Random Writing

One Man Army

He sits on the broken throne and casts an iron glance about the dusty and war-torn hall. The faded glory of his ancestors beckons him. The rage of his blood-like has now come full-circle. With a crooked smile the boy prince has returned.

And just in time.

A small servant girl comes rushing toward him, the rags of her tunic rustling in the slight breeze blowing through the cracked stone walls. "Sir," she bows hurriedly at his feet before rising and meeting his steely gaze with her own emerald one. "Sir they are here."

The boy nods once, dismissing the girl. A sheepish look crosses her face. "Do you need help, sir?" He fixes her with a fiery look and she bows once more and hurries off.

The prince rises to his feet, dusting the dirt from his clothes and straightening his jacket. The dented crown sitting atop his head wobbles and falls to the ground. The sound of metal on stone resounds throughout the once-great hall.

A wave of dizziness washes over the boy as he faces his first adversary. The stairs.

Leaning heavily on the cane he hobbles down the first two steps without much difficulty though his leg throbs with pain. In hind sight, he probably should have accepted the girl's help.

No, he scolds himself. I do not need help. Not now. Not ever.

He presses onwards and reaches the floor in what seems like hours. He heaves a sigh of relief and shuffles toward the exit to the hall.

The door opens before he even gets close and for that he is grateful. He may be able to fake health, but had he had to open the door for himself, his secret would be out.

He is not well. He cannot fight.

But that would mean defeat for him and his people who have stayed faithful even when he was not physically present to lead them. He nods at the guards at the door as he passes one of them his cane.

"Sir," the guard begins but is cut off with a look from the boy. The guard straightens again and leans the cane behind the door, out of sight by all except him.

Another pair of guards appears behind the boy as he walks out to the front of his palace. Chunks of wall and ceiling litter the path. The prince is thrown into a memory of the past, when the world wasn't in tatters and his castle was whole.

"Sammy come down from there!" his father had shouted at him while he leaped precariously from roof to roof and skated across the beams connecting them all. "You'll get yourself killed."

He glanced down at his dad laughingly before turning away and leaping from the lowest roof to one higher up. He scaled the walls like a spider its web and before long was dangling from a beam four stories up.

"Father look," he exclaimed. "I'm like a monkey!"

"Yes you are, my son. Now please come here before your mother skins us both."

"Five more minutes," he pleaded.

The king had sighed and run a hand through his graying hair. "Fine," he agreed. "But you don't want to be late."

"I won't be." The boy dropped from his perch and fell to the roof. He took off at a sprint and ran across the palace roofs, completely ignoring the startled screams of the servants and other nobles.

As he approached the end of the roof, he pushed himself harder and harder, preparing for the large jump.

"Sam no!" he heard his father shout. But he didn't listen. He never did. He kept running and at the edge, pushed off with one foot, launching into the air. For one brief, wonderful moment, he was flying. His eyes closed in ecstasy and that was his grave mistake.

As he fell from the sky, no longer being able to see his landing, he missed the roof and dropped, three stories, to the ground.

He landed in a crippled heap, pain shooting throughout his entire body. A tortured scream escaped his lips.

The king came running, worry etched on his face. He saw his son lying immobile on the ground and feared the worst. "Someone help!" he shouted into the now still marketplace. "Don't just stand there. Get the doctor!"

People started running in all directions, a few nearly tripped over the prince in their panic.

Soon, though maybe not soon enough, the doctor arrived. He shooed the king away and picked the boy up, carrying him to his quarters. He would operate there.

The prince had broken two ribs and his leg, none of which really ever healed. But what really broke that day was his heart. For had he not been so careless, maybe he would have been able to save his family.

The boy prince shakes his head. These are not the thoughts to have running through his head while facing imminent death. The day he lost his entire family- father, mother, brother, and sisters- was the worst he had known.

The army waiting at the broken castle gates is both less and more than he expected. There are crowds of men, all armed with the same standard weapon and shield combo. A large gathering of cavalry waits off to one side, the horses whinnying in anticipation. But what really stands out to him is the lone man in front of the army.

"Prince," the man shouts when he spies the boy. "Or is it king now that the old man is dead?"

The prince looks to the guard on his left. "My sword." He steps forward having acquired the weapon. He raises his voice to address the man. "I am no king. My father was and still is king of this land. That being so, I have no quarrel with you. I only ask for the freedom of myself and my people."

The man laughs loudly and falsely. "Humble, I see. Just like the man who raised you. Unfortunately, since you have stepped up to rule these lands, I cannot just let you go. I hope you understand."

The boy nods having expected this outcome. "Then we will fight." He takes a step forward and raises his sword. He leg throbs with pain but the boy pushes it to the side. He cannot focus on this right now. He must focus on the fight before him. One man versus an army.