The Faded King

I wrote this for myself as a child, for any lonely child that had to grow up too quickly. It is the story of a kid who tries to escape his problems and is lead to a dream like landscape.

THE FADED KING

    Henry left his home shortly after dinner, his parents were arguing again. Not much different than any other night, but today his dad threw a dish against the wall, his mom, tears in eyes, said, "Not in front of Henry!" His father, indifferent, continued his tirade. And so Henry left, his parents' argument heating as he closed his front door.
    The streets of New York City are noisy even at this time of day. The warm summer air hung heavy and the pink sky was cut with streaks of red. The sounds of traffic echoed between the tall apartment buildings surrounding him, although there was little enough on his street. Kicking a loose stone from a pot hole, he shuffled it along absently as he walked. He pondered on what an eight year old boy might get himself into tonight, and on whether his parents would ever get along, then before he knew it his feet had carried him to a small playground next to a Sunday school. He pushed open the chain link fence with a rusted creek. There was a slight breeze from the small scattering of trees by the swings, it smelled of cut grass and asphalt. Leaving his rock behind he wandered to the swings and got on. Kicking his feet he began to swing higher and higher.
Knock knock knock.
Henry stopped swinging and looked around, seeing no one, he started swinging again.
Knock knock knock.
    It was coming from a tree. Henry got off the swing and went to inspect the tree. It wasn't grandiose, nor even handsome, this tree had a defeated look. Its branches were sagging under the weight of it's mottled and dried leaves, but at the base was a large knot almost as round as a beach ball, and from inside the knot was light. Now Henry didn't know much about nature, but this seemed a little off.
    Getting on his hands and knees he peered into the hollow. In it was a large field, heavy with fallen leaves.
"How odd," thought Henry, "It's like magic!" and he crawled through.

    Henry came through under a bright grey sky, clouds undulating overhead like the ocean during a storm, deep greys promising to devour the lighter ones, but never quite succeeding. The air was brisk, and a light wind rattled the dead leaves scatted about the field. The world smelled of decaying leaves, maple and hemlock woods, and plum trees, as well as midnight dew, forgotten memories, and the fondness of the moon for lonely children. All around the field were dark trees whispering, deep green shadows dancing just out of view. Ahead was a deep pond, clear black water, still as death. The wind ignored the pond as if it were angry with her. On either side of the pond were lines of plum trees, dark purple leaves shaking consolingly in the breeze and drifting gently onto the pond to offer comfort.
    But the most magnificent sight lay beyond, a slate grey church, turrets and steeple scratching at the sky. It was carved in meticulous ornament, flying buttresses and bass reliefs reaching across every surface, enormous columns covered in etching stand holding the walls stoically. Great stained windows glance the light in reds and violets, depicting all sorts of strange creatures and sygils.  Rose bushes grow tall and wild all around the church. Ivy clings to the stone and stretches longingly across the windows. Set in the front is a carved mahogany door, beset with the depiction of a willow tree, and standing on either side was carved a man and a woman.
    Henry looked around in amazement, the wind ruffled his hair playfully, the shadows in the trees peered curiously, and the pond beckoned for him to come near. As he approached the plum leaves settled in his hair and whispered that the king was waiting. From the pond a reflection of the moon smiled at him and told him not to be afraid, that she will always be there for him.
    He reaches up to knock on the carved door and it opens softly, without a sound. Inside the cathedral there were no pews, instead it was filled with richly stained bookshelves towering overhead. Far above the shelves an arched ceiling depicted foreign stars and forgotten words, the walls had statues in every alcove, each a beast that couldn't exist. At the far end where the alter should have been was a throne carved from dark stone. Sitting upon it was a grave man with a porcelain face. His bright grey eyes were contrasted by the dark shadows beneath them. His hair was long and made of ash, and upon his brow was a crown woven from the shadows of ivy leaves. He wore dark clothing of a modern sort and was adorned with esoteric jewelry made of leather and bone. All around him was a host of strange creatures; a woman made of water, a bird of flame that gave no light, a black beast that was at once enormous and very small, a gravestone that walked about, and every sort of odd thing in between. Behind the throne stood a beautiful woman with straw colored hair, her face was a little long but it was kind, with a light scattering of freckles. She wore a dark green crown of ivy, and a flowing green dress that spoke of summer. And behind all of them was an enormous banner the color of a thunderstorm, depicting a single white rose.
"This can't be real," Michael thinks, "it cant be."
"It is." replied his thoughts.
    The Faded King with the grave porcelain face stands up slowly, his face softens. He is just an ordinary man, his hair is a bit long, but its not made of ash its only grey.
"Hello, Henry." the King says in a quiet voice that reverberates and echoes in the mind.
"Is this real? Where am I, and who are you?" pleaded Henry.
The man pauses briefly and replies, "It's almost real. This is my kingdom. And I am the Etiolate King. But I used to be called Bishop."
Henry takes a moment to process this, the says, "Your kingdom is in a playground?"
The man smiles lightly, eyes crinkling in the corners and replies, "Is that where we are? Seems like The Moon went to great lengths to pick you up, Henry."
"The Moon?"
"Yes, or at least her reflection in my pond. She has a fondness for lonely children. Now Henry, is everything okay at home?"
"Yeah," said Henry, "everything's fine."
"You can not lie to me, Henry." He said, not unkindly.
"Really, everything is okay."
"Henry," said the woman by the throne, "It's okay, we can help."
"It's just," Henry began, "my parents argue a lot, sometimes my dad looses his temper. Mom says not to talk about her bruises and hides them when she can. But that's what they've always done, she says not to tell anyone or they'll take me away. Please don't tell anyone, I don't want to leave."
"Never." says Etiolate. "Come, I can help."
    He steps forward and behind him a pair of massive grey wings stretch out, heavy and full, like an owls. They fold around Henry and in a flurry of feathers they are standing in Henry's bedroom.
From downstairs shouting can be heard. The King reaches down and grabs Henry's hand.
"Come with me." He leads them down the hall.
"They'll see us!" Argues Henry in a whisper, "I'll get in trouble!"
"They can't, you won't."
    Opening the door to the kitchen, the yelling echos around the room. Henry looks at the floor.
"Raise your head, do you see it?"
    Looking up he sees a creature between his parents, it stands on the ceiling and has a thousand black arms, all groping over each other, reaching for the center, in which lies the face of his father, contorted in rage. When it opens its mouth to yell his mothers faces grows inside, her face a mask of fear and when she opens her mouth to scream, the face of the father comes out again and again.
"What is that!" Henry cries in horror.
"It's what feeds on your parents aggression, it feeds and feeds and the more it eats the more it demands. It forces them to be angrier and angrier, just a little more every day."
    Henry stares, tears forming in his eyes. At last, there is something to blame. Every night this thing was there. Every night he woke up to screaming, all the fear and sadness had a face. And it was right in front of him!
"I want to kill it..." Henry says quietly, "Can you kill it?"
"Yes." Etiolate says, "But I won't. I'm going to teach you. Hold out your hand and point your finger at it and point your thumb into the heavens."
Henry does so.
"Now focus on your heart, feel the passion, the anger, the love. Move that energy to your hand."
    Henry thinks about every night trying to avoid the screaming, his desire to help, his mother's sad eyes, and the days his father would play with him.  He pushes that up his arm. It begins to shake.
Bishop kneels down and holds his hand out too.
"Hold it in your hand, and let it go, let your strength be the force that guides it."
    The Energy builds in his hand and then suddenly it leaves, it bursts forth from his finger, blue heat, pure love tears ahead. Henry's hair flies back and the creature burns and collapses into itself. Tears are streaming down Henry's face.
"You did great, Henry. Now just one last thing before I go. "says Bishop.
    He reaches up and plucks down the ashes of the creature, he holds them in his hands and breathes upon them. When he opens his hands a small blue bird flies out and lands on Henry's shoulder. It's light and warm.
"This is a spirit of love. It will act like that creature did, but instead of anger and fear it will instigate love and joy. It will help repair what that thing has done to your family."
"... Thank you," Henry said wiping his eyes, "but what about you? Where will you go?"
"I have a beautiful Queen to return to, but if you feel you truly need my help again, just look to The Moon and cry for The Etiolate King."
Henry awoke in his bed, an owl feather clutched in his hand.

Reviews

[Wez Hardyn]

I did enjoy this. The grammar is uncertain at times but your metaphors and descriptions made up for this deficiency. I admit that I had to look up the word 'etiolate' and yes, a perfect sobriquet. Not sure that domestic violence should or could be associated with anything mystical but that's kids for ya.

[Daniel Moore]

Thank you for the review! If you were willing, could you elaborate on the grammar issue? It's one of my biggest weaknesses, I'll admit.