Leander the Emotional
Y222 – Y311, born to Valentino and Theresa
From the diary of Leander Weller:
Desperation swirls around me as I contemplate the uselessness of my life. The shadow upon my spirit is dark, and the pain in my heart is darker.
I wrote a poem for my father this morning. It was deep and emotional and truly grasped the stabling agony thrust upon my soul by his drug-addled madness. The result of his careless procreation, I must now walk through life as nothing more than a dry husk, a disgusting mélange of purple prose and moldy feelings. His reaction to the poem was not favorable. He fell to the ground, giggling in his trivialization of my pain resulting from his own selfish actions. My father does not love me. My life is horrible and I can think of nothing but ending it.
My only solace is in the one I love, who proclaims endlessly her desire to bear my children. I am sure that I will see no joy in children, who I will not be able to love due to this stump that formerly held my arm, now lifeless and gone.
I have written before of this ugly sacrifice that I was forced to make, to give up my arm to a king I do not know or love. It was an emotional time. There is no greater sacrifice than to give a piece of oneself to a cause, and no more hollow of a sacrifice than to make one for a cause you know nothing about. Woe is me! Surely my life is the worst life in the world, with the possible exception of those tax collectors who keep turning up dead. But there is sadness even in that – the subjects of my future kingdom are dying, dying away. Perhaps there will be none left by the time I rule this kingdom. I will die alone, in my room, and someday someone will come upon these writings and note how brilliant and emotional they are, and that I must have been the greatest king to ever live for making so many sacrifices. Clearly I am a martyr.
Um, brb, the wife is calling. One of the babies crapped its pants again. God my life sucks!