Euthanasia

Chapter Three- They Both Fall into Pieces

George spent the rest of the day looking out at the charred remains at the edge of the forest, where the fires had scorched the earth and the trees turned into ash. From such a far distance he couldn't see his family home amongst the blackened debris, but he knew it was there, in pieces, and resting with the cinders and the remnants of a once happy life. Just looking at the destruction, George could feel tears prickling behind his eyes, but he wasn't going to allow himself to cry. He pushed the memories away, far back into his mind, and forced himself to turn away from the stained-glass window of the infirmary.

He pretended he was unbreakable, but he never considered that this act would be what shattered him in the end.

He looked down at the bandages on his torso, at the many cuts he received for his treason. Everything I do is a loss, he thought. He only wanted to be free again, and he might have been, if only he kept his throwing knife to himself. If only he hadn't given in to the craving for the king's death. He could be bounding in the wildflower fields, but he wasn't. He was a broken glass, pretending to be indestructible, shatterproof. How long would he be able to continue the charade, before the tears would flow, and the glass would burst into itself.

The Blood King wasn't the only one who wore his mask well.

As the sun went down, disappearing behind periwinkle mountain tops, a heavy knock awoke the silence in the infirmary. The physician rushed to open it, and she yanked the bulky wooden door open. Two armored guards, chins high and eyes forward, stood shoulder to shoulder. The healer didn't seem alarmed or bothered, but to George the sight was chilling. The Blood King taught them to kill, ingrained it into their being.

They were trained to be executioners, just like their king had been taught the same lessons, only worse.

"His majesty is ready to see him," one of the guards grunted, his unwieldy armor clanked and his sword capered at his hip. "Of course," The healer dipped her head and looked at George, smiling kindly. She was the only one he knew that smiled in the whole palace. At first, he couldn't figure out how she managed to look so happy despite the terrible situation in the kingdom, a place no one can maintain even a small smile.

Then he decided it came with the job she did every day, to treat patients and comfort them. But even then, when she feared for her life every day, hoping she didn't make any mistakes to anger the king, she must also wear a mask to hide her terror, and unlike many others she hides it well. A monster hides his shame and inhumane desires, and its prey hides their fears.

George rose from the infirmary bed, covering his panic with a blank expression. He forced himself to take the steps toward the door, but he felt like he was walking in thick syrup, his footsteps heavy and slow. He was beginning to shatter with every forward motion. He was afraid of the Blood King. Facing him was breaking him. Not knowing whether he was going to die, or if he was going to be tortured again, made him want to run away, but he knew he couldn't escape the guards. So, he took the harrowing steps, the guards roughly grabbed his arms, and they took slow steps away from the infirmary.

Though George never really explored the palace or knew where anything was, he did know that they were heading farther and farther away from the throne room where the Blood King had cut him. George didn't know whether it was a bad thing or a good thing, though he knew for sure the king didn't just have a change of heart. It was impossible for someone to change their mind that fast, especially when they were a bloodthirsty killer.

Even though he was anxious and jumpy, George couldn't help but admire the grand palace for what it was, instead of what it represented. White quartz, marbled with gold, tiled the floor, and dappled, colored glass lodged into pale, cushiony limestone bricks. The bright, pristine halls of the palace were so different from the darkness of the throne room, where the coppery smells of death seemed to linger long after the mess was already cleaned up.