Post by Jolt on Apr 3, 2007 21:26:02 GMT
From the moment he was concieved until the moment he was born, it was certain that there was little more hope waiting for him in life than there was to a hatchling with wings that were far too small; his fate had been predetermined.
He had his father's face, a gentle curse bestowed upon him by either the hand of God or the forces of nature that so subtly reminded his mother every waking moment of his infancy that there is no escaping grave mistakes. His full head of flaming red hair--an often revered rarity--only ensured the maliciouis temper that raged behind his storming eyes--bright with blue but dark with forboeding. And yet, his body betrayed his strength, small, waxen, and helpless, another strike against him before he'd ever had a chance to cry or breath.
No one could save him from becoming the shadow of his father now, destined to become a bitter chip off the old block that would eternally wallow in a disaster that he'd never been alive for.
His name, at least, gave him some semblance of dignity. Despite his bleak future, his mother named him William, a noble enough title for someone who was certain to fall no further from the tree than a heavy branch. And while his grandparents had no say in what he would be or should become, they refused to let him leave the hospital with his underage mother until his middle epithet was Oedipus.
It was a feeble promise of a legacy beaten into an already stillborn name.
He had his father's face, a gentle curse bestowed upon him by either the hand of God or the forces of nature that so subtly reminded his mother every waking moment of his infancy that there is no escaping grave mistakes. His full head of flaming red hair--an often revered rarity--only ensured the maliciouis temper that raged behind his storming eyes--bright with blue but dark with forboeding. And yet, his body betrayed his strength, small, waxen, and helpless, another strike against him before he'd ever had a chance to cry or breath.
No one could save him from becoming the shadow of his father now, destined to become a bitter chip off the old block that would eternally wallow in a disaster that he'd never been alive for.
His name, at least, gave him some semblance of dignity. Despite his bleak future, his mother named him William, a noble enough title for someone who was certain to fall no further from the tree than a heavy branch. And while his grandparents had no say in what he would be or should become, they refused to let him leave the hospital with his underage mother until his middle epithet was Oedipus.
It was a feeble promise of a legacy beaten into an already stillborn name.
