The Secrets Within Pages

Was He a Hero?

Golden rays paint the lecture hall, as students bathe in its warmth. I peer at the grandfather clock that hasn't moved in what feels like years since attending Oxford. Professor. Osborne's lessons had been losing there once great reputation. A room once teeming with students was now a desolate ghost-land of a mere three, one of which was asleep, behind her very discreet textbook.

"Wouldn't you agree, Miss.Burroughs?" He asked, the annoyance that laced his voice pulling me out of the trance I was in.

"Pardon me, sir?" I replied, shamefully.

A sigh filled the air but before he could speak, another male voice spoke.

"Was Othello a hero after all?" He questioned, his brown eyes unnervingly focused on me as I took in a deep breath to recenter myself.

Was Othello a hero after all?

He neglected to recognise the very insecurities that were eroding him from the inside, became a fool to a malevolent villian who destroyed the lives of everyone around him and killed the one person that loved him the most in the world and still remained loyal to him even on her deathbed.

And yet?

"Yes. Yes, he was a hero." I exclaimed returning to look at professor Osbourne, who smiled proudly.

"And why do you say that?"

"Because he realised his faults and admitted to them. He felt remorse, he regretted everything albeit late but he became aware of his wrongdoings."

"Yet nothing changed. He still murdered his wife, Roderigo still died, as did Emilia. He committed suicide. So did anything really change? Did it really not strengthen the fact that he was just a lucky man in a strong position that he really wasn't built for?" I turn to that raspy, eloquent  voice. 

Those brown eyes.

Professor Osbourne eyes us both, sitting at his seat I assume preparing for a show.

"He wasn't built for it. But his guilt redeemed him, it set him apart from Iago, whose malice and inhumanity ruined everyone, and yet he felt nothing. That's why the play is called 'Othello', that's why he is the hero. A tragic one. But a hero nonetheless."

His silence, reply enough.

I hate the way he looks at me now. As though he's studying me like the plays we do in class. Like im a piece of literature he is trying to understand.

I don't like how his gaze exposes me.

A smile tugs at the corners of that wise old man.

"Brilliant discussion you two, I expect that essay soon" He says dismissing us.