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History is written of those who conquer and conquest. Those who gamble away and win against all odds. History is for winners and losers. History won’t remember he who came in 2nd place.
Wilbur strangled the quill in his grasp as he thought over and over to himself. L’manberg had been won, yes, but it was Tommy who had secured his country, not him. Wilbur knew he should’ve been grateful, did it truly matter who got them in the room as long as he did the talking?
Tommy would be remembered as a hero, a legend. Some street kid who against all odds mustered the courage to challenge one of the mightiest warriors the smp had ever seen. Tommy was a hero, and he deserved all the praise he had gotten.
Wilbur felt himself being forgotten, he wasn’t some down on his luck kid. He was just some pretentious 20 something who lived in a van branded after a questionable meat product.
Wilbur’s people had followed him into war, at the time he assumed it to be that he inspired them. That he truly touched their soul. But after the betrayal of a dear friend he rethought it all.
Perhaps he hadn’t reached into his men and pulled out their potential, perchance they were only adrenaline junkies, high on his self righteous pursuit of “freedom.”
Freedom.
He had started this all in some pursuit of what he called freedom. Tommy looked into his eyes with trust and faith. But was it truly that which he desired? It wasn’t as though him and his friend were restricted in any way. Maybe his cause wasn’t as noble as he first thought.
Maybe all he wanted was the attention.
Maybe he just wanted to feel special.
Maybe… just maybe…
He just wanted to know what it was like to be loved.