On his chest, his hopes and dreams are placed.

On his chest, his mindset and body focus.

On his chest, are his passions told from beginning to end.

A child

A murder

And a compass.

;:::::::;

The lights in the city gleamed with their songs of praise as a young Xerxes walked past. Strolling down the lane he studied the busy people as each rushed to their destiny.

As he walked his floppy black hair bounced with each step. He watched knowingly through the eyes of others from a distance. Waddling towards his destination, his eyes wandered to the ice cream truck.

A darkness in the light shone quietly with a timid voice appearing from the shadows once more. Voices echoed the questions muttered through his life. Each voice confused with a common sense of distain. Each voice seemed to question his dedication.

Each had a purpose in life so why didn't he?

Each had a destination so why didn't he?

Each had a story so why didn't he?

His purpose was to live and die in vain.

...

Who are you?

All in good time. For I am just like you.

What am I?

All in good time, you won't remember.

We have no worth without him.

He is our destination.

.....

Xerxes had realized something years ago. His hopes, his dreams, his aspirations, and his life were nothing  of importance.

Voices were everywhere at once scattering from his mind to his decisions. Each voice containing criticism and unjust.

....

I remember now.

Of course, you do. He was our creator.

He was a pawn controlled by the decisions of others.

He is a pathetic vagabond.

He removed my hopes, my dreams, and my sacrifice because he was afraid.

Afraid of achieving greatness?

Was it not for the good of all? Fear is not an evil thing.

No, it wasn't for all.

......

Xerxes skipped around happily walking home. Today was his fifth birthday, and he couldn't wait to see what his mother had planned.

Unzipping his book bag he pulled out a painting he had made in art class. Guiding his finger around the soft edges of the painting. He let out a giggle and a grin as he bounced towards his house quicker than before. 

Knocking on the door, He opened the door welcomed with the scent of cupcakes. "Mumu!!" He screamed running wobbly towards his mother.

"How was school, my little man?" She crouched quickly kissing him on the forehead. Pulling the cupcakes from the tray she offered him one.

"It was awesome, Mumu!!! The teacher sang happy birthday to me, and-..and I MADE THIS FOR YOU!!" He grabbed a cupcake greedily munching  and slipping the drawing he made to her.

"Oh, This is wonderful, little one! But I should be the one giving you gifts, hmm." His mother bent down her auburn hair covering her face.

His mother was a beautiful woman always with an elegant wide smile on her face. She had this beautiful auburn hair that came to her shoulders, and bright blue eyes that shined like a new morning. She was a tall woman with small assets, but never seemed to take notice of the men that fawned over her.

Hearing the door open she turned around hesitantly.  Kissing him on the head she whispered into his ears. "Head upstairs, my little man, and do your homework. I'll making your surprise."

..

Her smile hid everything from him.

He was just a child.

..

He treaded downstairs with a smile on his face. "Mumu, I did my homework!"

  "What the fuck is going on?" His father boldly worded. With a cigarette in his hands, he turned towards the screaming boy. With his mother on the ground, he stood on top.

His father was a rough man only thinking of gambling or dealing. He was tall as Xerxes was now maybe even taller. He was the kind of man who always had a nine o'clock shadow no matter what time of day. All in all he was the man your parents told you to stay away from.

"PAPA.PAPA. I made a painting! Why is mumu on the ground?" Xerxes shoved the paper in his face noticing his disdain. He stared at his mother questioningly. "Do you like it?"

"Your mother fell asleep while baking." He eyed him thoughtfully thinking of a lie for his spouse. His father glared at the painting in disdain. "What did you use for this painting?" He peered down towards the boy. Clicking his teeth he thrust the paper into his pocket. Xerxes fumbled with the watercolors in his pockets.

Without a doubt, his mother was unconscious knocking her head on the granite counter when his father had hit her. Unnoticeable bruising scattered her skin like a painting at least unnoticeable through her son's eyes.

"Who the hell taught you about this?" He muttered with rage. Yanking the box of watercolors out of his hands, His father fumed crumbling the painting his son had spent hours on in minutes.

"Mumu did!" The boy smiled thrusting the brushes in his hands. He looked up expectingly towards his father. "Do you not like it?" He cocked his head to the side curiously.

"Let me give you a gift, son." He smirked rolling the cigarette around his fingertips. He pulled it to his lips sucking in. He treaded outside with a lighter in his hands.

Their feet crunched against the maple leaves as they stomped. Watching as the sky became a crimson color they traveled on.

Xerxes followed behind him like a lost puppy. He followed his father until they came to an abrupt stop by the edge of the forest. He studied his father carefully wondering what he was going to do.

"Watch carefully." He grabbed the lighter lighting the small picture on fire. The painting burst into flames as his father through in the watercolors and brushes.

Xerxes watched mortified with his hands in his pockets. With tears streaming down his cheeks he watched. Muffled sobs escaped his lips as he watched.

"This is what makes a man. Men do not cry and they do not love, boy. This is my gift to you as you become older." He scoffed turning tail and heading towards the house. Flicking the cigarette on the ground he only smirked.

Xerxes hit the ground with a thud. Keeping back his tears he watched the wild flames grow. His hands desperately grabbed at the fire. Feeling a burning sensation on his hands, he pulled his hands frantically back.

He frantically threw dirt on the fire putting it out. After the fire had diminished completely, He grabbed the ashes desperately holding them close to his chest. With only one question framing his mind.

What does it take to make a man?

Sacrifice?

Murder?

Maybe.

...

YOU ARE A MONSTER!

I AM NOT A MONSTER IF I AM RIGHT.

You are polluting him.

Is that so?

Polluting him with your thoughts.

I'm not polluting him. I am polluting you.

What are you?

I am everything, but I am also nothing.

I am just like you.

::::

Xerxes although eighteen and traveling the world  now stood with a paintbrush in his hands. He quietly rubbed the bristles on his skin watching the world run by him.

Never stopping for anyone. Always leaving people behind.

With the canvas next to him and a paintbrush in his fingertips, he licked his dry lips. Rubbing the paint on the brush with dedication.

"What is paint without a painting?"

"How do you grow up without the notion of a love uncanny to others?"

He muttered laying brush strokes on the delicate canvas. Something he had never done in years.

Out of the darkness of the night one man is left. A man with no dreams. He has no aspirations.

.....

He was there when we needed him most.

We are indebted to him.

Indebted? Indebted? You can't be serious.

We owe him everything.

We owe him NOTHING, but hate.

He was the reason for our ruin. Why are you defending him? Why now?

Is it because he is a lost soul? Is it because he is poor? Is it because he was murdered for the sake of an empire? WHAT IS IT?

You, child, are foolish.

No. You may call me foolish, but you know I AM right. Is that why you call me foolish?

FOR THIS VAGABOND SWAYED BY FATE!

He is more than just a vagabond.

You are not real.

He is not real.

What he is. I am.

This is ridiculous.

  No, I am only regrettable.