The Qualities of Mankind- and the Lacking

The Lacking

Shouta Aizawa always knew he'd die fighting a losing battle. He knew deep in his bones, in his soul, that he'd never lie down easy, and he thought he deserved it. A fitting end to such a terrible person, he'd muse. Everyone around him would argue, would insist, that he was amazing in his own way, a true hero -a student had called him- but he knew better.

He knew after every nightmare, every flashback, every news story, and every paper. He knew from the recent headstones at the cemeteries, the obituaries, the grieving families and friends. He knew from the crime rates, the death rates, the suicide rates. What he caused and didn't cause. What he affected and didn't affect. What he influenced and didn't influence. He always found fault within himself, and that is perhaps what made him so good at his job.

How could he let his overconfidence, his ego, get in the way, leave him vulnerable, if it didn't exist. If he forever viewed himself as worthless, holding himself accountable, then he'd have no hesitation. He'd be able to make decisions that risked himself, his life, his future. Because he deserved it. He deserved it, and if losing an arm or a leg atoned for the sins of his past and present, he'd do it. Without hesitation, forever without hesitation.

Maybe this thought process is what led to where he is now. Perhaps, viewing himself as disposable for the greater good, is what caused all around him to suffer in pain and grief. He had known realistically, logically, that people cared for him, but how deeply they did, was always questionable.

Shouta Aizawa could tell you anything and everything about a person and their habits, their choices and their responses, all through analysis. What he couldn't tell you, is how they feel, how they truly feel. He would know realistically that they'd be sad or worried if their friend was injured, but he couldn't tell you how strongly, or if they were actually feeling that at all. He couldn't tell you why. And that bothered him.

He knew that no one is perfect, it is impossible to be. He knew that, so why did he force himself to be? To strive towards a state of being impossible to achieve, a forever losing battle. If he was perfect, this wouldn't have happened. If he was perfect, they wouldn't have died. If he was perfect, they'd have lived a little longer. If he was perfect, he'd feel like a living human being, rather than an emotionless weapon with a dwindling purpose to keep him moving. He was a survivor, but not alive.

How could he save everyone, protect everyone, if he was just human? A mere mortal like himself will forever be incapable, unable, to do what he wished, what he begged, to accomplish. A hero saves the day, but never without casualty. He engraved that lesson in his head, carved the words into his skull, and yet, he still fell short. He still strived for a state of being that couldn't be reached. He was a pebble at the bottom of a waterfall, never to reach the top. Never to graze the sky.

Maybe this was why he failed time and time again. Maybe the thought, the pattern, of constant disappointment towards himself blinded him from everything else. He missed the signs, the clues, the warnings. Could he even say it was an accident? Here he sat, alone, in the dark of his small apartment. The walls dim and blank of any touch, any emotion or expression. He was dull, just as his house, as his possessions.

Shouta Aizawa felt empty, felt numb. He was engulfed in a blank space he couldn't escape, or even want to escape. Why should he save himself? Why should he try? Why fight, to win nothing? To prove nothing? Where was the point? He viewed himself objectively, in 3rd person almost. He was a witness through eyes he felt weren't his of the life the body that held his tired soul went through. Words were his but weren't.

He knew, deep down, etched into his soul, that this wasn't how someone should live. He shouldn't feel like a backseat passenger to the life that was driving him far from his values, his purpose, his desires. Did he have desires? He knew, based off of others, off of research, off of his basic understanding of humans and how they live, that he was doing it wrong. What he was doing, wasn't living, wasn't fulfilling, it was simply doing an action because he could. It was chosen for him. Did he even remember why he wanted to be a hero in the first place? Was it to save people? Or was it simply the only job he knew he'd be good at.

How could he be anything different? How couldn't he be anything different? He knew his strengths and weaknesses. He knew what he was capable of and what his skillset was. Was it enough? Weren't humans supposed to strive off? Reach for something to be better at, to be good at. Was exhaustion a daily feeling for everyone? Or was he broken? Was his existence tainted with black? Questions, questions, questions, yet none had an answer. It's okay, he wasn't all that curious anyways. He could survive with curiosity, it'd die out soon enough.

Maybe he didn't need answers. Maybe the things he questioned were worth more than whatever he could offer, even his soul. If he were actually worthy, priced higher than his self-judged amount, then he wouldn't have these questions in the first place. There'd be no answers, for there'd be no inquiries to begin with. These defining statements molded his life, but if they held no form, no weight, neither did he. Maybe that was why he was like this.

Shouta Aizawa was a hollow human being. No soul, no goal, no drive.

He thought (because did he ever really know?) that this was what made him a hero.

How could he be anything but? If he wasn't a good hero, he was nothing.

Maybe he was nothing.

Shouta Aizawa was nothing but a body. No soul, no goal, no drive, and no purpose.