A lot of stories are told by people who are smart, or brave.
I’m neither, but I have a story to tell, though it’s not my own.
Jean, Jean, how can I tell your story without making you a hero draped in robes of silver and crowned with a halo of gold? How can I describe you without lighting on your wide, open smile or your crazy red hair? Why did you insist that you were not the lion in your true name?
If you were here now, you would tell me, “Bella, get to the point!”, just as if I were chattering on about the new flavor of ice cream at Uppy’s. I’ll try, Jean, I’ll try.
Jean, I hope you remember that day. You said, before you died, that you didn’t recall it. Maybe now that you’re in heaven, you can commit it to memory?
It was when you were twelve, and I was nine.
Do you remember the playground, or even the names of the people you pushed away from me? It was Skip Playground, the one with the merry-go-round that the bigger kids would push their little siblings on. The merry-go-round is gone now, but I hope you remember the pattern of colors.
That day, I was sitting, watching the merry-go-round’s blur of wonderful colors, wishing with all my heart to get on. I’ve never had any siblings, let alone an older one, so there was no way I could get onto that whirling article of playground envy.
There were two older siblings, both with hair like dirt and demonic smiles. Do you remember Alison and Dave? They moved away when I was thirteen.
They found me with my legs drawn up to my chin, staring wistfully at the merry-go-round.
“Do you want to get on the ‘round? Do ya, punk?” Alison asked, cracking her knuckles menacingly. Here, Jean, you would start laughing. It was pretty childish, them with their weak adolescent imitation. But I was immature, too, and nodded, thinking this was a chance to finally join the ranks of those on the merry-go-round, as an equal.
Jean, you know I’m so dense. You would always say I wasn’t- but I’m still so stupid. Without you, I-
No, Bella, you would say, tell the story. I’m listening.
When I had nodded, they both began to advance even closer, their shadows falling on my frightened features. Alison had only just kicked me and Dave had only just grabbed my hair when you shouted, “No! Stop!”, from across the playground, and ran to my rescue.
You scared Alison and Dave off with one glare, but that was even more frightening to me. I’m such a mouse, Jean. You knelt over me and smoothed my lank hair down where Dave had rumpled it up and wiped the tears that had started to fall down my face.
“You OK?” you asked soothingly, giving me a hug. “They’re such jerks. I go to class with Dave, and he’s always picking on somebody.”
“Who are you?” I had asked, once you’d released your hug.
“Leo Jean Fritjof, but everybody calls me Jean,” you’d said, smiling.
“Why?” I’d asked.
“Well, Leo is a name for someone who’s brave,” you’d explained. “And I’m not all that brave, nor lionlike, which is the name’s root. And I don’t believe in that zodiac stuff, either.”
Ah, from then on, I was practically worshipping the ground you’d walked on. I hung around at your bus stop, waiting for you to get off and I’d follow you home, just to be around someone so great as to save a little mouse-child from bullies.
You never minded, did you, Jean? Even as I grew older, you were still my hero, helping me out with school or just giving me good advice. And all the time, you’d be smiling.
I remember, once, when I was almost stalking you, I heard one of his friends saying, “Jeez, Jean, doesn’t that little brat EVER stop following you around?”
“Oh, lay off, Mark.” I heard you reply, “She’s a sweet kid, and I’m her only friend.”
That was my first clue, but I never cared. I had my eyes fixed on a shining hero, one who didn’t find me to be an odd child or a bother. You would take me to the ice-cream parlor, or talk to me about the books you were reading –tell me, have you met Huck Finn, yet, up there?- or explained puzzling people to me. Sometimes we would stay out and you would catch fireflies for me, and we would watch them crawl over our palms. You were really my guardian angel, Jean.
And because of me, you’re gone.
It happened only last month.
That morning…I’m so sorry, Jean.
You had told me to stop following him around, as it was giving people the wrong ideas.
Before I could ask what you’d meant, you’d left.
I went through the rest of the day in a daze, trying to figure out what you’d meant. Oh, Jean, I’m so stupid, no wonder you wanted to get rid of me.
It was at the intersection of Cherry and Peach. My air-headedness had reached its peak for that day, and I crossed the street without waiting for the light to change.
Who can fully explain the terror of being hit by a car? The whirling lights, the screeching tires, the screaming pedestrians.
I looked up from my lulled thoughts and saw a bright blue car heading right for me.
I gazed at the headlights, dim perception in my head. The cement had hardened my feet to the road, and I was powerless to move in the few seconds that stood between myself and death.
And suddenly, Jean, you pushed me out of the way. The look on your face as I turned around, mid-fall. The concern for your charge- me. Jean, Jean.
Why did you always say that you weren’t brave enough to bear the name Leo? You are my guardian angel, my friend, the lion.
As the car hit you, everything I saw was thrown into incredible detail- the different rocks set into the pavement, the faces of those people who were frantically dialing 9-1-1 into their cellphones, and the look on your face, Jean.
It had hit you in the side, hard, and then kept on driving. I remember screaming horribly and running to embrace your limp form.
“Jean, Jean!” I’d sobbed, like the idiot I am. “Leo! Leo the brave!”
You’d opened your eyes, clouded, for the first time, and your lips twitched in a shadow of your former grin.
And then I lost you.
Oh, Leo, Jean. Your coat of arms is the lion.
Despite your words.
___________
I was thinking earlier about how the hero of the story is not necessarily the viewpoint char.
And this little story came into being. I don't think I did a very good job- too short.
But whatever.
~Sumi
PS I'm grounded, you might not see a lot of me for a while. 
I haven't cried in a long time Sumi, this is so beautiful. Really, your title is what intrigued me from the beginning but the way you wrote this was like poetry in every form of the word. All of the mistakes have been pointed out, but wow!! I really loved this.
Keep writing,
Angel 
Hey, Sumi! Since I'm gonna be working with this for a while, I decided to tell you exactly how I felt about it.
*This might be long*
A lot of stories are told by people who are smart, or brave.
I’m neither, but I have a story to tell, though it’s not my own.
I'm neither, but I have a story, though it's not my own.
Jean, Jean, how can I tell your story without making you a hero draped in robes of silver and crowned with a halo of gold? How can I describe you without lighting on your wide, open smile or your crazy red hair? Why did you insist that you were not the lion in your true name?
If you were here now, you would tell me, “Bella, get to the point!”, just as if I were chattering on about the new flavor of ice cream at Uppy’s. I’ll try, Jean, I’ll try.
Jean, I hope you remember that day. You said, before you died, that you didn’t recall it. Maybe now that you’re in heaven, you can commit it to memory?
Wonderful. No complaints here. It was when you were twelve, and I was nine.
Do you remember the playground, or even the names of the people you pushed away from me? It was Skip Playground, the one with the merry-go-round that the bigger kids would push their little siblings on. The merry-go-round is gone now, but I hope you remember the pattern of colors.
That day, I was sitting, watching the merry-go-round’s blur of wonderful colors, wishing with all my heart to get on. I’ve never had any siblings, let alone an older one, so there was no way I could get onto that whirling article of playground envy.
You are a wonderful writer.“You OK?” you asked soothingly, giving me a hug. “They’re such jerks. I go to class with Dave, and he’s always picking on somebody.”
“Well, Leo is a name for someone who’s brave,” you’d explained. “And I’m not all that brave, nor lionlike, which is the name’s root. And I don’t believe in that zodiac stuff, either.”
I went through the rest of the day in a daze, trying to figure out what you’d meant. Oh, Jean, I’m so stupid, no wonder you wanted to get rid of me.
is was good, but some of it was a little awkward...no time for a long edit here, but i liked it. really good, Sumi
Teh Wozzinator
(btw, eventually i'll hopefully get around to going with a good edit, but this was a little hard)
Yet another who followed Ari's sig-link. 
There isn't anything for me to rip apart here - everyone else has dunnit, and there wasn't much to start with. This was a great piece; not too soppy, but emotional. The description of the car hit-and-run was drawn out nicely, not rushed.
The only thing was that I went through the whole thing thinking that Jean was a girl. It wasn't until I saw the other comments that I realised that she was a he. 
...yeah, this style's hard to work in. ^_^ Thanks for reviewing!
(As said in the actual story-post, I mentioned that it wasn't long enough. 
)
Eventually I'll re-write it with your suggestions (Excellent review, by the way; I give you an A. ) and lengthen it. When I get around to editing and re-writing all my other flashfics, short stories, et cetera. when it snows in hell. That's when I'll get my lazy butt up to do it. XD
Thanks again! I'll edit the story file when I can get to the actual computer. XD
sumi
Hello! I followed the link in Areida's signature to get to this...please don't be intimidated by the length of my review! I'm just trying to help.
It's a nice story. I was not floored by the execution of it, but you build the idea that Bella views Jean as her hero very well. In fact, that aspect is the story's saving grace. However, I don't think you spent enough time recalling their actual interactions. If the reader were able to see how they interacted, the fact that he jumped in front of a car for her may have been more powerful.
I agree with Snoink wholeheartedly on the beginning. It's a lovely way to open a story, but it doesn't fit. If Jean were to die due to Bella's lack of bravery or smarts, it would have. But he doesn't.
You have consistently good grammar throughout, and for that I applaud you! I do have a couple of suggestions that I don't think others have caught.
The first suggestion I have is to use the passive voice less. The passive voice is the use of "be verbs" like am, are, is, were, etc. instead of more effective verbs. I've used it throughout my review. It is difficult to revise and make a conscience effort not to use them, but trust me, your writing will reap the benefits.
Alison had only just kicked me and Dave had only just grabbed my hair when you shouted, “No! Stop!”, from across the playground, and ran to my rescue.
It should be: "You had told me to stop following YOU around, as it was giving people the wrong IDEA." You do a good job of using second person, it's very effective in the story, but you slip up here and one other time that I caught:You had told me to stop following him around, as it was giving people the wrong ideas.
Again, it should be "YOUR charge..." not "his."And suddenly, Jean, you pushed me out of the way. The look on your face as I turned around, mid-fall. The concern for his charge- me. Jean, Jean.
Oh, wow, I really liked this.
I used to be a complete sucker for this kind of stuff, but after I got off a "Chicken Soup for the Soul" binge I got kind of cynical about stories like this. I thought at first that the repetition of Jean's name would be annoying, but it was absolutely perfect for the piece, as well as throwing in the little lines that he said, such as telling the narrator to go on, to finish the story.
Also, sometimes a narrator talking about how stupid and how much of an outcast they are can be really annoying, but here you pulled it off beautifully. I also appreciated that though we knew Jean was going to die pretty much from the beginning, we didn't know how it was going to happen, and you didn't use a ton of heavy-handed foreshadowing. The point was not that he died; the point was that he was brave, and good, and something really special. I think you did a beautiful job of communicating that here.
Lovely work.
I like it, and i love it. You know how bad I am at spelling so i cannot comment on that, but the rest was great. I absolutly loved the story. I mean it was ecxellent.
A few specific points first...
the one with the merry-go-round that the bigger kids would push their little siblings on. [I think this would sound better as 'the one with the merry-go[round where the bigger kids would push their younger siblings round.]
smoothed my lank hair down where Davy had rumpled it up and wiped the tears that had started to fall down my face. [Did you mean to put Davy? Only you've referred to him as Dave until this point and Davy suggests a familiar or fond relationship.]
I heard one of his friends saying [I agree that this needs to be your rather than his.]
or explained puzzling people to me. [You change tense mid sentence here. It should be 'or explain...']
the one that I had always ran towards [Perhaps who rather than that?]
You [s]had[/s] told me to stop following him around, as it was giving people the wrong ideas.
________________
In general, I thought it was very interesting to use a view point like this but don't go off track so often. The first two times, where you have the comments from Jean, are good because they show you a glimpse of Jean's character but after that try to stick to the story. Basically, cut the parts Snoink suggested though I don't mind those first two lines so much. Anyway, it's well written, enjoyable and throughout the whole piece I was wondering how Jean died so well done!
Still, the lovely thing about this piece is it doesn't rely on the gender of Jean.
(And yes, I thought Jean was a girl too, lol.)
Found something else...
Jean, I hope you remember that day. You said, before you died, that you didn’t recall it. Maybe now, that you’re in heaven, you can commit it to memory?
Whoopses. This style is hard to write in. Thanks, Tin! ^^ Your nitpicks always make me slap my palm against my forehead.
Jean is a GUY.
The name Leo is male, though the female form of the name is Leondra or Leondara- two of my favorites
Thanks, guys.
~Darth Sumi
Oh Sumi, I really liked this ^^
It was pretty childish, them with their week adolescent imitation.
You had told me to stop following him around, as it was giving people the wrong ideas.
Thanks, Snoink! 'Preciate it.
Oopses.
>_> I forgot to put the rest of Jean's dialogue in italics, but I also like the idea of the narrator (Bella) in italics....
I'll also go along with your suggestions...when I can get to that comp, that is. :glares at brother:
Anyway, thanks, Snoink!
~Sumi
Ooooh... I liked this.
I liked the beginning, but it didn't really fit. So I would delete this:
A lot of stories are told by people who are smart, or brave.
I’m neither, but I have a story to tell, though it’s not my own.
It happened only last month.
Only last month, Jean, and yet my glowing beacon, the one that I had always ran towards, is gone, leaving me to grope my way through the dark.
Even as we were three grades apart in high school, I never gave up on believing in you as my hero.
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