A Hero’s Journey
The mansion glimmers in the blue twilight. Tiny pinpricks of electric light twinkle atop the hill. A glacial wind blows and chills him to the bones. He shivers under the thick wool of his army-issue overcoat and wonders whether the frosty night portends his welcome.
“The prodigal son returns,” his father will say, disdainful sarcasm dripping from his lips. The old man’s face hardened by scorn and frozen into a permanent sneer, dim electric light casting shadows on the stony visage. He wants to protest, but his father’s voice continues: useless, shiftless, feckless. Less…
“You’re dead to me!” The words clamored through the night as the young boy hurried away, tears of rage and sorrows streaming down his face.
Now that boy is a man. A hardened man, a decorated man, a valiant soldier who fought one despot but lacked the courage to face the overlord of his youth, and disappeared these war-torn years. He stands at the foot of the hill and looks to his home, that beacon of light to the outside, but inside the murky kingdom of a heartless tyrant. His gloomy childhood lies entombed in that shining palace on the hill.
Pulling his collar up to his ears and leaning into the biting wind, he takes a step. His footfalls crunch on the frozen ground as he traipses towards his greatest fear and most bitter enemy. The hero’s journey is at its end.
