Boy King

Prologue

The small boy stared blankly at the unmarked door for a prolonged period of time before unlocking and entering the familiar grungy apartment. A darkened living room with two pieces of furniture greeted him. One item, the couch, was occupied by the boy’s caretaker, a woman sleeping off what the boy suspected to be a night of heavy drinking, dalliances with men she did not remember, and a hangover she would rather forget, just as she had no doubt forgotten the names of the men she had pleasured.

Approaching the couch, he sighed regretfully and shook the woman to wakefulness.

She glared malevolently at the boy. “I’ve told you before not to bother me.”

“I just need you to sign this. Please,” the boy added, praying that the maliciousness in her eyes would stay there and not be inflicted on him. He held a glaringly white sheet of paper with small print out to her and she scrawled her name in a way that whoever saw the signature would know that she was practical indisposed.

“Thank you, Mary.”

The woman grunted and turned her back on the living room and the young boy inhabiting it.

He shambled down the hallway and into his sparsely decorated room. He sat at the milk crates that he had assembled into having a semblance of a desk and took out the work he had been given to do. He failed to notice that the golden light of the autumn afternoon playing in the leaves outside his bedroom window. He failed to notice that the light trying to entice him outside stopped streaming into his dim room until he could no longer see to complete his assignments. Then he sat, unmoving as a stone, until the slamming of the front door and resounding click of the deadbolt signaled Mary’s departure for her unscrupulous nightly duties as his provider.

This began his time – the period when he ruled the three small rooms of his dwelling. Small lights came into his peripheral vision, then danced into the corridor when he swiveled his head to watch them. A pair of beautiful glowing butterflies fluttered through the open door of Mary’s bedroom to lead the procession of twinkling lights. The boy raised his hand in order to welcome the little creatures to his domain.

Then quiet, scrabbling noises began to be heard at the door and the boy rushed to open the portal to his friends. A troop of tall beings with pointed ears and intricately patterned clothes glided into the small den around him. Each stopped to salute the boy with an elegantly made weapon, which hung on the waist of each of the almost-human creatures. After these, the boy greeted and accepted an almost endless procession of guests and gifts.

Creatures that were half horse and half man paid homage; small, brown, furry beings offered services; short, stocky, and somewhat irritable men placed wonderfully made objects into the boy’s hands. Through it all, the child never displayed timidity or trepidation at the sight of these unknown and unfamiliar things that streamed through his door. He greeted each as if they were old friends and family, accepting the offerings that they gave, from the meekest to the most grand of things.

After vacating his post greeting those coming to his place of living, the boy made a point to speak to each of the creatures in attendance. He spoke to the Minotaur about how poorly they were treated by their close relations, the fawns. The fairies disclosed that they were very humble and believed themselves to possibly be the humblest creatures in existence. The boy advised the Unicorn on the best way to remove spots on a coat of pure white. Book worms spoke of the correct way to run a country and what the king was doing wrong. A ring of haloed and winged humans admired the shining, silver circlet adorning the boy’s head.

The gathering went on into the wee hours of the morning and stopped only when the boy was too tired to hold his head up while conversing with his guests. One by one, the fantastical creatures trickled out the way that they came. The boy locked the door after the last had departed and climbed wearily into his bed. Before his body crashed to the mattress, he fell into a deep and restorative slumber.

He was awakened the next day by a deep throated purring that vibrated his chest and shook the flimsy frames of his bed. Opening his eyes, the slim black cat nestled into his side slipped from the bed and onto the makeshift desk. The boy climbed out of bed and followed the cat, sitting at the desk. He sat as the darkness of night gradually brightened into the lightness of day. As the light became bright enough to see by, he scribbled down all he could remember of what had transpired just a few hours before.

As he wrote, the feline blinked his wise eyes and stretched, straightening his raven like wings and then settling into a more comfortable position on the window sill.

When the child left off writing and began his preparations for the day, a single sheet of paper lay on the desk, with a single line of verse written on it.

“And a mere young boy shall lead them all.”

Rory woke with a start and moved his eyes around the room. He couldn't remember what he had dreamed, but he knew it had been fantastical. His eyes fell on the alarm clock perched on the makeshift desk in the corner and he swore quietly. He was going to be late if he didn't hurry.