Every day you walk past the stares and glares,
Olympus's hero is dead; you didn't mean to do it.
His death was an accident.
But you are the scapegoat,
The only one to take the blame.
You plead not guilty, but not one believes you,
Only Apollo vouches in your favor.
As the god of prophecies he knew what would happen,
But as a god the fates held him back from intervening.
Preventing him from saving his life.
Even your mother can't look at you,
She only shakes her head and lowers her eyes avoiding your gaze.
Every day you see her sobbing, weeping, crying.
Begging for her love,
Her blond hair is a curtain, shielding her from the world,
Her grey eyes now tinged with pink.
You want to comfort your sister, but the jeering of the crowd prevents you from getting too close.
One day you build up the courage and lightly tap her shoulder,
Her eyes widen when she sees who it is, her breathing hitching up.
You open your mouth but words won't come out.
So instead you sit beside her, praying that your sister will forgive you.
Praying that she won't walk away too.
What she does next shocks you.
Gingerly unraveling her arms she reaches over,
Flinching you expect a slap, a punch, even a push.
Instead she hugs you.
Sheltering you from the hate of the world she murmurs in your ear.
"I forgive you."
The tears well up and you start blubbering,
The weight of the world has been lifted,
And your solace is complete.
But you know the journey has just started and the air of stigma is lingering.
