Prince of Stone

Perhaps you’ve seen it twitch out of the corner of your eye. The statue. The weeping boy who stands in the castle garden, guarding the flowers with the angels who scare unwanted visitors off with their silence. History states that the statues were left in remembrance of the young prince that had disappeared. But to anyone who visits the garden, the serenity leaves the strange feeling as if you were being watched. If you stay long enough, you would soon learn the tale of this prince, and who is watching you.

There once was a young prince who dreaded responsibility. Not the responsibility of work of course, but the responsibility of a king. Any other boy would play pretend, attacking invisible foes and slaying soldiers. But this prince feared these decisions of war and blood. However, he was growing quickly, and the title of king was galloping towards his head with a threatening speed. The crown sat in the throne room, glowering at his hesitant nature. Perhaps he was too young to carry this weight on his soldiers, but as a prince, there was no escape. He spent his days exploring the gardens, wishing he was able to stay in a peaceful state, free of expectation and blood. He found joy in nature, for he found it as his antidote. The hours he spent in the solitude of the garden were guarded by the statues surrounding him. Silent and still, unjudging and never chastising his fears. There was a kind nature about the statues, perhaps it was due to their appearance. They were sculpted to resemble angels weeping, never showing their faces to visitors or each other. To the other royals inhabiting the castle, they were just gargoyles, terrifying and creeping in the shadows. But to the young prince, they were his friends. At night, he felt at peace in the darkness, but even a friend of the statues felt an eerie cold from behind the curtains obscuring the garden from his view. Nevertheless, time sped forwards like his noble steed stopping for no one. As his coronation approached, he could not visit the statues as often as he would have liked. Training to inherit the crown was his burden once again. Tutors, relatives, and courtesans flooded his halls sparing him no freedom or escape. Everyday, he struggled to rise from his bed daring to look past the curtains at his beloved garden.

 On the final day of his princely title, he escaped his quarters to spend one final night in his garden. Never before, even as a prince had he stayed in the garden alone in the darkness. He had never noticed it before, but a plaque was placed at the feet of one of the angels stating:

“Come unto us when your heart desires the gift of peace, and we will provide. Ask and it will be given to you.“

 Pondering this, he chuckled at how silly it was that he a prince could wish when he had a kingdom at his fingertips. As he sat in the garden, he looked at the statues, his silent companions and whispered a final wish. He wished to be free from his title and his humanity, never to age or grow so that he, like the statues could spend eternity in the garden. Perhaps it was the eerie light of the full moon, or the fog covering the colorful flowers. But in the corner of his eyes, he saw the shadows twitch. As he turned with his lantern lighting his way, he saw nothing strange, turning once more to return to his routine he was met with the face of a weeping angel. No longer did it cover its eyes in shame of the light. The cold stone eyes looking into his soul. He no longer felt at ease in the garden as he looked into its eyes. So as anyone would do in fear, he ran. But as he ran he could hear fluttering and the crunch of soil following his steps. Looking over his shoulder, he recognized his pursuers. The moonlight outlined the stone silhouettes of the angels briefly frozen in a terrifying chase, surrounded by fog and no longer covering their faces. Their dainty hands had grown into claws with nails that could tear his flesh to pieces. Their faces no longer dainty or innocent with sorrow and mourning, were grotesque with anger, fangs protruding from their lips frozen in a silent screech of fury like an animal chasing its prey. They had become creatures of the night, silent hunters that had chose him as a victim. It was a betrayal of his kindness. He knew there was no where to run, but his fear kept his pace forcing him forward as far as he could. The fog seemed to laugh at his demise, covering the path and trees. It was only a matter of time until they would catch him.

The adrenaline coursed throughout his blood, allowing him to leap over fallen trees and wade through shallow streams into the night. But still, the angels kept pace continuing to gain speed. The fog blurred in his vision and the sounds of his pursuers became clearer. With the agility of a gazelle, he weaved between trees in order to place distance between his statues. But he underestimated the stone. As he peeked one last time behind him, he was relieved to have finally lost the stone creatures. But his joy was short, for he turned and ran into the statues. Like a trapped fox, he turned but found that he was surrounded by hunters. The stone creatures of the night. He realized they did not move if he looked at them, but this realization was too late, for the ones behind him would move closer and closer. He turned in a dizzying circle, the angels closing in around him in a game of red-light green-light. Deep in the forest his final cry was heard by no one but the moon.

On the day of his coronation, the kingdom was shocked to find that he had disappeared. But no one had paid close enough attention to the garden to notice that a new statue stood next to the princes’ bench. The kingdom passed on, finding a new heir and the courtesans wondered where the boy had gone. The statues were left as a memorial to his passing, and they never moved. There they stayed, watching the garden in silence as time passed on, covering their faces weeping. And there he stayed, never to grow old or carry the weight of the kingdom. Never to leave the garden again.