Heavy is the head

I run from my name, and it follows me. I hide from the gaze of the man who gave it to me. I cower from the shadow of the throne he offers, the responsibility it demands. I flee the thought of those I would rule in his stead. The crown I am to carry may as well be crafted of lead for the weight it carries, as heavy as his stare. When I take this burden my word shall be law, why then does my throat grow tight and my voice turn hoarse at the very thought?

Shackles of pride and expectation bind my every movement, my motions are as through clay, each action compared against my fathers’ own, and his before him.

What should happen if I fail? What if my decision should fall short? Who shall every gaze fall upon when it is discovered I am not as great as he?

And so I run. I run from my name.