I slipped out of the throne room saying I needed a moment to think the decision over. I walked out to the palace garden to get some fresh air and clear my head. To kill or not to kill? That was the question, but I found myself doing much more pouting than thinking.
I never really wanted to be king. I mean, yes, the thought of wearing a crown and fancy robes and being able to tell everyone what to do would make any man drool for power, but I've found the endless wealth, social rank, and glory of being king are far outweighed by the responsibility and stress that come with the job. I even plucked a grey hair from my head yesterday. It made me shudder. There was no way I was going to grow older faster for the sake of a throne.
And the peasants? Bah! What of them? Simple, stupid minded people. More like cows than people actually. And they smelled like cows too. They didn't need a king. In fact, I don't think anyone really needs me.
I thought back to the lunatic who tried to kill me. I found myself wishing he had succeeded. The executioner waited for my decision.
Blast decisions! I hate them so. All they do is add wrinkles to a man's forehead. Why not let someone else decide? Why not just... end it?
I felt my dagger at my side. It would be easy. Just a little plunge into my chest. It couldn't hurt that much could it? I thought long and hard about the decision. I was pretty sure I'd go to the good place beyond death if there even was one there. It would certainly be better than this crummy kingdom right? Should I kill myself and end it all?
Copyright 2000 - 2024 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.13 seconds at 4:43pm on Nov 23, 2024 via server WEBX2.