Lemurick pt13

Lemurick could not get the woman's words out of his mind, as hard as he tried. They nagged him, comforted him, and confused him. On one hand they struck him as so astoundingly and delightfully true, but something about them seemed false. Wavering at the back of his mind was a small, quiet voice of reason telling him that she was wrong and even dangerous. Excusing this, he let himself entertain the voice's notions. His father was not an evil man, he had always been kind to Lemurick. In fact, Lemurick could never really remember a time when his father had been cruel to him. But he had made one unforgivable error: he had viewed Lemurick as common and ordinary. Lemurick could not get over the falseness of that description, he was so obviously extraordinary! Or was he? Was he really as special as he imagined himself to be? Didn't people wish they could be him? Didn't he have more power than his lame father would ever have? Lemurick decided that he must rise to even higher greatness so as to leave no doubt in anyone's mind of his worth. The woman had been right, he acknowledged humbly. His anger and -what had she called it? Ah, "bitterness"- his anger and bitterness were driving him to become better. He was becoming a master over his own mind and he would wield the power of his emotions to his own advantage. He push the small voice so far into the recesses of his thoughts that he could no longer hear its lies. He hungrily painted a new but skewed picture of his father- worthless, weak and foolish. His deep happiness was hindered by one thing, however- in remembering his father he was forced to recall his mother.