Unkissed. (Rated R)

37.🐸

I raise my head back up to the scene slightly and my smile diminishes as I meet Patrick's hard eyes. His expression Astute, eyes swirl with hidden suspicion as he glares right at me, and I glare right back at him. Could it be possible? for him to recognize the young boy in me or does the new look of a man shroud what my appearance used to be.

"Ladies and gentlemen", the archbishop rasps, the force in his chords were like metal scraping cemented grounds. Summoning his breath to announce his words. "Your new leaders, King Gunter and Queen Tiana."

The thunderous roars and cheers resound, louder than before to the new nobilities, the clock struck a chime, and the crowd on the castle grounds cheer with joy at the symbol. Patrick breaks his gaze, readying for the move, as do I.

The woman in black from earlier steps in behind Tiana, adjusting her gown and veil as Tiana is prepping to make a few steps. The archbishop moves aside, and the other bishops follow. All guards and the old kings split in two, clearing a pathway to the large window to the cheering crowd. Thier energy blooming, white doves flying around and faint sounds of fireworks.

Hand in hand Gunter and Tiana are guided towards the scene, I closely behind Gunter until I was somehow found myself right behind the woman in black who was right behind Tiana and holding the end tips of her long white gown. Their crowns sparkle above as they exit out into bright rays of the beaming sun, just over the stoned edge of the window wide enough for the both of them to stand side by side, hand in hand.

The crowd below roaring like waves hitting against rocks as they acknowledge the new King and Queen, I stand aside just an inch behind her, forcing myself to gaze down at her voluptuous backside or her smaller hand interlocked with his, instead I save the torture and I force my eyes about to the horizon of the green land.

Just across that field were the commoners standing just at the rusty old gate, children sat around the necks of their mother and father as they themselves wave over to the Queen.

I swallow dryly, my face etching to contort as the sorrow like sentiment tingle at my chest, looking at my old life, a life I would have still been confided too hadn't that fateful day reached. Would I still have been there even now? or right here at her side, where I belonged. For a quick curiosity I flick my eyes down at her, her head angling to the right where I stood as she acknowledged every row of the crowd.

The feel of my eyes burns her cheek, and she lowers her head to try and gaze back at the feeling, I tear my eyes away back to the crowd just as I felt eyes burning behind me. My focus returns to securing for any weapons as the crowd chant for the old king to step out.

I'm conflicted by the cause, incapable of looking elsewhere but the gated horizon of commoners on the other side, all memories soon flooding over me. What difference is it? though I am at her side, I am still a prisoner, trapped by predicaments, and haunted by trauma. It became too much. Too much to bear at the horrid memories.

The chants I try to ignore seem to grow, becoming the nuisance in this moment of sorrow I try to steal for myself, my chest rams, burdening my oxygen flow. I gravely swallow, once again sealing my emotions to remind myself I am nothing more, but a mere shell and I glance down at my dress shoes, when a sudden brush of wind blows through the strands of my gelled hair, touching at the scalp.

As if it touches my cheek, it felt like a call, and I angled my head just a little bit to acknowledge. I see the tree; the once leaved barks are now naked to the eyes leaving its rotting old wood to wither away. Despite the age, it stands firm, a ray of sun beams down on it, almost as if it sustains its life. The ramming paces itself, and I can breathe again, this time that sorrow was lifted, and that joyous emotion returns.