The Prisoner & The King

The King

The throne room, a once lively place filled with servants and decadence, is empty except for the king. He sits with his head down, staring at his hands that are soiled from the grime of his deeds.

“Good morning, your majesty.” Lord Grey shuffles into the throne room.

There is a quiet emptiness to the room. The last king of a once great kingdom is surrounded in the damp void of what once was a lively man. Once his life was full and happy. Before he was given the throne, he was vibrant. Now, a dark cloud lingers around him and his throne.

“Oh, how awfully sick you are, Lord Grey. Have you not the decency to cover yourself up for your king?” The king waves his servant over as he continues tapping the stone floor with his foot.

“We aren’t going to attract visitors for dinner if you are getting sick, Lord Grey. No, nothing at all,” the king says.

Silence echoes, while Grey continues to scurry about the room sniffing and searching for something.

“Can we not have a pleasant day for once in this kingdom? Everyone is starving,” the king yells.

No ill retort is given by the loyal servant. Instead, he looks around a little more, and he crawls off into the crease in the wall.

“Have you not brought me my supper?” the king says.

The king sits staring straight ahead with his shoulder sinking into his throne.

The Prisoner

I shake myself out of the daze. I am a prisoner, locked away, but my mind is free. The sounds of dripping waters inform me there is water flowing in the outside world. When it rains, the water puddles and seeps into my cell doorway. At first, I was too proud to drink the water with my tattered lips. Now, it is a celebrated event, and I praise the gods when the murky puddles appear in my doorway.

After sucking the stone doorway dry, I reach for the low ceiling, and then to the floor. The stretches bring life into my body. Light movement keeps my mind working here in the dark. I am not the muscled cat I once was, but I intend to keep the muscles that remain.

With a new source of food, I am beginning to regain my strength. The many days without food weighed heavily on me. What ruler has this day? How many years after the empire have passed? At first, I kept detailed measurements of the days I spent here, but at some point, I lost track of the scrapings I made on the walls. I have waited many seasons and honored all eight months at least twice each. The first four months were vicious bastards. They brought agony and despair. I met the following months with numbness, until one day when I felt acceptance.

I have become discontent and empty. There is no point in leaving. I have food, a bed, and a purpose. All I need is a hot kettle to bathe with.

I must check my garden. My garden has two distinct types of mushrooms. One of the mushrooms is delicious, and I pluck up the toadstool and swallow it whole each time it grows to the size of my thumb. The other fungus is a mythical creature. This mushroom is not suitable for eating, but it has better uses. It transports me out of the cell for a time. Unfortunately, I am unable to control where I am being carried.

I bend down to tend to the inhabitants of my cell. Yet, I can barely make out the shape of the tiny stool. One mushroom is almost ready to be used again. This is good news, and I want to dance and celebrate my good fortune.

“Blessed is the kingdom whose majesty is pure and without a false claim,” I say.

I don’t deserve to be here in this place for the reason they put me here. I deserve to be here for many reasons, but not that one. The king thought it was a mercy to keep me alive. Sometimes I think I would have preferred execution for the crime I did not commit.

The memories drain me of what little energy I have. I lie down.

The King

“Queen Molly has birthed three more children, your majesty,” Grey says.

“Triplets?” The king says.

He leans over to examine, counting each to be sure.

“Yes, triplets, your majesty. What do you wish the queen’s children to be called?” Grey squeaks.

“Well, one of the three won’t survive. You know that Lord Grey. I don’t have the patience to explain this to you again. We will wait to see the other two grown before we name them. Females, I hope?” The king leans in for a closer look at the blind infants.

“All three males, I am sorry,” Lord Grey says.

“And their mother, the queen?” The king turns away, unable to face them. “How long will it be before the queen can breed again?”

“The usual wait, your majesty. She remains healthy. Yes. She will be able to provide you another litter soon,” Grey says.

Lord Grey stands in response to an unusual sound. A sound of rusty hinges squeaking as a series of doors open and close. The king hears it as well.

“Who dares to enter my domain?” Saliva sprays out of his throat.

There are muffled voices on the other side of the throne room’s giant door. The muffled sounds are followed by a distinct plea.

“No, please… you can’t.”

A door outside the throne room slams, and Lord Grey scampers off in fear; while the king sits wide-eyed in his throne. His eyes remain blink-less as they widen further and further.

“Yes, Lord Grey. Go find the origin of the screaming,” The king points lazily.

The Prisoner

Rising from a dreamless sleep, I reawake with a clearer mind. The water has seeped into my head, and I feel the rivers flowing more calmly again.

Where are the guards? I haven’t heard their clunky footsteps in weeks. They rattle around in their loose chainmail like fat little boys pretending to be great knights. I imagine a sequence of events in my mind. I would trick them into coming into my cell and force them to take my place eternally after I knock them out with a hard elbow to the back of their neck.

Unfortunately, the guards have not been foolish enough to make that mistake. My chest aches. My body is becoming too weak to yell. Is this the dark afterlife my mother threatened me with when I was a young-cat playing in the castle’s kitchen? How far have I fallen in sin? Will I suffer alone in this cell forever? I stretch out on my pallet, looking beyond the shallow ceiling. I can feel the hollow sleep taking me as it has a thousand times before. The loneliness is unbearable. I fall to my knees and accept defeat. Why did I ever want to be alone? I never understood what being alone meant when I was free.

I take a bite of the mushroom. “Where are you, my love?” I drift back into the abyss.

The King

The king approaches the queen and her delicious little morsels for children. The queen pulls away and into the corner, refusing to look at the king.

“My dear…” The king places his hand on the queen.

She shivers at his touch.

“It’s not your fault that you have no daughters. Your duties suffice.” The king removes his hand from the queen’s back.

She nuzzles her children with her face, checking to see if they are all fine.

The Prisoner

My cell walls squeeze around me. Is it day or night? I can’t be sure as I gaze up at the ceiling. Boredom is the only real curse to man. At least pain offers freedom from thinking. Yet, I’m not in pain. I feel nothing. The only real prison that binds me is the prison of dead-ended thoughts or tasks. I think I’m losing my mind to starvation or something more gruesome.

“Get up,” I say.

I force myself to stand up on my dry blistered feet in my dark empty cell. My muscles ache from the scarcity of water. My nostrils are clogged with dirt and hardened snot. I haven’t been able to smell my own shit in weeks. How awful I must reek at this point. Cleanliness and grooming were among my highest priorities when I was outside. In here my hygiene is dismal.

Seeking an escape, I begin to imagine myself a nice hot bath in the castle. Right after the last prince hops out of the pool, it’s my turn. The water has cooled down to a relaxing temperature. I imagine the eldest prince and princess must have been scolded by the heated bath before me.

Rubbing my arm as I imagine washing with a thick ash-clay bar, I notice the sunken slenderness. I feel the bones all the way through my skin. Although I half desire it, I avoid touching my stomach or ribs. My stomach pains will not be remedied by massages or the grieving of what food I once carried in my belly.

A knock sounds out from the other side of my cell. What was that? Has someone finally remembered me locked away in this dungeon?

“Hello?”

Silence. It’s nothing. I’m alone. My thoughts return to imaginary food. It’s torturous to know the ration storage is only a few feet above me. I noticed it as the guard dragged me down into this rat-hole. I managed to memorize every turn we made as they carried me down here. I knew it would be vital if I ever escaped. Yet, escape is beyond thoughts of yesterday. Today, I would kill for a thin slice of moldy bread.

After stretching and the daily tending to the mushrooms, I sit down cross-legged to practice breathing as I do most days. I inhale in deeply, hold my lungs to contain the air. Slowly, I let the air flow out in a stream of air between my lips. There might have been a whistle if not for the dryness where my lips met.

The King

“Have you gathered any intel, Lord Grey?” The king calls out to his servant, returned.

“No, your majesty. I found nothing outside.” Grey wrinkles his nose.

“You found nothing? What of the woman’s scream? Did you not find the source of the screeching sound?” the king says.

Grey walks around the room, frantically and stops to check on the newborns and their mother, the queen.

“What are you doing? Have you no sense at all? Where are my guards? Go out there and find the screaming woman.” Foamed spittle seeps out from his mouth.

Slamming the wall hard with his fist, the king stands and points towards Lord Grey.

“You will obey me,” he says.

Lord grey scurries off to fulfill his king’s demands.

The Prisoner

Reflecting on the past is one of the ways I have found to escape this nightmare. Re-creating the places I have been to, and some that I have not in my mind keeps me alive. The people are becoming more difficult to imagine in my mind, so I make up new stories. In my old life, I spent most of my time mastering personal interaction. It was a vital skill as the bastard of the king.

The King

Grey returns from his errand.

“Give me answers, now,” the king says.

He notices a single piece of bread lying on the floor by the door to the throne room.

“Did you bring this bread here, Lord Grey?” the king says.

“No, your majesty. I couldn’t have brought that bread all the way here,” Grey says.

“Was it one of my guards?” the king says.

Unlike a king, he crawls toward it without shifting his gaze from it.

“We haven’t been able to locate your guards, your majesty,” Grey says.

“No, of course not. No guards to be found and no intel on that scream we heard.” The king shrugs with acceptance as he stares at the bread.

Something swells inside the king. The darkness he had been hiding breaks free. The king explodes into a rage. Springing directly for Lord Grey, he grabs him around the throat.

“Have you betrayed your own king?” The king grinds his teeth together hard.

Grey scratches and claws at the king to try to free himself. His fight is futile. The king completely overpowers Grey in his grasp. Pleading in sharp shrills, Grey looks toward the queen. She is stunned by the event and too afraid to move in either direction. She is too afraid to run towards the king and be hurt herself and more hesitant to run away from the king and leave her babies alone.

The king throws Grey to the ground. With one hand pushing down on him, the king pummels the servant with his other hand. The king’s fist smashes down on cracking bones until Grey is a bloodied mess. The king bewildered and breathing heavily steps up from his crouched position over the dead body and screams out in misery.

“Why?” The chilling sound echoes through the walls.

“Stop. Stop it.” A woman yells from the other side of the wall.