The King

"Wasting away on a bronze thrown and an iron crown. What must I do to gain respect? Fear is the answer, destroy their wonderous hills. Put poison in their gleaming rivers. They shall suffer and come to me to seek a warm smile. A 'hello', an 'I will help you, my child'. I must be the one to demand more than land, but servants and money. To have power bestowed on me. My crown gold with shiny stars. Silky garments to show my royalties. A lovely maiden to hang on my arm while she exudes beauty. I shall wake up in a room with a warm bath drawn. A plate with freshly picked fruit will await me there. An army that breaths fury with a build of boulders from the highest mountain. A warlord who lives to kill those that defy me. When I look over my balcony, I'll be welcomed with the smiles of my people."

"I WILL NOT BE PUT DOWN! I WILL NOT BE STOPPED!" He yells while going up a steep incline.

"The people will cry to their king with needs. Cheer my name when they are met. Gloss their eyes over my beautiful family. Sons and daughters that will know that meaning of power. I will be power. I will be King Faboe!"

A loud sound of orange rusted medal sounds and the wooden doors open. Fable jumps down from his stack of hay and grabs a pitchfork. Aiming it steadily as to not miss while striking. Of course, he composed himself when an all too familiar face showed.

"Mom! I thought you were some bandit trying to steal the horses," he said with a bright red face.

"I thought you were supposed to have this hay piled up nicely," his mother said with sass. Her face was sweaty from being in the kitchen all morning. Her smock was usually covered with eggs and batter. She placed her pasty hands on her waist as her lips curled in disapproval.

"I am. As you can see, I have already created a pile," Faboe replies as he points towards something the does not resemble a neat pile.

"Is that so...King Faboe," she said sarcastically. "Get this stuff cleaned up before I come back when dinner is done. If it's not done, you will not eat,"

His mother leaves with an angered look that Faboe knows all too well. A very shocking expression on his face when he realized what his mother had said.

"She called me King Faboe!" He shouts with excitement. After a few skips and jumps, he looked at the clock to find he had two hours left to clean. With speed and strength, he grabs the pitchfork and gets to work. Getting it done in time for dinner.