He hated his father. Being the son of a great god wasn’t a privilege but a curse which drove a deep black poison of hatred into Tiepollo’s mere mortal veins. For he had not inherited any form of power or super human ability like the other gods from birth and was outcast with resentment and bitterness from his father, because he had hoped for a worthy heir. Due to their holy bond he could not abandoned his child and was forced to have him live in the heavens until Tiepollo was a man or choose to leave on his own will. Tiepollo however was neglected from his father but found comfort in his mother, she was a truly beautiful women. Young and striking like an engaging sunrise which can warm up even the mistiest meadows and sweeten the taste of pungent fruit.
“Poor little thing, you are not what was wanted, but I will love you nonetheless. A gifted son would have been better in the right place to the Dynasty. You shall be mine, and have all my care, you shall share in my happiness and soften my sorrows.” With this said Tiepollo had happiness in her company, warmth in her embrace and love for his mother. Her name was Ohono. She was the god of fertility, and granted the women of earth the seeds needed to conceive their own child. It wasn’t upon Tiepolos seventeenth birthday that the Great God wished for Ohono to grant him another child, a new heir. Upon hearing this from her husband her heart broke into 1,001 pieces, 1,000 of which created the stars in the sky, the planets in space and the glow in the moon, and the last piece belonging to Tiepolo, which formed as a seed of fertility. Upon the sunset of that day, Ohono died in the arms of Eris, the name of her Husband, Tiepolos father; the Great God. But, even his great power of time couldn’t fix the death of his beloved wife and the remainder of her turned to dust which painfully sieved through his fingers, this pain was blamed on Tiepolo. Eris anger flooded out into a power strike which sent Tiepolo soaring through clouds of fire, water, wind and eventually earth. Tiepolo had become a man, he was neither a child nor a god. And on the earth he fell, his sadness turned to pain, his pain to anger which then formed into pure hatred of his father, he beckoned for power, power which he would use to destroy his father, power which would make him bleed, feel pain and savagely punish him for the ill-treatment, neglect and torture whichTiepolo received for his seventeen years of life. He truly wasn’t a father, not Tiepolos. But amongst his angers there were cries, the sound of tear drops, they were like fine ice, the sound of a pin being dropped from a soft gentle hand which was surprising pricked by it. These cries weren’t coming from Tiepolo but from the piece of heart which his mother left to him, it was a baby. His son.
Tiepolo’s anger shrank. He felt warm and happy as he picked up the little boy who ushered his cries and found comfort in his fathers gentle hold. The little boy’s mouth began to smile and he opened his eyes to reveal beautiful, bright, sky blue eyes which were deep and soft like the gentle blue waves of the ocean. He thanked his mother in a whisper for such a wonderful gift, even though he knew she would never hear. He named his son Ambrose for he was innocent and pure like a saint. Upon holding Ambrose he made the pledge to treat his son right, care for him well, be there for him, nurse him when he is sick, feed him when he’s hungry and to protect him from whatever harm may come his way. And be nothing like his father.
Tiepolo soon built a house out of wood and stone for him and his son and built Ambrose a cradle to sleep in. He eventually found himself a job in a near by town, close to where he built his house. He became a blacksmith and earned a good living, enough to provide a happy lifestyle for him and his son. He felt happy and most importantly accepted by these people and he was a good father.
Still, seven years had passed and only at night, just after he would put his son to sleep and his deep innocent sky blue eyes would close, he would think about his first 17 years of life, the pain he felt, the fear and the neglect, all from Eris, his father. The poisonous blood still filled and boiled in his veins and he still wished for power to have revenge and overthrow his father, he wanted him dead.
It wasn’t until one day after finishing work, on his way returning home to Ambrose that the sky darkened and it began to rain. He would normally fasten his pace to avoid being saturated in such heavy rain but he found it to be some what refreshing and continued to walk as the rain tripled down his back and drenching his clothes, he seemed numb for a while, until he noticed footsteps behind him approaching. He turned around to find an old haggard man standing hunched-backed wearing a dark filthy tattered brown cloak. The man smiled at Tiepolo. Tiepolo felt intrigued by the man, by his aura, he felt sense of power. The man made some greeking sounds as he twitched and handed Tiepolo a parcel, he took it suspiciously but willingly. He opened his mouth to say something at the sight of seeing his name clearly written in black ink on the brown paper, but felt no need to, he sensed that his answers would found in this parcel, he looked to it as the rain started to soak the paper in spots and the ink began to swirl dangerously and make parts of the paper transparent. The old man pointed down to a path, a path that Tiepolo had never noticed before. It was hidden around wild dark green trees which were the foreground for the steep silhouettes of hills that begun to disappear in the mist of heavy rain. Tiepolo walked down the mysterious path with his parcel and didn’t look back at the old man. He began to open the parcel as he swiftly followed the path through the dark trees which blanketed him against the fall of the rain. It contained two shiny metal pickets one was made from brass the other silver and both were curved to sharp points with wooden handles. And there was a note. He read it to himself as he continued following the path.

-The path that awaits you can grant you any wish,-

Tiepolo froze at this. Just after having read this one line, he stood still, at a blank. He felt a shock of horror that something which he had wanted for so long would come so easily by chance, he was charmed by this. He kept reading

-But you need to climb to the top of the hill of sinners using the pickets to anchor you till you reach the top. In order for your wish to come true you have to carve it onto the very peak of what lies on top with one of these pickets.-

This was all that Tiepollo needed to know. He stopped reading the letter and he shoved it into the pocket of his pants. He then grabbed the two pickets with a deadly thirst for the power he so Longley desired. He looked up at the hill and scanned its view. It was more like a mountain, it stretched high into the sky until it diapered into a ripple of dark grey clouds. Tiepolo proceeded up the face of the hill with a great pace, using the pickets as tools of gripping onto the course rock, wedging their ways through the hard soil like a knife through butter and attaching themselves like an anchor of a ship to the sea floor. He must have been going for several hours it seemed, but the sky never changed, and his body didn’t show any signs of fatigue or exhaustion only hunger for the grand prize that awaits him at the top of the hill, his power. His revenge.

More time had passed, seeming like days, may be even weeks of time that had gone by but the only thing that changed other than soft damp soil of the hill face, was the motivation of Tiepolo, his desire soon turned into obsession and he became blinded by the mere thought of finally taking vengeance on his father. More time went by, weeks turned to months, months eventually years, and yet Tiepolo kept going on, even though starting to age, his body started to tire, but his pure obsession, his insanity was what now carried him. Yet the more time passed the slower Tiepolo became and as he hacked into the side of the hill he could feel his muscles beginning to become weaker and tire, he didn’t know whether that the air was too thin or if it was exhaustion which was slowing him down, but the end was finally insight. He began to laugh insanely he had made it. What lied at the top peak of the hill was a body, of still motionless man. It was clear what Tiepolo had to do. He took the picket in his left hand, raised it above the chest of the man and began to carve the word ‘POWER’ into the man, as he did this his body jerked. His eyes opened. They were as blue as the sky.



Tiepolo was over 80 years old.  Upon his fathers long absence Ambrose began to get worried and search for his father. An old hunched man pointed him in his direction, as Ambrose diapered out of sight the old man began to turn younger, he was holding an hour glass with the name Erie written on it.



Tiepolo may have received the power he so longing fore desired. Craved for. Hungered for. Yet he laid powerless on the hills peek, motionless, weak. He took out the letter which he shoved into his pocket some 60 years ago and turned it over and read what he had ignored so blindly and foolishly.

-The meaning of the hill is crucial and not to be misinterpreted. The hill of sinners exposes the sinner through their choices, blindness, weaknesses and tests their true intensions, whether they are willing to sacrifice something they care about to get what they want, the unholy sacrifice of an innocent, someone whom you love.
Once engraving your wish, it will come true, but will the cost truly be worth it. The lost of an innocent and the punishment of the sinner.-

Tiepolo was so blindly enraged with anger and the obsession of defeating his father that he lost all his values and true sight of what was truly important to him- his son.


1,862 words

By Kimberley Munro

2008