the start of what will come to be.

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 17, 2016

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Submitted: June 17, 2016



The Start of what will come to be.


The Zuid King is dead. She sits in his throne in a very peculiar manner. One leg draped over the elaborate arm rest, the other stretched out at an angle, her entire upper frame slouched. Arms hanging loosely. She faces the light encroaching the windows. In deep thought one might think. Perhaps. No one truly knows.

Blood is running. The Zuid King has an odd expression on his face. Perhaps he knew what was coming. His body sits to the right of his throne, now hers. Lying belly down in a pool of his own blood. It drips down the two steps from the seat of the throne to the main hall.

His royalty is stripped, now in her possession. She wears his plush mink royal coat, she wears his posh gold crown, she wears his blood. Her whole head is covered in it, purposefully it seems. Face, hair, and neck as it drips onto the royal coat. At first observation one might think it is a sort of new ownership ritual, or new possession of royalty through the blood now encrusted upon her. It is neither. It has a more sinister purpose.  

The jongen walks in.

He walks about twenty feet or so looking down at the ‘plan’ in his hands only looking up when he catches the running blood in the corner of his eye. He freezes when he recognizes who she is. Of course he has never seen her in person before, but the blood on her head gives her identity away. He thought they had more time before she breached the building. The ‘plan’ in his hands was an outline of a counterattack, which is pretty useless now.  

“Pappje?” the jongen says as his voice quivers with tears sprouting in his eyes. He looks at her. She says nothing, she continues her entranced stare at the windows full of light.

The jongen stands there frozen, not sure if he should run to his Pappje’s aid or if he should keep still for his own safety. Some time passes, still nothing is said, no one has moved.  

The jongen has a million thoughts running through his mind but one main underlining question: “What happens now?” utters from his mouth. Once it is said he immediately regrets it, not realizing that his thoughts translated into actual spoken words.

Her head slowly turns and looks at him with an emotionless glare. She reaches out her hand as to ask for the ‘plan’ that was meant for the eyes of the Zuid King.

He hesitates. She waits. He makes no movement and she finally speaks.

“I am Pappje now. Let’s start to accept that. And while you’re accepting this fate you can hand me those plans in the process.”

The jongen hesitates, then walks slowly towards the throne and hands her the ‘plan.’ She glances through it seemingly unimpressed. She turns her head once again back to him.

“You are going to learn two things today. Something Pappje probably never taught you. I bet you are probably brainstorming some scheme in your head right now that involves the other royalties to get involved.”

He was.

“That scheme is automatically flawed no matter how long you think about it… Do you know why?”

He doesn’t.

“It is because it’s filled with raw emotion. Feelings, things of that sort. It is a very detrimental aspect of human existence. It ruins perfectly good schemes. Schemes that would have some merit had emotion not had an appearance. Which leads me to the first lesson of the day: It is what it is. Pappje is dead, it is what it is.”

“People think avenging the death an important person gives them back their dignity of how they died. It doesn’t. That person is gone, it is what it is. No heinous act is going to return an intangible sense of self. Revenge is an emotion-filled scheme; all it does is subdue the raw nonsensical emotion of those that survive. Coping mechanism for those with unlawful anger issues.”

The jongen doesn’t understand. She’s the revenge god after all, why would she say such things?

“You think any plan you conjure up in your head is going to have an end result that makes you feel better about this situation. If it does then fine, if it doesn’t, well I really don’t give a shit either way.  At the end of the day, Pappje will still be dead. He still would have died in my unmerciful hands, lying on the ground with no dignity. Not that he had any to begin with.”

“It is what it is. Any ‘plan’ you come up with, successful or not, will only satisfy you. Pretty selfish. But by all means do follow through! I always love to see people come to terms with my lessons, it’s fascinating to see.”

“Here,” she hands the jongen back the ‘plan’, “Take your shit. Lesson number two: Know your enemy, which clearly, you don’t. You should probably fire whoever came up with that bullshit. Wasn’t even worth the energy my eyes had to produce to briefly glance through an inevitably flawed thought process.”

She slowly comes out of her peculiar position on the throne and stands. She walks by the jongen, stops, eyes him with a sense of pure fascination, as if he is some kind of rare work of art that she does not yet groke, and continues to the exit. 

© Copyright 2018 Aizya Lynx. All rights reserved.

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