![]() ![]() He was in the casual version of his uniform, pants tucked into boots, shirt tucked into pants, forehead dotted with sweat, the morning sun already applying pressure. Oh, perhaps he hadn’t held the blade, but the coup that wrenched political power from my father’s hands and then trampled him beneath its boots was Kreon’s coup, undergone for Kreon, by Kreon. He was in the courtyard, the man who killed my father. “We thought,” he said to me, “it was a curse worth bearing.” He didn’t say, as my mother had, a year before, “We didn’t think it was a curse.” We were unique among our people, pieced together from whatever random combination of genes our two parents provided. ![]() Because to be born as my siblings and I were was to be doomed from the start. I asked my father, once, why he chose to curse us before we were born. ![]()
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