When I was born, my father abandoned me in disgust.
You think you can relate to me, don't you? You probably have a famous or powerful father who sent you off to boarding school after boarding school because you didn't live up to his expectations. All parents have dreams for their kids, but yours was just too high.
Yeah, right.
My name is Mark Olks. I am fourteen years old. I have sandy brown hair and dirt brown eyes. I have relatively tan skin, and am a little less than six feet tall. My mom used to say that I looked like a child of the earth. When I turned eleven, I found out just how wrong she was.
The day I turned five, my mother held a miniature birthday party for me. She had a few balloons and streamers taped up around the tiny apartment. It was only my mother and me around a chocolate cake with five candles on it. She lit the candles for me and told me to make a wish. But before I could blow out the candles, a cold wind blew them out for me. The door fell down with a BANG! and a man stepped through the open doorway.
He was about six feet tall, and wore a black robe with stars dotted across it. His skin was very light, contrasting with his clothes. Oddly enough, he wore slippers. He looked like some drunk who'd just woken up with a hangover. He had a scowl across his face and his eyes were a cold black.
"I told you to get rid of him!" he said, staring at my mother with a look of betrayal.
"But I-" my mother began.
"Don't interrupt!" he yelled, rage blazing through his cold eyes. "I told you he was unfit to be a child of mine! He is too weak! My children go to Lupa, not kept by weaklings by you!" He moved as if to smack her, but my mother was too quick. Thinking quickly, she said, "So you claim him, then? If he is not to be kept by me he should go to Lupa."
"I did not say I claimed him. I said that you are weak! To think I once thought of you as-" he stopped suddenly, his rage turning cold. "Tell me then. If you think to keep him, what must I do to the both of you?"
My heart went cold. I understood, and apparently so did my mother. "No," she whispered. "No. I bore you a son. You love me. You can't-"
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, mortal," he said. His eyes looked close to freezing. "All heroes must be trained even weaklings. The Olympians will never treat him with respect. I am only preparing him," he scoffed mockingly.
"No," she whispered once more. "Please. You love me. This is your son, our child. You wouldn't-"
"I told you not to tell me what to do!" he shouted. My mother started screaming, the room started spinning, and my world turned black.
So, what do you think? Should I continue? Who do you think Mark's dad is? Review- if you want. I really don't care. As long as you read it, it's all good.
-12/4- UPDATE
Also, at first I had Mark at age 2 when this happened. Because of how I portray him next, I realized I couldn't do that. This story may seem rough at first, but it actually has a happy ending (from where I'm thinking now. That could change.)