I crashed Monday. A headache and lack of sleep conspired to delay me. But here is another entry. Lets see where this ride takes us. (wink)
It would be better if the King were dead.
A broken man. Skinny and thinner than a skeleton. His sunken eyes are stained purple with bygone tears. Unkempt hair upon his head, his ruddy beard is has pieces of mourning and depression in it. He sags on his oh so very old throne. The king's finery now is torn. Velvets have rotten. The gold is tarnished, what else is iron or steel covered in rust. Black dirt has collected under his shattered nails. The air about him is aria, a dirge. It cries for his kingdom, for it is no more.
Long live the King.
Previous Flash Fic