The Quest

The Quest When a child my father was absent from my life I dreamt about him and gave him heroic status. He was an explorer, submariner, western hero and a general in the foreign legion; I never saw him as a fireman though, children tend to see them as heroes. Needless to say the sloth moving town constable was a figure of fear and contempt representing authority, vengeful and unjust. When I finally met my father he had bad breath and nicotine stained fingers. I rejected reality and went on looking for the real on, till I was old and I had to admit he must be dead by now. I look into the mirror and sigh, no doubt he must have looked like me, melancholy is my name.