Weird story fragment. (self-analysis?)

There are sometimes children born... under a certain set of circumstances. Just as those who are truly orphans have their fantasies of their 'true' parents, kings or the rich, come to take them away from their discomfort, their fate... some children of a single parent have similar thought. In a case similar, when there is no sure father, no positively identified one, perhaps it inspires a certain connection, a certain awareness of similarity, to those half-gods, those heroes of the past. The heroes of Greek fame... Heracles, Perseus, Orpheus, and such, had absentee God-fathers. I'm not even so sure that their godly parentage is responsible for their heroism. Perhaps being raised by their mothers, constantly cast out by their peers, constantly challenged, is what caused them to be heroes.

I have always been afraid to eat pomegranites. Maybe it was the twisted version of the greek tale I heard so long ago. Perhaps I'm more afraid of that underworld than I am of Hell. All of the heroes who went there and tried to come back... came back broken. Perhaps I fear that brokenness more than the shadow of infinite punishment.

I have been stronger of will than those around me suspect. I have worked, shaped the world around me, made more true friends than most I know. Perhaps the ease with which I passed through life is the reason for this pastime.

The first time I killed a muse, it was entirely unintentional.