Hate, what is the word? What does it mean? What significance does it play on ones life? A strong emotion regardless, but do I feel emotion? As strong as one is, such as myself, this word plays upon the lips with every breath. Like a leaf floating down river, like a tree swaying in the breeze, like a flower sprouting for the first time. I close my eyes and debate this word. This word, Hate. Does it mean anything to me? I think not, but why does it linger in the front of my mind when I submerge into silent pondering? It is much like the day and the night, the sun and the moon, the clouds and the stars. Why do I hate? Why do I even care?
I hate him. But why do I hate him? Moving to my next thought, I wonder why I hate my brother so. Is it because of his blood? Is it because I feel he is responsible for our father's death? Feeling my lips pull upward in a smirk, my eyes narrow at the mere mention this mind of mine has made of my father. My father. How could it be that he sired another? I refused to share his honorable memory. Yes, I do hate my brother, I hate the fact that he is alive, the fact that he is the product of my father and a human woman, the fact that he shares a semblance to father at all.
The rage that I felt when father left. Left me alone, I wasn't ready. There was so much I desired. How could I share my father with this lowly creature? To feel neglected, betrayed, denied. Yes, I hate my brother for all these things. It is his fault that my father is dead. I can't even share father with him, it angers me too much. He was mine first. Not his, it is his fault that my father is dead. If it weren't for him, or that woman, my father would still be here, wouldn't he? By my side, teaching me, allowing me to battle him to become greater.
No, hate is too weak of a word. What other word was there to describe what it is that pains me so? Despise? No, that couldn't describe it. Words are too weak, what significance did they have? Why utter them at all? What was the point? It didn't matter what was said, actions speak louder then words. Don't they?
The disrespect he had shown when meeting father ground me to the floor. 'Dad.' Still that word boils my blood. What horror. My father was a lord, a great leader, one who deserved respect and yet my brother could only pay him with a simple, 'dad.' I couldn't even use that against him any longer. He had stolen that from me as well.
'You don't even know father's face.' I remember telling him, feeling pride in that. I had been the only one to speak with him, look at him, and remember him.
But now that had been taken from my grasp. Yes, I hate my brother. Hate. There is that word again. It works hand in hand with that other word that so many speak. Love.
Hate and love, lies and truth, black and white, night and day, sun and moon, what did these things mean? Not a thing, not to one such as myself.
This brother of mine had taken everything from me. This was the product of my hate for him. My father's love for my mother was stolen. My mother's memory betrayed. My father was stolen from me, just as my mother had been. His birth, what else was he to take from me? My power? He already did that, taking father's blessing from me, by giving him the sword of power. Giving me a sword that I couldn't use. Could I be pushed aside anymore? Would I allow it? Did father forget me? He must have, he granted my brother everything, and left me with nothing. Nothing but a land left in ruins.
I felt neglected, forgotten, hated, and denied. Closing my eyes, who visited the seals? Who took care to make sure they remained in place? Who remembered father? Who respected him? Who visited father's grave? It certainly wasn't my brother. But yet I was the one who was forgotten. Even though I was the one who did these things, made sure that father remained alive in memories, I was the one who had been pushed aside for a lowly creature such as my brother.
Yes I hate him. I will always hate him. That hate will never leave. I know that. Hate. What a strange word. Was I selfish to want all these things for myself? I was born first. Loved first, but yet that had been tossed aside like a petal on the wind. Now I had to share this with him. Share father's memory, his power, and his blood. I turned away, and walked back to where I had left my followers. It was time to leave.