Capital Letter

Well, as already stablished in my notes of "Closed Door", this is pure and thorbbing angst. I won't be responsible for broken hearts from now on.

To put it, this idea appeared after H and I stopped to dwell on how most of Mexicans are Catholics and have strong roots to reliogion and... bum, you know, things happened and... here it is.

Yes, I know I need to write more cheery things, I promise you that someoday, someday angst won't be such an important part of my life, but for now... let's just take things as they are.

I hope you enjoy it!

Capital Letter

If you had asked Leo Valdez what religion he practiced before he was told that the Greek myths were real, he would have said Catholicism, and yet—why was he using the past tense?

The reason was simple: his mother had raised him to believe in God, only one and with capital «g». Not that Esperanza went to church every Sunday —she was much too busy for that. Not that she prayed each night—she arrived home too late and too tired—, but she prayed when she could and there was a crucifix hanging from the wall of the dining room and on Christmas they celebrated Jesus' birth and all in all, she believed, and she taught him that, even when she said that one should always be open to new ideas and should not any take religion as an absolute.

And then why, why had he stopped believing at the age of eight, long before he even knew about the Greek gods?

It hadn't been gradual, not in the least—it had been immediate, sudden, unstoppable.

Because that night, the first one he had encountered Gaea and had lost control of his powers, burning his mother's workshop to ashes, he had prayed, he had prayed and he had cried and he had pleaded —to God, to Jesus, to Virgin Marie— and no answer had come. Because that night he had offered all he had, promised he'd do anything God asked from him if only he saved his mother.

But no, no answer came, no holy water stopped the flames of the building, and no, no one arrived to save his mother. That was the tome he understood that God didn't exist, that he was alone in the world —especially now that his mother was gone because of him— and that, whenever he achieved or lost something, he could blame it on him, and only on himself.

Little did he know, however, that while he prayed and cried and pleaded, someone listened to him—a god, yes, and only one, but not with capital «g», a god, but not the one that he had been raised to believe in, but one he didn't even know the name of.

His father, Hephaestus, god of fire, forges and mechanics—his father, the one who could only watch, hand-cuffed with duty as his son prayed and cried and pleaded to another divine being.

And yet it didn't matter—because god with capital letter or not, Hephaestus could not do anything, because he could not modify his own son's suffering. And what was the use of godly power if you would not help your loved ones, what was the good of immortality if it only served to see the same crashing suffering over and over again?

So Hephaestus turned a deaf ear to his son's prayers and cries and pleas because, capital letter or not, and godly power or not, it all came to no use when the truth was to be told.

Okay, this wasn't enjoyable at all, I'm sorry! I know Leo deserves better, my poor baby, but this idea was just too heart-breaking not to write it!

I promise that in all the spam I'm sending you, a happy story will be seen soon I hope you'll still be reading this things when that happens!

Read you soon!