The Diamond Crusade

Introduction:

Beauty is a curse. Ever hear that saying? Well, for me it's true. I am cursed with beauty. You're probably thinking what is this guy talking about? How can you be cursed by having beauty? Trust me on this one, you can. In my world curses are a commonplace thing. People enjoy cursing one another nowadays. Many die from the curses inflicted on them, but then some live with the curse until they die or until they kill themselves out of sheer madness from it. My curse, beauty, stays with me until I die. Beauty fades with age normally, but not with this type of beauty. No, no, no. Well, it's difficult to explain. I shall explain later. I will introduce myself now. I am Arlo French, yes, heir to the great Uther French. My father was a wealthy man, made his money from stepping on others to get on top in his business. He was a very hated man. I had to say I hated him too because he was the one to give me this curse. Did I mention most curses are passed down from generation to generation? My mother, Saria Norman, was the one to accurse him right before she died of a broken heart. My dear father had had an affair with his secretary, a Deirdra Gary if I remember her name correctly. Oh that's besides the point isn't it? My dad was a very handsome man, many women had crushes on him and he was a shameful flirt nonetheless. Well, my mother decided to curse him for his handsomeness. The way it works is this: if anyone says or calls you handsome or beautiful you get a painful, almost deadly, heart-stopping pain in your chest. It really does hurt. It's happened many times for me; I'm cursed with beauty.

My father couldn't handle all the pain of being handsome anymore, so, he ended his life; shot himself in the heart. So, here I am staring down at my father's handsome face, emotionless. He is the one who caused me all my pain. Fuck him and his lecherous ways. His face pisses me off; thank God I look like my mother. "Arlo? My dear boy, let's leave." I turn to look at the dear old lady, who smiled softly at me. She wore a black smock that made her white hair stand out. My Grandmother, Janine Norman, takes care of me now.

"Yeah, let's go. I'm glad I don't have to see his face ever again." I sneered.

"You shouldn't say these things about your father. Someone might curse you for it later on." She chided.

"I'm already cursed, Grams. Can't be cursed twice." I said simply. It was the truth, once you had one curse living in you, no other can take its place or add to the number. She sighed.

"Such a smarty pants, like your mother. God rest her soul." She linked arms with me and we strolled back to the black limo that had escorted us to the service. A few more people paid their respects and trickled out of the chapel. Of course it was a cloudy day, dreary for a funeral, but to me it was a new day with a bright new future without my father.