From the Eyes of Royalty
Saliva and other liquids drool from a man’s mouth, drizzling down his wild mane. He lies upon his newspaper throne, surrounded by the treasure others throw away. Murmurs, barely noticeable. Talking to himself, pondering things a king would ponder.
“Should I distribute coin to the peasants?” He looks to the rats scurrying about.
“No, they are too busy to care for wealth!” The king breaks out in laughter and silences back to a murmur.
Noises. The peasants scatter. Noises?
The king drudgingly raises his head, a thick dark brown mane. His mouth slides to gape at one side as his eyes meet the disturbance. Oh noise, the wretched noise! A man draped in black leans over the king and seemingly endless he rants in some strange dialect. He’s obviously hostile, his face tainted a frown; he waves his small black sword near the king’s face.
A lord! He dons metals that jingle as he moves; an insignia with the carving NYPD lies over his chest, no doubt his family name and crest.
“This lord must be here to take my kingdom!” The king panics within the confines of his mind.
The king, defending his kingdom for himself, starts to throw pieces of his kingdom at his attacker. Newspaper, rats, rubble, he’s invulnerable!
The lord grabs the king and drags him into a metal carriage. One wealthy lord indeed! The king is bewildered, sitting in the back seat of a metal carriage that moves without steeds! As they leave his kingdom, the king clutches to the bars of his imprisonment and can only imagine the horrors that await him wherever this evil carriage takes him.