A Roman Life: An AAR Chapter one
A son without a father
They say grief effects people differently, the loss of her husband made my mother withdrawn and quiet for weeks. Some of my friends cried almost constantly at the loss of their father or brother. Me? I beat an old man to death with a blunt instrument. My old wooden practice sword actually. Ironic really, I used to pretend to kill him with it as a child. You are probably thinking I was overcome with grief and killed him in a rage. No, that's not true, I was in complete control, I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn't kill Herion out of grief, rage or frustration. No, I killed him because of what he represented, he was not a Roman. Herion was a Greek, not a Gaul, but he wasn't Roman. He had taught me since I was a child, he knew me a lot better than my father. He was a slave however and I loathed him for that. How could another man allow himself to become enslaved? A Roman never would, my father never would, I certainly never would. He begged for mercy as I beat him again and again, he got none. As he lay helpless the sword came apart in my hands, I stabbed the splinters into his eyes and beat him over the head with the remains of the hilt. Eventually he stopped breathing, so I stopped beating him. I'm not some crazy psychopath, I have no need to mutilate dead bodies.
Mother came into the room then and looked at Herion, then at me. Without a word she walked out and left me. She had seen the aftermath of her thirteen year old son murdering an old man, yet it had no effect. Indeed grief effects us all differently. How strange I feel nothing at the loss of a man who had guided me my entire life, I would not be able to write this now had it not been for Herion, yet the loss of a man who I wouldn't have recognised had he walked into the room could pain me so. There was a big difference though, my father was a Roman, a hero and Herion had been a slave, pathetic and willing to accept servitude to another. Why should I grieve such a creature?
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