For EllukaMarlon who inspired the conceptualization of this piece. If you're reading this. I do hope that this is as you wished for. In any case please do feel free to comment.
I own none of the gods since they belong to their own respective culture. Thank you for reading this piece.
Red, the colour of passion, the colour of desire, the color of danger and the blood spilled on the battlefield. For as long as I could remember I've always had a penchant for the color red, the color of life. You may have heard of me and my cowardice, my unbridled fury, as well as the countless conquests. You all think you know my story, but to hell with that because I am still telling you anyways. If you don't want to listen then get your sorry ass out of here before my kick shows you the exit.
This story began way before I was even born; it began with my mother. My mother was said to be the most beautiful and sought after goddess of her time. Silky chocolate coloured tresses, vibrant green eyes that put emeralds and jade to shame, fair complexion, rosy cheeks, full lips, and a smile that can probably brighten up the underworld. At least that is what I was told growing up, but I really find it hard to believe. Then again that was a time before all this, a time before me.
You see I wasn't conceived in the most wonderful circumstances. My mother didn't plan to have me or even want me to begin with. After all, who would want to have proof of being violated look at them and call them"mom", and most importantly who would have wanted to give birth to war? I don't know if she could've loved me, for all that I stood for. I was a reminder of all that went wrong in her life.
My father was never proud of me either. He was never around or at least when he was it was just to bring in his "perfect" children and rub it in our faces. I don't know what made me the way I am today but it probably has something to to with the man who sired me.
Now that we got those out of the way I'll start talking about my childhood. I was born and raised in the palace on top of Mount Olympus. I was a happy child who sought nothing more than the affection of his parents. Sure I played a bit rough but what can I say? Boys will be boys. I was happy playing with my parents oblivious to the pained looks that at times escaped mother's eyes when she looked at me. I asked her if I did anything wrong but she simply shook her head and smiled. That was my fondest memory of them and probably the last. Not long after my home fell apart. Father was home less and less, mother was sad and irritable, and my sisters were in no better condition than me and our dear mother. We were all neglected and the worst part was that we do not know what we did wrong. We did not know what made father want to see less and less of us.
Not long after we grew up and we grew apart. I knew we never compared to that smart ass Athena, or those twins, or that pest Hermes, or even that drunk ass Dionysus. Never. Not once in Father's eyes were we as worthy as they were of his praises, his attention, his love. Then again we grew without it. I became a warrior, a god, worshipped, feared. I became a man along with a lot of things. I never knew just how starved of love until I met her. Until I met the goddess of love.
Love and war are two things people see as opposites. One is linked to mindless bloodshed and the other to fondness. What they never see is just how these two things are founded upon the same thing; passion. It is passion that feeds desire, that feeds conquest. I have seen and started many wars but none compare to the war called love. I have loved her before that wretched brother of mine took her as his prize. Before Hephaestus there was me, before him it was us. We were in love. At least that is what I thought it was.
We had children, wonderful children I was proud of. Eros was more like his mother but damn did that boy show Apollo just how passion can burn a man. I can never forget just how a simple shot from my son brought the sun god to his knees in despair, the same despair their very existence brought upon us. Phobos and Deimos also made me proud and still do. They are some of the children I have sired and continue to be proud of over the ages. They are the children that kept me fighting in this war called life.
I am Ares, a man, a warrior, a god and I will never stop fighting. I shall water the earth with the blood of my enemies and paint the sky red for my passion shall never end
