You Hold My Heart In Your Paws.

• Sarah Edson, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

As I sit here, wrestling my mind for inspiration, pleading with my oh-so ‘talented’ fingers to create for me a beautiful story to paint for the world, you sit next to me with unbound and unwavering patience.
Your gold eyes pierce my ideas like a sword through the belly of the beast; you sit there silently criticizing me and not offering a single mutter of praise when I take a small step towards perfection.
It is only when I look at you for help that you begin to pay attention to my feelings – or do you? You speak softly, your lips curling back over your teeth in a content whisper, asking delicately for my attention to be redirected elsewhere.
You stand and brush against me, claiming my lap and legs as your own, demanding my mind to be focused on yourself, and not caring if you are denied. I wonder if you know what you do to me. You must, for you do it so well. Soon my inspiration is lost, my awareness is cast into the depths of my conscious as I give you what you want; you seem happy, pleased with how this turn of events has worked out for you.
They say that for you, I am your servant. I would like to believe that we were something different, more on an equal plane, friends even - but I know deep in my heart that the old saying is true. I really am your servant; your beck and call is my command, your needs much more important than mine.
You are a King, and I am your lowly errand-girl.
But, you are a kind King. You do not punish me if I disgrace you. You do not yell if I mistake your words. You are a humble King, and for that I am deeply grateful.
You are not just a King though; I know this to be true. I don’t kid myself into believing that you need me, for you do, more than you realise. Who else could love you as I do? Who else could understand your tastes like I? No, you are not a King, not when you display your most intimate emotions to me so freely.
It is strange; to everyone but me, you parade your royal swagger and sway as if you were the main attraction. But to me, you are as frail as a baby, begging sweetly for all the love and care you can get your hands on.
I run my fingers through your hair and you handsomely murmur thanks as you curl up, much like the delicate spiral of a snail’s shell. I was silly to ignore you: you are all the inspiration and comfort I could ever need, and I can see in your glossy eyes and Cheshire grin that to you too, I am your world.