Losing So Much, Gaining So Little
Chapter II: Like Father, Like Son
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Amara and I were out in the gardens. She was sitting on a bench, picking flowers, watching me practice archery. I was firing at little hay men with targets on them. I got bullseye a lot of times, and I figured that I got my Uncle Paris' gift with the bow. Amara would smile and clap and throw flowers, only the ones that were too small to fit into her flower crown. I decided I would keep practicing until she was done. It was my responsibility to look after her for now, since our mothers were in a meeting.
I was caught off guard when I heard a high-pitched scream that seemed to have been somewhat far away. It didn't sound like anyone I knew. The arrow turned back around as it fell from my loss of aim, and it nearly poked my arm out. I gathered my arrows, stuffing them into my quiver, and running to Amara. By my good fortune, Amara had finished her crown of flowers, so I wouldn't be ruining anything for her. I picked her up, running back into the building, fast as I could. I didn't make any sound, and it gave Amara a clue to be quiet, too. I think it did, anyway, because she didn't say anything. I brought her back to the room I shared with my mother, quickly poking my head out from the window. Perhaps it was a false alarm, because no one seemed to be rushing to their rooms. I slid down the wall on my back, heaving out a sigh. "You panic too much." I heard my cousin's familiar voice speak up from the bed. I leaned backward, my head resting on the wall, my eyes closed.
"No, I don't. It doesn't hurt to be a bit cautious." I let out a small yawn, looking back over to my cousin. She looked quite cute in her white dress and flower crown. I didn't know if it was gross to say my cousin was cute, but I didn't mean it like that. "You look pretty, you know."
"Thaaaaank yooou." She somewhat sang. Amara was always so cheerful, she never seemed to ever have a problem. Then again, when you're five years old, I guess you don't have a lot to worry about. I wasn't much older, though. I'm only seven. I looked at the ivory lion sitting on the table and smiled. That was all I had from my father, except for his sword. I stood back up, leaning on the windowsill, sighing. As I looked far to the left, I could see my home. I frowned. It belonged to the Greeks now. I didn't frown because I was sad, I frowned because I was angry. I began pounding on the walls with my fists, and I think I was scaring Amara, because she looked at me funny. I fell to the ground, curled my knees up, and rested my folded arms on my knees, burying my face to cry from frustration.
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I sat on the mattress, listening to my mother telling me stories of my father. She had told me how he so bravely killed Menelaus when he was trying to kill Uncle Paris, and how he challenged Achilles instead of cowering behind the walls. I realized how much of a hero my father was, and I looked over to the small stand, holding my armor. I wore it to get the feel, since soon I would have to start wearing it a lot, and then I remembered: that was real armor. I placed it on over my clothes. The breastplate felt cold, even through my shirt, and I realized how long it had been since I wore it. My mother smiled to me. "What are you doing, Astyanax?" She said, giving a small giggle, tilting her head in question.
"I'm just trying this armor on again. It makes me feel like I'm Dad, a brave warrior, risking my life for my country," I said with pride. I didn't realize my voice trailed off a bit, but I removed the armor, realizing I would have to do something. "Mother.. I am going to Troy." She only smiled.
"You are in Troy, my dear child," she said to me.
"No. I mean, the real Troy. I'm taking it back." I knew it was awfully risky, and I would probably get scared, but I wanted to be known. I wanted to be a brave warrior, just like my father. My mother looked at me as if I was insane.
"No! You are not going to Troy to get it back from the Greeks! I am not going to lose someone else I care about, Astyanax!" She shouted at me. I glared at her.
"You don't think I can do it? You don't think I can be brave?"
"That's not it! You are simply too young! Those Greeks..they are fearsome warriors. They do not care if you are a mere child or not, they will rip you to shreds!" I nearly started crying again from frustration, the salty water stinging at my eyes. I refused to cry. No, you wouldn't get tears out of me.
"I think you're lying to me! Just like you did that one day when Dad died!" I turned my back at her, my arms folded over my chest. I was still wearing all of my armor, so I could make a run for it at any moment. She looked at me confused, I noticed it when I looked back.
"I thought your father honestly wasn't dead. I was so upset that I went into denial. I'm sorry for lying to you--" I don't think she ever got to finish, because I started talking much too quickly.
"No! Stop! You lied! You said Daddy would always come home, he'd always be right by my side, but you LIED!" I shouted, placing my father's sword in the sheath hole, grabbing my bow and arrow. I leapt for the window, tears nearly pouring down my cheeks like the waves of the ocean. My mother tried to grab me, but I was too quick. I heard her scream my name, I heard her crying, but I didn't stop. I didn't know what made me keep going, but I didn't stop.
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Thanks to Kcrane for being my first reviewer. Please, tell me what you think!
Chapter II: Like Father, Like Son
-----------------------------------------------------
Amara and I were out in the gardens. She was sitting on a bench, picking flowers, watching me practice archery. I was firing at little hay men with targets on them. I got bullseye a lot of times, and I figured that I got my Uncle Paris' gift with the bow. Amara would smile and clap and throw flowers, only the ones that were too small to fit into her flower crown. I decided I would keep practicing until she was done. It was my responsibility to look after her for now, since our mothers were in a meeting.
I was caught off guard when I heard a high-pitched scream that seemed to have been somewhat far away. It didn't sound like anyone I knew. The arrow turned back around as it fell from my loss of aim, and it nearly poked my arm out. I gathered my arrows, stuffing them into my quiver, and running to Amara. By my good fortune, Amara had finished her crown of flowers, so I wouldn't be ruining anything for her. I picked her up, running back into the building, fast as I could. I didn't make any sound, and it gave Amara a clue to be quiet, too. I think it did, anyway, because she didn't say anything. I brought her back to the room I shared with my mother, quickly poking my head out from the window. Perhaps it was a false alarm, because no one seemed to be rushing to their rooms. I slid down the wall on my back, heaving out a sigh. "You panic too much." I heard my cousin's familiar voice speak up from the bed. I leaned backward, my head resting on the wall, my eyes closed.
"No, I don't. It doesn't hurt to be a bit cautious." I let out a small yawn, looking back over to my cousin. She looked quite cute in her white dress and flower crown. I didn't know if it was gross to say my cousin was cute, but I didn't mean it like that. "You look pretty, you know."
"Thaaaaank yooou." She somewhat sang. Amara was always so cheerful, she never seemed to ever have a problem. Then again, when you're five years old, I guess you don't have a lot to worry about. I wasn't much older, though. I'm only seven. I looked at the ivory lion sitting on the table and smiled. That was all I had from my father, except for his sword. I stood back up, leaning on the windowsill, sighing. As I looked far to the left, I could see my home. I frowned. It belonged to the Greeks now. I didn't frown because I was sad, I frowned because I was angry. I began pounding on the walls with my fists, and I think I was scaring Amara, because she looked at me funny. I fell to the ground, curled my knees up, and rested my folded arms on my knees, burying my face to cry from frustration.
--------------------------- --------------------------- ---------------------------
I sat on the mattress, listening to my mother telling me stories of my father. She had told me how he so bravely killed Menelaus when he was trying to kill Uncle Paris, and how he challenged Achilles instead of cowering behind the walls. I realized how much of a hero my father was, and I looked over to the small stand, holding my armor. I wore it to get the feel, since soon I would have to start wearing it a lot, and then I remembered: that was real armor. I placed it on over my clothes. The breastplate felt cold, even through my shirt, and I realized how long it had been since I wore it. My mother smiled to me. "What are you doing, Astyanax?" She said, giving a small giggle, tilting her head in question.
"I'm just trying this armor on again. It makes me feel like I'm Dad, a brave warrior, risking my life for my country," I said with pride. I didn't realize my voice trailed off a bit, but I removed the armor, realizing I would have to do something. "Mother.. I am going to Troy." She only smiled.
"You are in Troy, my dear child," she said to me.
"No. I mean, the real Troy. I'm taking it back." I knew it was awfully risky, and I would probably get scared, but I wanted to be known. I wanted to be a brave warrior, just like my father. My mother looked at me as if I was insane.
"No! You are not going to Troy to get it back from the Greeks! I am not going to lose someone else I care about, Astyanax!" She shouted at me. I glared at her.
"You don't think I can do it? You don't think I can be brave?"
"That's not it! You are simply too young! Those Greeks..they are fearsome warriors. They do not care if you are a mere child or not, they will rip you to shreds!" I nearly started crying again from frustration, the salty water stinging at my eyes. I refused to cry. No, you wouldn't get tears out of me.
"I think you're lying to me! Just like you did that one day when Dad died!" I turned my back at her, my arms folded over my chest. I was still wearing all of my armor, so I could make a run for it at any moment. She looked at me confused, I noticed it when I looked back.
"I thought your father honestly wasn't dead. I was so upset that I went into denial. I'm sorry for lying to you--" I don't think she ever got to finish, because I started talking much too quickly.
"No! Stop! You lied! You said Daddy would always come home, he'd always be right by my side, but you LIED!" I shouted, placing my father's sword in the sheath hole, grabbing my bow and arrow. I leapt for the window, tears nearly pouring down my cheeks like the waves of the ocean. My mother tried to grab me, but I was too quick. I heard her scream my name, I heard her crying, but I didn't stop. I didn't know what made me keep going, but I didn't stop.
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Thanks to Kcrane for being my first reviewer. Please, tell me what you think!