Apollo's Rebellion

They say that hope is a powerful thing, a great force that can overcome any obstacle. I always scoffed at those who said that. Fear is the most powerful thing, drive fear into the hearts of weaker men and you will rule a nation. I was always the one that they would fear, they never knew it, but in the end they bowed down to their rightful ruler.


The soft sunlight made its way into the throne room. Outside, I could hear the festivities of the townsfolk. They were celebrating the first day of spring, the only day of the year that I allowed them to be happy. As a
child, I always loved the first days of spring, my mother used to take me out to the garden a pick flowers, show me which ones had healing properties and which ones were poisonous. Spring always gave me hope
for a new beginning, for a life without my older brother being the heir to the throne. That’s why I give them one day, to keep the hope yet show them who their true ruler is. That’s the thing about hope, it has to be contained or it may destroy kingdoms.

A heavy knock on the throne room door jolted me back from the depths of my mind. A small, old man hobbled in. His clothes were dirty and tattered and it looked as if he hadn’t washed himself in quite a many days.
“Sire,” he stammered, removing his hat. “I have news about the people.” I looked down at him, he was a frail man, his arms the size of a thin metal rod. He was nervously wringing his hat, wrinkling it more than it already was. But the thing that disgusted me the most about him was the smell. It’ll take days to clean up the mess that he left behind. I sighed.
“What of the people?” I asked looking away.
“Th-they plan to-to revolt, S-sire,” he said, wringing his hat further, “I heard a few men at the tavern last night. They plan on revolting today, Sire.” I sat up and looked him dead in the eye.
“They plan to revolt today?” I asked, anger welling up inside me yet I managed to stay calm. The man nodded and looked to the ground. Standing up, I composed myself and walked down toward the old man. Naturally, the streets would be flooded and today would be the best day to revolt. Anyone would be able to get through the palace walls if they planned it well enough.
“Good, thank you for that information,” I said, “Guards, take this man to the cellar.” A look of confusion and surprise entered the man’s face.
“What? No, Sire, I’m telling you the truth,” he cried as my guards grabbed hold of either arm.
“You’re really not, now are you?” I said looking down at him, “You see I have a deep hatred for those who betray their friends and I can see through your lies.” The man looked up pleading with is eyes, but I rejected to even give him the satisfaction of freedom. I stepped back and let the guards take him away, kicking and screaming.

The celebrations outside seemed to get louder as it reached midday. Looking outside I could see girls and boys in their best clothes, the younger ones hoisted up onto the shoulders of their fathers. Many people wore flower garlands around their heads or necks, embracing the coming of spring.  I walked out onto the balcony, my head held high. There was a sudden hush about the crowd, many people in awe of the fact that I had decided to great them so early in the day.
“It has come to my attention that some of you plan on revolting today,” I said evenly. There were a few hushed murmurs in the crowd. “If anyone gets past this castle’s walls I will personally have their head on a stake. Do you understand me? No one is to enter this palace without my permission. Any person found to be conspiring against me will surely never live to see another day.” A few horrified looks from the crowd and scared faces of children confirmed that my words had successfully fulfilled their purpose. I bowed my head and began to walk away, the celebrations starting slowly again.
“And one other thing,” I said turning back to face them. “Today’s Spring Day festival is cancelled.” I could see the look of shock on everyone’s faces as I took away their only day of complete and utter freedom. I stepped back into the shadows and watched as everyone started to pack their goods away. Children reluctantly helping their parents and men tossing their beers. My advisor stood next to me also watching the people on the street.
“Sire, you can cut the flowers, but you can’t keep the spring from coming,” he said, not taking his eyes off the street below.
“I can,” I whispered harshly. Striding back to my throne, I wondered if what he said was true if they would try again.

I say my throne, but it was never meant to be mine. It was meant to belong to my brother, the so called rightful heir to the throne. But what did he know of ruling a kingdom? He was too rash and thick-headed to rule. I was always the clever one, the one who could devise battle strategies. He could never rule, no matter how much people believed it. He was the heir to the throne, but he was not the rightful ruler. With my father gone, it was easy to drive my brother away from the kingdom. It was love that made him leave and it was sentiment that kept him away. Under my rule, the kingdom prospered, the people worked harder. They feared me. I earned their respect and their loyalty. No one would dare challenge me or my place on the throne. That was until their spark of hope was ignited.

After the Spring Day festival, I had made sure that my palace was always well guarded. I started to get paranoid and anxious, as if I could feel my power wavering. Every day, I would get word that people were fearing me less. I could sense that the scales of authority were not leaning on my side anymore and I began to get restless. Now I realise that this was their plan all along. They would give be a warning, let me know that they were to revolt and show the rest of the kingdom that I was unfit to rule. Fear is powerful. In the end, I feared my fate as they once feared me.

They came for me in the middle of the night. I remember the shouting around me. They locked me in the cellar and killed every last one of my loyal servants. I suffered a fate far worse than them, killing me would be too easy. They wanted me to pay for I had done to them. Instead, they treated me like a peasant. Jealousy and greed had got to me to throne, hope had gotten me here. It was the hope of a thousand people that got me to that dark, damp cellar. The now crownless and nameless king.

Source

Looking over the vast expanse of the wet garden, I notice the tiniest of things. A raindrop on a petal, but there’s something special about this raindrop, it has the inverted image of a tree. Our tree. It looks as if the tree is pressed into the drop, preserved forever in its glass encasing. Albeit, upside down.

I notice the branches and how they look like veins on a person’s wrist. Like the ones on your wrist, the ones that got cut. The branches are millions of tributaries extending from the main stream, reaching up to the sky, finding out who will make it there first.

I think back to the times when these branches used to be filled with bright green leaves, a million million of them carefully placed on the branches by the hands of God. I remember playing under it, climbing it… with you. I remember when we used to have a competition of who could pick from the highest branch. You always won because you were taller. But, now, you’re in the hands of God.

Do you remember how it used to sway in the bustling wind and we’d laugh because we thought that we would get blown away? I do. I remember every sweet memory under that tree. Like the time we pretended to be pilots and the tree was our plane. Or when mum used to shout at us and we would hide up there.

Now, it just sits there like a giant piece of bark. The leaves growing and dying over and over again, like a phoenix. Why couldn’t you have been a phoenix? Then you would still be here and I would still be happy. The man with the blower came a few weeks ago. We used to jump in the pile of leaves he was racking. Do you remember him? He came and patted me on the back.He looked sorry for something, but I didn’t know what is was. Maybe he lost something like the way I lost you.  Then I sat by the cold window, watching him clear the leaves. Alone.

I found you in your room. There was blood soaking into the carpet. So much blood. Where did it all come from? Mum came up, she pulled me out the room and started screaming. There was a note on your desk that she didn’t let me read. What did the note say? Mum said that it said that you loved me. If you loved me then why did you leave? The doctors said that you had cut your wrists. Why did you do that? Was it necessary? You could have stayed. For me.

I remember your funeral, mum couldn’t stop crying. Everyone had this sad look on their faces like it was their fault you were dead. But it wasn’t their faults, no. It was the others, the ones that bullied you and called you names. I heard about it from the other kids. The older ones. They told me that was the reason you cut yourself.

The house is scarier now that you’re gone. It always creeks at night and the windows rattle. Mum is sadder too. Sometimes she doesn’t even realise that I’m talking to her. And dad’s always at work...oh, and one other things. The tree’s dying without you here.