How Could You Be So Heartless?
Truthfully, my family believes I’m heartless. But being born as a human, I know for a fact that is indeed an impossible scenario. To be heartless, you would have to be robotic with zero ounce of humanity or emotions in you. So for that reason in my case, I cannot be heartless. I just conceal my heart, never letting others touch its surface of influence.
A time back when this had yet to be inspired, I had heard that family was a type of non biased group of individuals that you could take for granted to love and support you, and would never turn their backs on you. But how come my family is not that way? They claim that I am a stain in their perfectness. So I am removed, getting locked away in the basement. It is not as glamorous as a dungeon like the ones you hear about in tales, but it was still sufficient. Locking me away. My prison.
At the simple age of four I was labeled as a cursed child, simply because I enjoyed bending shadows against the pale sunlight. A bad omen. For this reason I think it is either an ironic action of idiocy that was caused by my parents, or some unknown poetic justice, that I was give the name Chrysaor. The legendary name of the famed hero, also given the alias ‘the golden boy’ in the old greek myths. It still amazes me that I was given this name as I appeared to be the opposite of the famed hero. As well as the opposite sex, yet they locked me away. I had given up all other emotion besides the stoic loneliness that always surrounded me. As well of giving up the cursed hero’s name.
The only other ones who were aware of my presence outside of my supposed family were the servants who worked for them. The only one who dared approach me, the cursed child, and engage in conversation, the first to acknowledge my existence was a boy at least eight years my junior. His name he never told, but he did leave me a mark. In a way I would never forget him, he was the one. The only one who saw me or rather that I had emotions, they were just hidden away from prying eyes. He did ask me once why? I was unable to answer. How do you tell a stranger, who wasn’t a quite a stranger the reason behind your feelings. At that time I was unable to put the words to my words and speak what I had been wanting to say all that time to that boy. I wonder what I would say now if I could hear his voice, hear the odd way of his phrasing the words and the pronunciation of the sentence.
They call it abomination but the truth is I am not the only abnormal in the treacherous world. They claim adulthood is when your blind eyes tell lies to the prying in ears that are listening in which is in fact wrong. Accusation. Adulthood is when the truth bleeds, and you are forced to stop caring for others in order to survive. Some call this adulthood, I call it honesty. Others call me blunt.
He had gone, the boy with no name, but that wasn’t much of a surprised once the news got out, they thought he had been cursed as well. I had stayed now left alone, and nothing else changed. I was locked up with a fading promise - my only hope in breaking free of this cursed fade of entrapment. A promise from a boy who was now gone, the only one who would give me some company. Nothing changed months turn years and still I waited.
My only glimpse of outside of the world being the slightly cracked window at the top of my chamber -my only glances of the world. And right when the summer and winter just blended to a burge of color and heat and me, who had started to stop caring about the outside, a hand from the window I once always stared out, reached out calling me. Within a second I reached out and took it, my way to freedom, all I had to do was change and let my emotions surface and return a new. And so I do. There was no way I could stay that heartless, could I?
