, powerful, and dangerous to the enemy. We want to make you our own.” The father spoke with such adamant conviction that for a short moment Honor felt something that resembled fear. But as a smile crept along his face she was soon at ease. They are asking me to join their community.
An old manuscript was pulled from a black trunk with rusted locks, the pages resembling those she carefully protected with a plastic sandwich bag that lived in her pocket. As the father handed it to her, Honor felt her heart both strengthen and weaken at once. “In these pages are the records of your family history, Honor. You are the warrior princess that follows the lineage of a fierce and righteous warrior. It is not an ordinary life you are called to. It is a life of defending your people. It is a life of the fierce battle for what is right. It is a life spent defeating evil. It is the life your teenage self has already begun to establish without knowing why, except that it is what you have been born to.”
“Where did you get this?” asked the girl named Honor. “From a source you do not know, but who knows you well, who will be your foe throughout eternity, but knows, and fears your defeat of them. Arise, Honor, and take these words as a sword, for it is time for you to arise and fight a battle on behalf of your community. Your weapons are stored in the deep recesses of your mind, and will require much control from you. They will be released to your power in the proper time, and you will know how to use them. You possess skill and patience you’ve yet to discover, but you will be your name. It will be the rise of a new community, and you will be its leader. Honor, will you join us?”
The door opened and in came the overweight, ill-dressed girl. “Ah, your sister has arrived.” She knelt at Honor’s side. “Are you joining us, Honor?”
“Yes. YES!” Honor’s vocal response was so powerful and from the depths of her being that she surprised even herself. Jubilant celebration erupted in the room as the community rejoiced at her acceptance. Yet from somewhere in the shadows of the room, Honor was sure she could hear the faintest sound of evil laughter…….
Comments
Post a Comment