The cold stone eyes stare down at me as I pass. I've told myself many a time that it's naught but my imagination, but I still feel it, even now. They watch me, judge me, criticize my every move. They strip away all affection reserved for families and take me in; my forced posture, my unruly hair, my slightly wrinkled uniform. All might me used against me as they watch, and they wait.
And they whisper. They whisper things I remember from the mouth of my father, how he looks at me from the corner of his eyes. They whisper his thoughts - my thoughts - around me, this row of my marble ancestors. No matter how hard I try, I am in a shadow that I cannot escape. I am burdened with a weight pushed onto me by fate. I struggle and fight to escape that shadow, all in vain. Even when the tall tree that casts the shadow is cut down, still I am covered by its glorious legacy. Who are you to claim kinship to such a legend? my statue predecessors hiss.
They echo Father's words - am I really that horrible of a son, so that my own sire wishes me dead in His place? They loom over me; a plethora of shadows. I will always be overshadowed, by one legend if not another. For each tree that falls, three more take its place. Over and over again, my entire life, they chant their mantra of poison, laden with the heavy tones of old men who watch a misbehaving child. Am I that misbehaving child? Am I that wretched of a man compared to my brother? In my head, they always repeat their soft words;
We are disappointed.
