Anti-Hero - By Sana Qureshi

Written By: Sana Qureshi

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the evocative short story "Anti-Hero," Sana Qureshi takes us on a journey through the complex layers of identity and heroism. As part of Hashtag Kalakar's Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this piece delves into the internal conflicts of perception and reality faced by its protagonist. With a narrative that challenges the traditional notions of heroism, Qureshi invites readers to reflect on the human condition and the weight of societal expectations.

About the Work

"Anti-Hero" explores the tumultuous emotional landscape of a soldier grappling with the dissonance between public accolades and personal guilt. Through vivid imagery and introspective dialogue, the story captures the haunting effects of war and the burden of heroism. The protagonist's struggle with identity and self-worth is depicted with poignant realism, leaving readers to ponder the true cost of valor and the meaning of bravery.

Anti- Hero

Original Submission by Sana Qureshi

Anti-

Hero

Short story

Sana Qureshi

The rusty smell hangs in the air enveloped by four walls of my humble chamber. Grey and concrete. A single light bulb twigs from the roof, blinking every few minutes, or hours or was it every few days? I wouldn’t know. Time doesn’t move here.

I am still. A mountain of a man until avalanche. All by myself contained and secured inside.

A crisp letter slides under the metallic door. I swing it up and tear it open. It is a watercolor drawing of a soldier with a little girl holding his hand. It is signed in crayon with each letter in a different color, ‘PaPa mY HeRoo!’

My thumbs trace the outline of the little girl, Sophie, and the ghost of a man beside her, me. Drops fall on the paper soaking the soldier until he smudges to a darker green. Wiping my face, I find the tears to be mine. I wish I saw myself through her eyes or the eyes of the blind nation. I wish I wasn’t a human.

The national anthem reverberated from the television box. Its antennas buzzing like a cockroach. The bed creaked as I lowered myself.

"Ladies and gentlemen,’ the grainy screen displayed an array of soldiers infront of the stage. The anchor announced, ‘...today we shine a spotlight on a true hero in our midst - Sergeant George Cohen.’ The camera pans to my face, a golden boy with a bruised heart. ‘In a heartfelt ceremony, Sgt. Cohen has been awarded for extraordinary valor and bravery in defense of our nation.’ I watch myself on the stage, sunlight glinting on the medal around my neck. ‘Let us collectively salute this dedicated soldier whose unwavering commitment embodies the heroic attributes of our armed forces."

An imposterous shame spreads through my veins. My fingers tighten around the remote. I change the channel in reflex.

The next channel pans left to a single couch with a woman in a suit and glasses. She is deep in contemplation. Her focused stare is fixed on the screen, with occasional nods and the scratch on her notepad.

The angle pans closer. Her piercing gaze is sharp as if she can see me. Through me and right into my soul. She knows it all.

Lens zoom in closer. Her dark complexion and bewitched eyes watch me with a hint of sympathy. It has locked me in place. I cannot move but her mouth does, ‘How long are you gonna hide in there?’

Chills trickle through my bones. An icy grasp holds me to my place. My fingers twitch on the mattress but the remote is somehow out of reach.

“Come out.’ She soothes. ‘Try George.’

I struggle to shake my head. A bead of sweat trickling across my temple. Where is the remote?

‘You can’t be here forever’

No no no. STOP IT. STOP IT. Her stare softens. The hold loosens and I break free jumping on my feet. I grab the remote and with one sharp swing, I hurl it on the screen.

The woman’s voice distorts into hiccups as the glass shatters into web-like cracks. The remote is stuck between the fangs of the broken screen.

I let out a growl. 'URGHH"

As if reacting to my outbursts, the ground begins to rumble. Walls shake and I fall on my knees. Cracks spread like wines on the bricks. The concrete mortar breaks like bread. Powder falls through the ceiling as the thick wall behind the broken TV falls back like a curtain.

THUD

The white powder floats a thick blanket of fog. I cough through it, fanning it as I find my way out.

The dust clears giving a view to damaged buildings, helicopter rotors cutting through the air, echoed with the deafening staccato of gunfire, each shot a jarring shrill of screams. The heat of the dry land, the pungent smell of death, and the shadows of panic loom above the town.

‘Stopp!!’ an old woman slumps a few paces in front of me. Bodies lay limp, in rot and ruin. Children in school uniforms scatter behind the broken premise, hiding behind it. I twirl around.

Bang!

I spring to cover my ears as the sharp shot rings out. Screams, shrill and desperate, cut through the cacophony. Ringing with the chaos. I start towards the half wall and hide behind it.

Collective boots march from across. I pop up from the top and watch as a few soldiers make their way to the side. The acrid smell of terror laces through my spine. My pulse beating louder than the shots.

The unsettling sobs of children resonate from the same side. Sound of firearms beat after beat after beat after beat after beat.

Silence.

Except for the dissonant beating of my chest.

Boots stamp nearer to the wall I cover behind. I duck myself down.

A static radio buzzes followed by a clipped, "Attack. Execute. No retreat. It's a direct order."

I peep through the cracks. In a pool of blood, the body of an old woman flutters on the ground. Her clothes are soiled, her shoe lay flat on one foot, and her scarf loosened. A young boy crawled up next to her and moaned. He clamps her cheeks, but it falls limp.

Tears draining his face, the boy's gaze catches on the gunman. Color drained from his face. Before he could protest, or beg. The trigger is aimed.

A knot tightens my throat. I spring in panic. I need to help him.

I emerge from the wall and start towards them. They are a few steps away. Nobody notices me yet.

The gunman’s aim is pointed but he doesn’t shoot. As I inch closer, I can see his hands shake.

The static buzzes from his shoulder, ‘"Sergeant George, current location?'. He hesitates. The walkie commands, "Engage hostiles and move to our coordinates, we need firepower. Over."

His form changes into a sharp stillness.

It all turns slow as I march closer. A roar bursts from within me. ‘Noo’. My arm reaches out as I stride towards the gunman.

FIRE FIRE FIRE

Bullets pierce the innocent. As I stumble right in front of the trigger. The tip of the firearm inches from my nose.

I see the man behind it. I see my face. Dead behind his eyes. No more a human, but a weapon. If only he knew, guns shoot two sides.

The chaos of panic. Screams of pain. Bullets falling like rain.

All fade out to a low tune. Each particle of dust hangs in the air. Broken houses, broken dreams, broken bodies, broken souls unite as the sky turns crimson.

‘George, we are so proud..’ a faraway call echoes.

My world shakes before my eyes. I fall to my knees. My palms are bloodied. A gut-wrenching cry escapes me. ‘Noooo….Nooo’ I cover my eyes yet it doesn't erase the boy’s innocent face seconds before his lifeless body lays beside his mother. Spread amongst several other children who woke up that day not knowing it would be their last.

FIRE!

The medal hangs tightly around my neck. It's weight pulling at the strings. I cough and choke grasping to remove it. But it snakes itself around tighter and tighter. Knotting its chains until it becomes a rope hanging from the roof.

‘Sgt. Cohen has been awarded for extraordinary valor and bravery in defense of our nation.’

My breath constricts, and darkness circles the edges of my vision. The last thing I see, before kicking the chair beneath me, is a crumpled paper on the ground, ‘Papa, my hero’.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices and creative expressions. It provides writers and poets an opportunity to share their unique perspectives with a global audience, fostering a community of innovation, inspiration, and literary excellence. The competition embraces a variety of genres, encouraging participants to challenge conventions and explore new narratives.

Thank you, Sana Qureshi, for sharing your powerful short story "Anti-Hero" with us. Your participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 has enriched the dialogue on identity and heroism, offering profound insights into the human experience. We appreciate your contribution and look forward to more of your thought-provoking work.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.