The Weak Rebel's Plea

A yearning.

I want to fight for something. The world is so full of suffering, so full of hatred and destruction and rape and desecration and desperation and ignorance and violence. But what can I fight for? How can I make a difference?

I am a spoiled white child who has never wanted for anything. My entire life has been spent in the lap of luxury, and that luxury has rotted me to the core. The world has treated me with more kindness than I ever did anything to deserve. If there is a God, he has seen fit to make me one of the blessed, and I do not understand why. Perhaps he is enjoying a small joke.

What right do I have to complain? Who would listen to me? I’ve been swaddled in this world, a product of the same systems that for some inexplicable reason raise some while lowering others. How can one who has been spoiled ever be taken seriously by those in suffering? What cause would accept him?

There are many things wrong with the world. I’ve always felt it. As a child, I did nothing because I was too young and too naïve. Now I am older; now I see the world in a harsher light. And yet still I do nothing because I do not know what to do and even if I did I wouldn’t know how to do it. How does one affect change? How does one gain power?

I am the perfect mixture of arrogance and ideals. My youth and inexperience allow me to believe in my own competence, in my ability to assume to mantle of power and use it to shape the world around me.

There have been many like me throughout history. Some never stepped forth, drawing quietly back into the crowd as sensibility and normalcy overcame them. Others did surge to the front, waving their banners high and wearing their courage proudly, but realized their mettle was of a lesser sort and found failure in one way or another.  Still others found their spirit to be of proper strength and succeeded in their assumption of power, much to the horror and general misfortune of all. Only the fourth and rarest group, those who donned the armor of the ruler and conquered the self-monsters birthed from the donning, have enacted true, lasting change on this Earth. The name of the group is HERO.

I crave my mantle, my banner, my badge, my armor, but do not know where to find them or even what they would be made from, for I would have to build them myself. Even if I were to succeed in their construction, they would do me no good. What merit has a warrior, no matter how competent, if he has no battle to fight in?

My weaknesses are many; I do not know if I can overcome them. My pride is terrible; I do not know if I can swallow it. My self-monsters are strong; I do not know if I can defeat them.

Yet still I want to try. I want to fight. Where is the cause I can call my own? Where can I find it? Tell me! Please, before I am crushed under my own mundane weight!