The Remix Of Achilles

My Father Is A Pony

My father was a buisness man, coming from a line of wealthy and greedy men in the tobacco industry. Later going into politics as well. He was a short man, and built like a pony, all shoulders and back and face. He married my mother when she was newly eighteen by a two faced priest in front of an empire. It was supposed to be a good match: she was an only child from a line of senators and congressmen, he was a sleazy backworking eldest son, never been told no and never was gonna be.

He did not find that she wasn't a good match until the wedding, when she finally saw the look in his eye that could turn an army to stone, she tried to run. Her bridesmaids( picked by him of course) caught her and knocked some sense into her. She was not cut out for my father's ugly world and never was gonna be. It broke her heart, spirit, and eventually mind. It wouldn't have looked good for them to divorce so he never let her run away.

I was delivered two years into their awful marriage. When I was born I was immediately handed to the nurse and taken away from my screaming mother in fear she would infect me with her love early on. They gave her a pillow instead. My father did not care. Did not even glance in her direction.

It was very obvious, very quickly, that I was not going to live up to any expectations my father may have had. I could not calculate quickly. I could not persuade. I could not deceive. I could not bargain, nor steal. I was not fast or strong. I could not play an instrument(the only thing my mother was good at). I was overall small. with a crooked smile. My only feat was that I was rarely ill. The runny noses, stomach bugs, and lice that plagued my peers always skipped me. My father was the opposite, catching illness at almost every turn. He liked to feign the suspicion that I was a bastard, born from an affair my mother would never have realistically had. He always watched me with a scowl, making me shake while my mother got drunk.

I was five when it was my father's turn to host the dinner before elections. Every politician with skin in the game would come to gauk and smirk. Many maids, chefs, and other with occupations I couldn't recall came and worked for us. My father was going to host the best dinner of our time. I remember the senators best, all boasting of their ranks in the votes so far. My eye catches on one of their sons, looking like he was at an older age than me. A sun in a sea of other stars, shining and golden.

His hair is like honey and he wears an olive colored silk suit, he looked like he belonged here more than I. His hair is long and slicked back with a slight cowlick at the ends.He is shorter than the rest, and still has the innocence in his features that the others shed years ago.When he turns towards the adults again he gains the face of a man.

He blends with adults easily and his father heavily brags his accomplishments.He is showered with compliment upon compliment, never acting too brash about it. He gets into a conversation with my father. His father, Peleus, comes to join them, my father does not try to get me to engage with them. Peleus ranks lower than my father in position. However his wife is smart, gorgeous, and people love him. My father watches with envy. He turns to me.

"That is what a son should be."

My hands clamp together. I watch as Peleus hugs his son. I see the boy look at his father with admiration. They are laughing and his face is bright as the sun.

I do not remember much more than this. The rest is mostly fragments: my father scowling, a toy wallet, my mom crying, her eys red and disant. In this last memory, i was showing her pictures i drew, they are not good. So my father ridicules us both. At her temples there is now a bruise where my father hit her with a box of crayons. My mother tried to defend me, launching herself at his feet. but a monster has no true heart. This is one of the only memories I have of my mother, and it is awful enough that I almost wish to forget it. I do not remember what I drew. So much has changed.