I wrote this on a whim of insomnia while listening to the 500 Days Of Summer soundtrack. I know I said I'd be writing a comedy in the near future (I said that about a year ago), but I've gotten sidetracked.

Enjoy? Feedback appreciated!

I'm the hero of this story, I don't need to be saved.

That's what I keep telling myself, at least.

I don't want to say that I'm hopeless, but I would definitely say that I'm getting there. I'm told, by the various self-improvement books that I've read in the past year, that it is helpful to have a mantra. It's a phrase that you tell yourself all the time, and apparently one day you'll have a revelation and start believing it.

So, I chose that one.

"I'm the hero of this story, I don't need to be saved," I say every morning, having a staring contest with myself in the bathroom mirror.

I have this vision. I picture myself as a knight in shining armor.

I try, to, at least, but something is missing.

My armor is cracked, and I have no shield. I'm defenseless, and I'm being attacked by a slew of various monsters-- my lack of a job, followed by my rent money, followed by my overwhelming loneliness... Collectively, we'll just call these monsters 'Life'.

I used to use the mental image of myself as a knight as a supplement to the mantra, but when it clearly just made things worse, I stopped.

I used to have the same horrible nightmare every night-- that I was jobless, all my friends had left me, and I couldn't even find a steady girlfriend. I woke up every morning finding reality to be more and more like that dream with each passing day.

So, I never sleep anymore. To attempt it is a waste of time.

Every night's the same. I spend each night in solitude. I sit on the edge of my bed in complete darkness, staring out my window, letting the light of the moon cast a moody shadow over me. I spend every night thinking of the same things:

Maya Fey.

Miles Edgeworth.

Death.

How that month's electric bill is going to be payed.

In that order.

No one gets through life without tragedy. That is a given. That, I know. Some people go through their whole lives without happiness. That is pretty sad.

I think it's sadder to have had happiness and to lose it. To have had a taste of ultimate satisfaction in life-- great friends, a good job, moderate recognition for some noble efforts... and to have everything taken away.

I'm not saying that everything was taken away from me when I was stripped of my attorney's badge. I mean, I do still have my health. My apartment. I guess if we're really trying to be optimistic, I still have all the lawyerly knowledge that I had back when I actually was a lawyer.

But what good is health if one has no reason to get up in the morning?

What good is an apartment if one has no friends to invite over?

And, certainly, the knowledge of a thousand textbooks is worthless if one has nowhere to demonstrate it.

Now that I can't practice law anymore, and have lost touch with all of my close friends, it doesn't really seem worth it to take care of myself.

I tell myself that I don't need help-- in vain, of course. My belief in myself is tissue thin. I'm wasting away.

Repeat the mantra, I tell myself, and everything will be okay:

I'm the hero of this story, I don't need to be saved.

I know it isn't true. But it keeps my mind off death, and on how my electric bill is going to be paid.

Every night's the same. I spend each night in solitude. And I repeat that damn mantra until the words don't make sense anymore.

I can't live like this.

...

I hear a knock at the door. My bedroom door. I jump-- for a moment, I forget that there is someone else living with me.

I seem to forget that every night, I guess.

I compose myself, wiping the moisture out of my eyes. (Not tears, exactly. I never let myself cry. I let the salty water well up in my eyes until it stings. And I let it stay there.) I blink.

"Come in," I say hoarsely. Still sitting at the edge of my bed, I turn around to face the doorway.

A little girl slowly opens the door. An eight year old little girl, with round eyes and short, disheveled brown hair. Trucy.

A little girl whose mother was killed in a freak accident. Whose father abandoned her and left her with me-- a complete stranger.

She stands there for a moment, her trembling hands clutching a blanket to her chest.

She looks like she is about to cry. She doesn't normally cry.

"Trucy," I say, "What's wrong?"

I'm not sure why I ask. If I were her, I'd be crying all the time. The fact that she never sheds a tear in my presence, and now suddenly bursts into my room red-eyed worries me. I turn around completely, patting the bed, inviting her to sit down next to me. She meekly shuffles over, climbs onto the bed, and sits.

"Nightmare," she pouts.

"Me too," I sigh, putting a strong arm around her.

Silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"Not really," she sniffs. I feel her quivering against my side as she leans in. "It's too sad to talk about."

"Are you sure?"

"Well... in the dream... I woke up and I was all alone. In this strange, scary room..."

She breathes in, and exhales loudly. I can tell she's shaken up.

"I don't wanna be alone..."

Her lip trembles.

"Trucy... don't cry."

She tries not to. She's trying really, really hard.

I look her in the eye, "I'm sorry you had such a bad dream. The nightmare is over. None of that will ever really happen."

"How do you know?"

Well, I guess no one ever really knows.

And, actually, it could happen-- I mean, look at me. Completely alone, in a strange, lonely apartment...

Although, I am never really alone. I have Trucy. A little girl.

A daughter of sorts.

A daughter that relies on me to take care of her, and to be brave in spite of the nightmares and loneliness.

In spite of that league of 'monsters' I've sarcastically started calling 'Life'.

I smile a little, trying to comfort the girl; "There's no way I'd ever let you get trapped in some strange, scary room all by yourself."

Trucy smiles thinly. "Thank you, Daddy, but... I still feel alone sometimes."

She flops over on her stomach, burying her face into my array of blankets and pillows.

I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to get her attention. I see her breathing growing heavier as she tries to calm down.

Finally, after a few minutes, she turns around to face me. Wrapping herself in my blanket, she chokes, "Sorry."

Her eyes sparkle with moisture.

I can tell she's trying to be brave, but it's breaking my heart.

"You don't have to be brave," I whisper, "That's my job."

She sniffles, turning over. Before I can say anything, she places her head gently in my lap and shuts her eyes in exhaustion.

We sit in silence for a while. I never know quite what to say to Trucy. There is a clear, definite line between 'parent' and 'guardian', and I never know which side I'm supposed to be on.

But I say, "If you ever feel alone, just remember that you have me. Call on me, and I'll do anything. Really."

She sighs, underneath the thick layer of blankets. "Thank you..."

I brush my fingers though her hair for a minute.

"You're all I have, too, you know..."

I wait for a response, but I can tell by her heavy breaths that she has already fallen back asleep.

Sometimes I forget that I'm a father. Not everything is about me, now. She needs my help more than I need anyone else's help.

I'm the hero of this story. I don't need to be saved.

She does.

I was saved the moment I took her in my arms. In my care. She saved me from being completely isolated from humanity. Though I didn't believe it, that phrase I'd been repeating every night turned out to be right all along.

Sure, I still have to worry about how that electric bill is going to get paid. I still have to wonder what happened to all of my friends. I'll never be able to let that go.

I still have my own inner demons to battle.

With little Trucy as my shield, though, the monsters seem a little less daunting.

Maybe I can be a knight in shining armor, after all.