The Tumbler

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

The strangest travelling in the world turns up to perform to the Queen and the court Charles finds more than an interesting play there. But will the difference in social class kill the what he finds, or will he be able to soldier on... till death do they part?

Chapter 1 (v.1) - The Tumbler

Submitted: March 27, 2012

Reads: 118

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Submitted: March 27, 2012




He had it all, he had everything he thought that he could possibly want, money, power, he was even a favorite of her Majesty the Queen of England. But as he watched the horse canter away from him, he knew that he would never have everything he wanteded. Fom now on, he would never be content. He shut his eyes and groaned in angush, he wanted to scream and rage but he could not, he just couldn't find it in him, sorrow was all he could feel, self pity. She has always hated self pity, she used to tell him that self pity was for the people who were to lazy to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and get on with life. But she wasn't here any more, "Keep on smile Charles" They had been her last words to him. But right now that was the last thing that he wanted to do.
He sat on the floor and rested his head in his hands. Not one month ago, he had believed that he was truly the most contented man in the world. But that had all collapsed, everything he had built his life for, it was all pointless now, the one who held his heart had left him. How had this happened? How could he have been so blind to it all, so blind to what was really going on around him. "Why me?" He could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he wispered those words to which ever cruel God had instructed this twist of fate. He shut his eyes tight, crying was not what he did, men don't cry, silly little women cry, men just get on with it, men just let go. She never cried either, she was always a tower of strength. The one everyone turned to when they were in a crisis, and she never forgot. If you had been in pain one day then the next time you spoke, she would ask you if the pain had gone. She was that amazing, that fantastic, that careing. And now she wasn't there, he was that alone
She was gone, he would never see her ever again, her face, her laugh, it was all gone. She was no more, her name would never again be uttered. Bar fleetingly in conversation where they would speak her name sorrowfully before continuing with what ever it was they were talking about. He looked at the muddy ground, he had to just let her go.
But he couldn't, he half expected her to come around the courner crouch down next to him and ask him why he was sitting there with a face like the world was ending before explaining to him that if the world was ending, the last thing he should be doing was sitting there doing nothing. But she wasn't there, she would never come round that corner, never speak to him or laugh with him. He was entirely alone.
He should get up, he knew he should, he knew that he should do her name justice, but continuing in the way she would have wanted it. But he couldn't do that either. Bitterness all consuming bitterness and anger at those who had taken his love away from him. He would be avenged of it, later. But for now he sat there wallowing in his own misery as he went back through each and every last precious memory that he had of her telling himself over and over that she had loved him, because now she was gone, he wasn't totalling sure.

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