A King and his Jester

There is a king who lives atop a mountain, ruling his subjects with an iron fist. But then, a most peculiar event takes place, forcing the king to descend his mountain for the first time in his life.

There once was a king who lived in a castle made of straw, and he watched his subjects from the world above with watchful eyes.

Upon his golden throne he sat, drunk on the tears of those who dwelled beneath him.

In solitude all his fears took the shape of feeble creatures. The same doubts that controlled him long ago were now mere jesters and w****s who kept him company. The king laughed at the jesters and fell asleep beside the w****s. Nowadays the only thoughts in his mind were pleasant ones, like the thought of innocent souls thrown in hellfire, or the thought of earth opening its mouth and swallowing another being while he ruled the world from his castle.

The king never set foot beyond the threshold of his sanctuary. He would never trade the comfort of his throne for the company of a creature from the lands bellow. From his window he could see the wretched men who moved around like ants, and all he needed to do to keep them in line was to descend his iron boots upon them once in a while.

He had never laid eyes upon his subjects, but he was certain that they lived in fear of his wrath. For our hero, there was no need to establish laws or rules; his existence was the sole law by which his entire territory was governed.

One day when he looked out the window to crush one of those ants, he saw a procession of black dots moving toward the distant mountains. For a moment he stared at the scenery before him. Then, reality took hold of his thoughts, the bitter reality that his subjects had decided to leave his land. It was now time for him to leave his w****s and jesters and descend the mountain. All those ungrateful b******s needed to be punished, torn bit by bit for our hero’s amusement. With this idea prancing about the outskirts of his mind, the king left his humble home for the first time in his life.

The descent was an effortless one, for the king knew every nook and cranny of his domain. When he reached the foot of his mountain, the subjects could still be seen walking single file into the embrace of an unknown future. The king screamed, yet none could hear him. He was the sole audience to the echo of his voice.

He found himself in the grip of confusion. What had happened? Were his subjects not terrified of his wrath? Did the ground not tremble with fear beneath his feet? Did the air not vibrate with terror when his voiced echoed through the land? Lost in bewilderment, he suddenly heard a noise from behind. He turned around and saw four men walking in his direction.

The king approached this company with furious strides. He expected them to fall to their knees in his presence, yet the men pushed our hero aside and kept on treading their path.

This affair left the king breathless. How could this have happened? How did these insubordinate slaves dare to defy their master? He ran after this company of four until he caught up with them, and he was about to unleash his hidden beast upon these men when he suddenly froze in place.

They were taller than him, so much so that he needed to look up in order to see their faces. There was nothing he could do but to stare at these vile creatures as they walked away from him. He tried to shout, but like a toddler who had never learned the alphabet, no words escaped his mouth. There was only one more thing our king had the capacity of doing.

He swallowed his pride and made his way towards those men. This time when he was right behind the forth one in line, he punched him in the ankle with all the force he could muster. The forth man turned around and immediately recognized the king. This pleased our hero immensely, but he masked his excitement with a hateful gaze affixed on the man’s face. What took place afterwards, however, brought him a step closer to his doom.

The forth man bent down in order to be eye to eye with the king, which created a rift between him and the rest of his company. They seemed not to care and continued to walk their path.

Our hero and his subject remained in this position for what seemed like an eternity until the man grinned and raised his right arm. At first the king was confused as to what exactly was taking place, but he hadn’t much time to think, for the man flicked the poor king and sent him flying into the air.

The king hit the ground, but nothing trembled. The impact of the fall sent vibrations through his body. For a few moments, he was unable to stand on his feet, and by the time he did so, his subjects were nowhere to be seen. The king could do nothing now but to return to his summit.

Going back up the mountain took him longer than he thought, and by the time he reached his castle, he was out of breath. But the sight of his home brought comfort to his weary soul.

He entered the straw house and sat upon his throne. In the familiar comfort of this outpost, he expected to feel powerful. Yet something was different. The silence that for so long had been the king’s most trustworthy companion now posed a threat to his rein. This feeling made the king uneasy, but he dismissed his fear and decided to get drunk on the tears of his men. Then he recalled an image that pushed him over the edge: the face of the forth man as he stared him in the eye with no sign of terror, his strong touch as he flicked the king and flung him into the air.

Fear took hold of our hero again. From the corner of his eye he saw a jester emerging from the shadows with a spear in his hand. The king’s severed head hung loosely from his belt.