Asterisk*

Obituaries and Omnipotence*

*Both found in the metaphorical context of death and power

A king dies,

A successor on the throne,

Family jewels full of blood spilled garnets,

A crown and sword handed,

Death commanded,

Life disbanded.

Apollo

Beheading is an interesting concept. Sure, you could call it decapitating, but beheading sounded so much better. Just a little 'off with his head!' and it would be off. A snap of your finger, and that's it. A crown on your head, their head gone, rolling on the floor. There was no mercy. A sword and a swing, easy. A sword and a hacking is worse, a stadium watching the pain and suffering, a shiver down the spine, the ending of the universe here. A guillotine for the slightest mercy; a contraption that would tie you down and cover your soul for your own mindfulness ending. All of this done by a king, honor shining on his name.

The head is the life force of the body. Where you see. Where you talk. Where you think. Suddenly, in an instant, it can end up on the floor. All because of power, or lack thereof. A power given, a power taken. A power stolen away forever with the force of death. It seems simple, but it's not. That's the beauty of it. The impending concept of ending, yet a beginning of something new. A blade and a head, that's it. But there's something else, something unknown, maybe the twinge of the eyes, or the tear down a cheek, or knowing the truth: the person with their head on the ground is not the one who should be.

People fought battles, scarified their lives, spent years in jail with slander to their names. They seemed to ignore the fact that the King only had to open his palm and everything would fall into his hand right when he wanted it. The court would hustle and bustle around him, whispers filling every possible room. But he wouldn't care. He has an army of advisors, a mob of warriors, and every possibility on the isle whenever he wants it. The epitome of arrogance in one person, complete with a gold chair and a leg draped over the armrest.

This is power. Real power. Not the type of power that your parents say you have over the world. Not the type of power that you imagine you have; a genie like wish granting system. This is a power that kills. A vile power, full of vengeance, a snake-like bite of poison of doom. Gone was the image of gold power. This was blood red, shining brightly on a silver tipped sword.

While monarchy is no longer in place the same way it was years ago, hierarchy seemingly takes its place, a fire burning in the pitfalls of corpses, sockets of the dead, outwards into the bones of the deepest secrets. There's always one person who has the power that you wish you had the power over. The deepest desire to have your very own knights in shining armor fix your problems for you. For once, I could put on some armor and create my own knight. But I know Jinx couldn't.

He had still barely been out of his room. He missed about two days of classes, finally coming out of his room for a third day. He wouldn't talk to anyone though. Not me, not Kyra, not even the teacher. Kyra tried making him lunch, but not even food helped him start talking aside from a 'thank you.' He was holed into his room again. I passed by his room when I was visiting Marcus. I knocked on his door, but his roommate said he hadn't come back, so we had no idea where he currently was.

"He's back in his room," Kyra stated, barging into my room, scaring my roommate so much that he almost dropped his paper into the candle under it. "Come on."