the hero never wins

07.09.2025

‘I have just finished reading the Divergent books,’ I declared to Alfonso.

We had not spoken for a short while. He was elsewhere, both physically and mentally. Life events cause ruptures. But not separation. That could not happen with me and Alfonso. He was not like these fair weather friends of convenience that were around you all the time. He was as solid as a stone.

‘I am surprised that you read it.’

‘They have told me that I do not understand women of this generation. I make the attempt.’

‘And what did you understand?’

‘The false narrative. That the hero should and must die for love. In fact, the hero has to live for love. That is what I am doing. Living for the ones that I love. Not for myself.’

‘Any other observations?’

‘That you cannot escape your destiny. She was brought up in a culture of self-sacrifice. So was I.’

‘You confuse yourself for a hero. When this society has you as the villain.’

‘Who is there to believe? Them? Or the dreams of my mother and the dreams of the people?’

‘You hate the people. They are disorderly, mean, grasping, selfish, repugnant in every way.’

‘Yes. But that is all the more reason to fight for them. Because they could be good if they were given a chance.’

‘What do you make of the book, this western story about heroism?’

‘It is the same as the Eastern story in the Indian films. The hero never wins. Do you know the basic story of the Indian action film? Someone in the hero’s family is killed. It is the duty of the hero to get revenge. But even when you get your revenge, do you really win? In the film Sholay, when the Thakur kills the enemy, he weeps afterwards. Because the villain killed his whole family. Even the children. The hero can never win. That is this world. Not just fiction. The hero cannot win. The people that win are the monsters.’

‘What monsters? They are human beings.’

‘They are evil. Those bastards like Trump and Farage, the whole lot of them. That bastard Starmer. All these fucking pieces of shit. They are vermin. If I…’

Alfonso stopped me by raising his hand. ‘Don’t. Think it. Don’t say it. That is the policy that you have to adopt with things. Truth is not to be borne here.’

‘I know it,’ I said. ‘I don’t write stories. Because the real story is that only the evil and the mediocre prosper. The fucking sheep. In a story, the good and the best prosper. And it can only happen in the imagination. Because this world is full of shit. It stinks of it. The stink is fucking everywhere.’