Here I am.
Off my high horse. Without the vantage to glare down at the petulant masses. Dirty, rotten sandals replacing the finely crafted leather boots, a mud-soaked tunic clinging to the broken mass that is used to finer silks. I've lost my scales, I can't find the balance. My horse was dying and still my hands cleave to the bloodied sword that brought about my cruel mercy.
It's been a while coming. It started with the shame. Through every battle, every skirmish, my horse kept me safe. I was a mounted knight. Always the one with the higher ground. Above everyone else. I could see their flaws so clearly. I was special. I was more than human. I ruled my own little world and I was better than everything in it.
And through it all, I could have nothing else but my high horse on which I was seated. I would prove just how special I was. I wore the scars of battle proudly, as a testament to one who is fit to sit on such a steed. Yet for all my vantage, I couldn't see what I had become. Then came a misstep. And another. And finally I had to look back at the carnage I had left. And saw what I could never bear to see, and what the stars would be cruel to deign on me again. Those I had hurt from my God-damned high horse. Some who meant the world to me. Some who didn't matter as much. And one whom I had intended to hurt, to mirror the scar embedded on the left side of my chest.
I couldn't believe what I'd become. This was not who I was. This is not who I am. There remains one thing left to do. You don't ride a horse into battle time and again without it becoming a part of you. I swear that I felt the blade carving through flesh as I swung it down towards my horse. And then it was over.
I've thrown down my fine silks and armor. I walk now, a peasant. One of many. Just another weirdo. Another misunderstood soul. The last thing I ever wanted to be and yet everything I was. Human. One of them. This race that I've hated so long for their cruelty and malevolence towards each other. Wretched beings, I cried. But I'm one of them now.
It's different, walking. I feel this is where I was supposed to be all along. I can look people in the eye. Stare into their beautiful eyes stinging with the pain of a thousand hurts as we hold hands and walk together. I'm no better than them. I'm nothing more than just another weirdo. Yet I don't care for my horse, all I want is the chance to look someone in the eye, tell them that I can see their pain and throw my arm around them as we lean on each other down this rugged, beautiful path that we call life.
I'm just another weirdo, and I couldn't be happier.