The Myth of the Peasant

I remember staring at a thin stream of flowing sand down the hourglass, waiting for it to flow quicker, whenever my father lectured me. 

As one of the two great Marquises, my father had already deemed me his successor, tossing upon my frail shoulders the responsibility of 'perfection', and he used to train me in every aspect required for that whether it be theory or fencing or just etiquette.

In those days, my deepest desire was always to rest, unlike playing and jumping around like other kids my age. Every day, I used to wish for those long days to be over so that I would finally have that solitary moment.

Now, I smack my ankle hard, killing one of the wild mosquitoes that had been troubling me for a while, and celebrate my small victory.