He was a phantom of mythological proportions. Spoken in hushed, reverent tones, legends of his daring adventures passed from father to son. He was larger than life, strong beyond measure, wiser than all the elders. He was a god.
He was also a lie.
A hero of tall tales whispered to lackadaisical children, he was an ideal to aspire to, yet never attainable.
Generation after generation clung to the fables, yearning toward perfection, toward this paragon of manly virtue.
Until the lie unraveled.
Questions were finally raised. Doubts picked at long-festering grief. The rarefied champion was no deity, only stories of a mere mortal raised to an unreachable pinnacle by lessor beings searching for meaning to their mediocre existence.
The fairytale was laid bare.
Thin spiral notebook 
The penultimate paragraph is a work of art, beautifully crafted and dramatically delivered.
LikeLike
Powerful piece-loved the take:-)Being an optimist,just like you said,I would rather have a fictional “hero” than have the lie revealed-heroes give is hope-a reason to strive to be better and rise higher in life-like they did here:-)
LikeLike
Gods are, more often than not, lies.
LikeLike
Oh we need heros.. but are they for real?
LikeLike
“…a mere mortal raised to an unreachable pinnacle by lessor beings searching for meaning to their mediocre existence.”
What a powerful line! Very thought-provoking piece. Well done. 🙂
LikeLike