The Wrong King: Book 1 (Preview)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
"What if the Declaration of Independance was never written?" ... I was asked this question and began to produce the following production, "The Wrong King". Freedom is non-existent, only prisoners and people exist, no citizens or passer-byers. This is a small preview of what is to come of this novel.

Submitted: April 03, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 03, 2015



JANUARY 14TH, 2015, 7:30 AM

Cory ~Sanchez~

(Person #57P)

The Morning Bell rang it’s first of seven bells, the thick, haunting pound echoing through the Town. This easily woke me up as it did everyone else in town. I sniffed and sat up in bed, yawning in my room, the casual room that any average eleven year old child would have.

As in ‘average child’, I mean every single child would have the same bed, the same desk, the same wallpaper, etc.

The only thing that would be different was the Soldier.

This Soldier, Soldier#15P, cleared his throat, “Pick it up, kiddo. We got work to do today.”

“What?” I asked, standing up and out of bed, stretching, “Is something special happening today?”

#15P nodded towards my closet, in which guiding me towards it, making me get dressed, “Today is the celebration for the King’s birthday.”

I gasped in surprise, I didn’t know the King’s birthday was approaching so fast, “Is it really tomorrow? Already? I thought it was-”

-“sometime in February?” the Soldier finished my sentence as I continued to get dressed, slipping on a shirt and readying to tie my shoes, “You’d be right, child.”

This was odd, and correct. It was supposed to be February 16th, not January. I looked up at the Soldier, “Why was the date changed? What has happened?”

“Do not ask anymore questions.” he cleared his throat, “You are done getting dressed in today’s uniform, yes?”

Indeed I was wearing my complete uniform for Wednesday. Every day of the week People needed to wear their daily uniform. On Monday the clothes were washed during Laundry Wash.

#15P opened the bedroom door, “Out you go then. Stick to it.”

“Yes sir.” I nodded my head, walking downstairs to see my mother and father standing there, holding some cleaning tools. This was unusual. They should have been at their Job, “What are you two still doing here?” I asked.

#15P followed me downstairs, “C’mon, kid.” he shoved me forward, this helping me realize I was not to ask.

The front door was open now, thanks to the Soldiers who guarded the living room. I stepped outside, the second I had left I was freezing cold, shivering as I looked around himself. The usual Rounding Line walked around, stopping in place and making an opening.

I walked inside and stood staring straight, filling up the opening and the Line started to walk again, waiting for another child to take their place in the Rounding Line.

Eventually my friend, Nicholas, arrived walking outside at the last minute, seeming to be in a slight panic, an opening was made and he slipped right behind me.

Nick was quite some ways taller than me, whom was as tall as the average eleven year old, but knew a much bolder vocabulary thanks to School, same with every other kid. I was fit and lean as Nick was thin like a stick, it was shocking. In fact, looking at him he seemed rather uneasy, as the Line moved on, Nick being the last child, I spoke to him, “Are you okay?”

Nick sniffed, coughing, “Yeah, I’m fine.” he sniffed again, having a runny nose and rather pale skin.

I thought for a second, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he shrugged, holding his arms and shivering, “I’m fine. It’s just...c-cold today.” he began to chatter his teeth.

I already knew my friend was lying. He was clearly sick today, but this didn’t change anything. Sick, underage or elderly, everyone had to work. No matter what.

I couldn’t look back at Nick, only Nick could look at my back. Nobody was allowed to turn back when they walked in Line. Only speak unless told not to do so.

Eventually we reached the first Working Ground, the Work Master clearing his throat, “Alright everyone, listen up!” the master said.

His name was Jane ~Hawthorn~, and he was one of the more friendlier master’s I was assigned to Work with. Well, nice as in, the most nice he is allowed to be. If he were anymore nice, he’d probably get a Warning.

The master Jane continued, “Today we are all going to be doing something else,instead of Farming.” which was my and my Work-mate’s first Job, every Person had eight Jobs to attend to, “Today we will be doing Writing.”

Everyone started to bustle in confusion, Jane cleared his throat, “No speaking! We all know what happens without authorization to speak!”

We nodded our heads.

That was the nicest he was allowed to be. Any better would get him a Warning to turn it down a few notches.

He continued, “We are writing for the occasion of the King’s birthday.” some people made a face of confusion, “Some of you may be unaware that the King has changed his birthday a month earlier. To those who were, good for you.” he held his hands together and continued to instruct,

“We are writing him a “Get Well Soon” and “Birthday” card in one, understand?”

This made everyone even more confused, including me. Was the king going to be sick on his birthday?

“You’ve all made these two types of cards in your original Writing class, am I correct?” he answered himself, “Yes, Yes. Do not question at all why we are doing this or why the King’s birth-date has changed, simply work and you will be fine. Do we understand?”

We all yelled out, “Yes sir.” to Jane in response.

“Good!” he walked past our crowd, “I will get you all a rock to write upon and a paper and pencil. You only get this one paper and pencil. If you mess up,” he slammed a fist against his palm “you will be Punished.

Yes sir!” we all yelled in response.

Jane set down a wheelbarrow of rocks falling onto the floor, a loud *CRROOMPH* and *KKCCKCHKCKKCKHHHH* of rocks tumbling out of it,

“Get working!” he demanded.


I was writing away on my card to the King, as I wrote, questions fluttered in my mind like moths, “Why did the King put his birthdate a month back?” - “Why were we writing him Get Well Soon cards alongside a Birthday card?” - “Was he sick?” - “What was he sick with?”

“#57P!” a voice yelled to me, “Back to work, now!!” a Soldier was demanding I concentrate on my work. I had stopped writing and had the eraser side of my pencil to my chin.

I did so with panic, but hid it well. I continued writing where I left off and eventually made him a card.

I’d say I did pretty well, but who knew? It’s always a surprise if you did something right or wrong.

I looked beside myself to see Nick still writing away, but his handwriting was sloppy and he was writing at a crooked angle, he just hung his head over slightly and breathed as if he was suffocating on something, “Are you okay, Nick?” I wanted to know what was wrong, “You are clearly not okay. You are sick, it’s obvious.”

“Of course *guh,* it’s obvious... genius.” he sniffed, coughing afterwards. He seemed a lot more pale now, more pale than a few minutes ago when I talked to him.

“What’s wrong?” I reviewed my card once again.

He continuously sniffed, “I’m just...guh...sick, is...guh...all…” he wouldn’t stop making noises, his stomach gurgling and his hand shaking and his eyes dry and his skin pale, shivering from the cold.

He had all sorts of effects put on him, “What is making you sick, Nick? What kind of sick?”

“Mind your own-*guh!~*-grrmfh…beeswax…Cor...c-Cory…”

He was stuttering now. He was getting worse by the second. I couldn’t do anything, nobody could. Sick or not, like I said, you were stuck doing your Work until authorized to stop or do something else.

I continued to interrogate him, “Nick”-

-”SHUDDUP!” he blurted, this causing a lot of noise, a Soldier approaching him. That instant, guilt and fear sunk into my veins, I was more cold than ever, but from the cold. It was from what everyone knew was going to happen to him.


The Soldier cleared his throat, “So...Nicholas…”


Nick looked like he was about to cry, his dry eyes turning soaking wet, he looked up at the Soldier slowly.

“Nick,” he grunted, “you better have a good excuse to not be writing.” was all the Soldier needed to say to make a point.

His lip started to shake as he picked up his card and handed it to the Soldier, fear downing Nick. The Soldier growled, taking the card and staring at the child, “How does this help?”

“I’m-*gup!*...*sniff* I-I’m sick!!” he blurted, starting to whine, hugging himself, beginning to cry silently.

The Soldier reviewed the note.

The Soldier sighed, having a face of annoyance and rage in which he tried to keep it in, “There are blood stains and tear drops all over the card, Nicholas.”

Nick sniffed and cried more and more, “I d-know, buht-”


*TW ACK!!*--- _--__-___…

The next thing I knew, Nick had his head split open on the floor, blood trailing off beyond his skull.

“..-OH MY GOD!” I went over to his side, “NICK!”

The Soldier kicked me in the face, I fell to the floor, dazed, “Do not engage on a Soldier’sbusiness, Cory!” the Soldier demanded. I didn’t get much of it, though. Most of it was a blur as I couldn’t see anything. I was now pinned down, staring directly at my friend’s corpse.

Nick had his eyes stuck open and blood pouring out of his mouth. When I thought he was dead, and things couldn’t get any worse, he stuttered something;


and he drifted away.



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