The King of Kings

 

              In a vast city, on a gracefully sloping hill rested twelve marble steps, stacked, one upon another upon another; monolithic tools of escalation reaching towards a door the proportions and size of which few witness in these modern times. The door belonged to a beautiful temple of white marble and gray granite with gold leaf etchings of the most picturesque stories and adventures twirling and dancing about the walls and pillars. In the main hall, kitchens and cellars servants dressed in dull grays and browns scurried about, performing the most menial of duties in hopes to see another day. One hundred hopes to come home to one hundred families, to kiss one hundred foreheads of one hundred wives, to tuck four hundred children to bed and rest beside one hundred loyal canine soldiers. Above the servants in dimly lit rooms, glowing only with the light of incense and candles dragged a collection of oracles. The lighting of the vast worship halls downplayed the fantastic rainbows of lace and velvet draped over each man’s shoulders. Gold, platinum and silver chains were the only sounds that could be heard besides the monotone drags of prayers mumbled just above a whisper. Above these rooms, sat the largest, most awe inspiring room of all the rooms in all the land of all the kings known to man. Murals stood out like silent raconteurs telling the epic tales of the heroes of the past. Vases of the most precious metals with no value but that of the cosmetic lined the shining red carpet rolled out to the foot of a chair. The chair was no chair at all actually, but a throne. A throne of pure and solid gold with platinum lines and swirls swimming up the back and down the arms like the silver trails of slugs and poisonous water snakes.

            This of course, was of the time when kings were gods and crimes were sins. This was of the time when laws were commandments and senators were priests and priestesses, when citizens were the lay, the local post office was a shrine and the capital was paradise in which the king of kings, the god of gods rested upon the golden throne dripping with the precious platinum slime of the most unholy and disgusting of creatures. He was born just as any man would have been born, to a woman who had loved a man by the hands of a physician. He was raised just as any man, with the joy of childhood friends, a mother’s love, a father’s guidance and a favorite toy’s constant companionship. This child however was raised to be no man, but to be of the divine. He was taught to decree in the way a god would decree, to smile in the way an atheist would never believe and be so attractive that his blue eyes alone would strike down non-believers of all kinds. The king of kings cared indubitably for his people and knew without a doubt that each and every word to drip from his lips would be licked up like honey by those under his precious command and of course, the honey was never wrong.

            Over the gradual years a slow decadence of the peace began to occur. Adultery, stealing, disobedience, false witness, envy and above all, a lack of belief in the one and only, the provider of the honey, the source of all life and knowledge, began to permeate the land and lick up the followers. The king began to draw up order upon order to counteract this unholy attack masterminded by none other then the devil himself. Mountains of law, the envy of Mounts Olympus and Everest’ themselves began to pile up all about the temple. “Man shall lie only with woman”, “Man shall lie with only one woman”, “Art and music shall be dedicated to the king of kings and the king of kings only”, “Public news shall be approved by the king”, “The mind and body shall not be altered in any way”, and so on and so on. The king of kings was sure of his complete dominance now. One, two, three, and so on the rules began to be broken and one, two, three, and so on the bodies were hung limp or caged as circus animals. There was a lull in the unholy rebellion, a slow in the independent mind and the king of kings was overjoyed. He had asserted his divine presence to his kingdom and once more they bowed down to him. This holy regime based upon law after cherub law continued for several more years but slowly as silly history often does, it began to repeat itself. Crime and criminal began to come out of the dusty cellars and dark alleys to once again declare their power amongst the powerless.

            The king was lost and spiraling out of control. What to do!? Who to consult!? Who to kill!? Who to arrest!? Why!? A million questions buzzed in his heads like annoying gnats slowly feeding off his very soul. Just as he was slipping beneath the current and out of reach of the glowing shore an answer crept its way into his vast hall, slithering down his red carpet to the foot of his golden throne. An oracle in a flowing, twirling and stunning purple and gold trim robe stood below him smiling up at him with the eyes of a sly, experienced man of criminal morals. He explained his answer, the answer of the heavens actually, to the confused king of kings. As the oracle had been parading himself through the narrow streets of the poorer, lesser quarters of the city the evening before he saw the most beautiful butterfly. The butterfly fluttered wonderfully out of the tiny golden window of an unimportant family and landed gently upon the sheath of the oracle’s sword. He slowly began to draw the sword and the butterfly, shimmering vibrant shades of red, gold, purple, blue, green and all other colors imaginable and unimaginable floated off towards the stars and the heavens themselves. It could only be a command from God himself, to send a vast army out of numbers and strength the world has never seen before to exterminate those of lesser beliefs and lower creeds. To purge the lower quarters for those criminals and those who do not believe in the king of kings as divine and god as god. The poor king with all his troubles and the wrath of a crumbling land on his tired, wrinkled brow had no choice but to agree. And so the extermination of the beasts began.

            This purification, for it was no genocide or anything of the sort due to its most righteous cause, lasted for several months. It was a nuclear epicenter which exploded shards of fear and lament across the kingdom. The king waited in his throne day by day, month by month for news of the happy, unified, sinless utopia which had been promised. One day about one year and one month after the Great Purification, as it had came to be known, a tiny moth fluttered into his hall and landed beside his foot. The moth was an ugly, dull grayish brown and simply sat next to his feet, still and peaceful. The king peered down upon it and wrinkled his face with a slight taste of disdain before stepping on the creature and killing it. Several months later another oracle came to the king since the other had long since been killed by a savage group of rebels. This oracle’s robe was silver, ebbing and flowing like the most wonderful of creeks around his plump body. Sown into the fabric were an infinite number of tiny gold leaflets and draped around his neck, a long silver chain fixed with red rubies. He claimed the Great Purification had failed and there was no choice but to rise up the army once again and stamp out all those who did not belong to the wealthier classes or had any doubt in the words of the oracles and the divine power of god. The king let out a long yet weak sigh and lowered his head an inch, looking down at the floor. “Go then” he said and slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again a small creature was fluttering clumsily about his room. As it approached he recognized it as the moth he had killed months before. The same ugly, tiny, dull grayish brown thing falling and rising slowly making its way towards him. He held out his finger and allowed the creature to land on it, then held it up to his face. He looked into the eyes of the tiny moth and instantly saw the faces of a million people, crying and screaming in agony. Women, elders, children and men reaching towards him, calling for help, calling out the names of loved ones and begging god for mercy. He instantly felt their pain, their agony and cried out suddenly falling to the ground. His face was pressed into the cold, hard floor and his breathing moved at the pace of a sprinter slowing down after crossing the finish line. His eyes rose slightly to see the moth flying out of the room with ease, unlike the burdened flight the ugly thing had begun with. The king of kings closed his eyes once more.

            Early the next morning the army began their march towards the lower quarters, all in uniforms, in arms and in rows marching like the rough beat of a death snare towards the helpless, innocent sinners. The cemetery rested on the path before the town and from the gateway arch hung a figure silhouetted by the rising sun. Confused, the men and their leaders began to slowly approach the hellish gate and the figure began to take form. A shimmering silver chain of rubies hung from the arch and wrapped itself around the neck of its unlucky victim, like a python choking its prey to death after the initial strike, waiting for the slow death of the unfortunate. A bloodied sword rested in a shadow on the ground beneath the figure. A soldier found the body of the oracle in the bushes nearby, stabbed through the heart in a pool of his own slimy, vile blood. Each man’s eyes rose slowly up towards the figure hanging from the arch. They shuddered at the sight, the eyes of the king of kings staring, judging them from his holy arch of power.

Reviews

[Flo_writer]

Intriguing to say the least. A thought it was a different point of view on the story of Noah and the Ark. I found a few similarities in the mist of the story.

[Mandi]

you're a good writer!

[Latsyrk llorrac]

I'm really into stories, like this, it's very interesting. You're words are very good

[Latsyrk llorrac]

I'm really into stories, like this, it's very interesting. You're words are very good