[ WP ] An aging hero visits an old friend for the last time .

A mottled hand, desiccated by time and turmoil, grips the wooden railings. Its owner, stooped and weary, clings on for dear life. The steps have taken their toll on his famished physique. A man that once scaled buildings with the strength of his fingertips, righted vessels at sea with his feet, and fought against the greatest villains that humanity has ever known barely stands on this seventh floor. His destination lies four steps and a corner away, but he does not call for help. This visitation was n't announced. In fact, he's certain that it wo n't be well received. 
 
 Winded, but not yet defeated, the elderly hero ascended once more. With trembling feet and quaking legs, he stood atop the eighth floor and looked down on his accomplishment. Flaring his nostrils with a triumphant, defiant snort, he hobbled towards the residence of his old friend. It was one of the few people left from back then. All the rest had passed on, from time, crime, or something altogether more sinister in his mind. It was n't easy being a hero. It was n't easy being a villain. There was no place for either anymore. They needed to stick together, that much he knew. 
 
 The room was dark as he crept in through the carelessly unlatched door. It was night. He thought it would be easiest to catch him unaware. If things were to turn sour in a hurry, he could use the precious seconds bought from the groggy man to escape. He would need the head-start. Taking a deep breath, the old man steadied his hand as he turned the door knob into what he could only assume was the bedroom. With an open kitchen and laundry room, there were only a couple choices left. As the door opened soundlessly, the hero was proven right as he saw his dear acquaintance sleeping in bed. Sliding up to the edge of the bed, the frail retiree sat upon its edge as the sleeping man awoke with a jolt. 
 
 “ Wha-‽ Who's there‽ ” the startled man shouted into the dark before his eyes adjusted to the shadowy figure that darkened his bedside. “ What is it that you want from me? I have no money, I hardly have any possessions! Please, just leave me be! ” 
 
 “ Oh dear, I was afraid you would n't recognize me, ” the hero replied with a broken voice. 
 
 “ Recognize? I can hardly see a thing in the dark! How did you get in my house, y-you- ” the disgruntled tenant asked as he reached blindly for an old lamp on his bedside. As he pulled the cord with a clink, the room was dimly illuminated as the bulb blinked and hummed. “ I-It-It's you! Why you devil, get out of my house! ” 
 
 “ Is that any way to treat an old friend, Roger? ” the man answered in dismay. 
 
 “ Friend? Friend! Is that what we are now? ” Roger scoffed as his voice raised. “ Some kind of friend you were, Kent! You abandoned us! All of us! Just get out of my house. ” 
 
 “ You ca n't even say my real name, can you? ” he asked. 
 
 “ I would n't spoil my tongue with your name, ” the emboldened man spat. “ If I never saw you again, it'd be too soon. Now, out! Before I call the police! They are better than you ever were. ” 
 
 “ It's a shame what happened to us, to you, ” Kent repented as he lifted himself from the bed. “ We're pretty much the only ones left. Heh. In a few weeks, it'll just be you. Even in the end, I'm leaving you behind I guess. Sorry. ” 
 
 “ What do you mean? ” he asked the retreating senior. 
 
 “ Doc called. She gave me a couple weeks to live. Thought I'd come by and reminisce about our glory days. It's been fun. See you around, Rodge- ” the old man replied as he closed the door behind him. In the stunning silence that was left in his wake, words that the younger Kent had spoken echoed in Roger's head. “ Heroes do n't last forever. It's all got to come to an end someday. ” 
 
 -317
