Fate

• Travis Radford, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2016

I grip tight to my paper crown, as if this bejewelled mass will protect me from the inevitable fate I must suffer. I hide in my paper castle, behind my paper doors, as my paper knights fold around me into intricate origami’s of human flesh. “Brendan!” My eyes jolt out of focus, refusing to accept the diabolical reality and notice my faithful servant, thrown to the floor, blanketed in an ocean of heartbreaking red and maroon. “How did it all come to this?” I wonder in my terminal moments.

My heritage was built upon a foundation of despicable men, my father no different. He saw everything in black and white; which once may have been a useful quality. However, what he failed to recognise was, these days - everything is grey. Desire was his curse and virtue and would ultimately be his downfall. In his final days this was more evident than ever, only an ash of his former, lustful self. Thus proving - everything fades. The finest of diamonds, the richest of silks, the brightest of suns and even ourselves.

When he usurped the throne he threw away his old life; but the aura of the very same strain of dissatisfaction remained. It was all he had ever spoken of, ever since he had devoted his undivided attention to obtaining it from before my very birth. Was the beast inside him unquenchable? Such thoughts infuriated me, once.

What I realise now is that power is in fact unattainable, purely an illusion. Those who seek it are cowards, those who do not, even more so. For all control is self-imposed by the inflicted. There is no such force in existence, not as long as we can still draw breath. This enigma drove my father to insanity.

He arranged my marriage when I was only a boy. After all, a power hungry king needs a strong lineage to assure his future and at this time his embers of lust were burning with the uttermost ferocity. Nonetheless, I fathered no children. Not because my wife was a hateful woman, not because of an inability to conceive and most temptingly of all it was not even to spite my demented father. It was because I loved another.

My father soon found out. His paranoia combined with a vast network of spies made quick work of it. When he confronted me he bore closer resemblance to a maddened dog than a father. He let his lamented feelings break free as he branded me with hatred and disappointment, wishing death upon me and denouncing me as his son. Maybe if he’d focused his efforts more so on those plotting against us, rather than his own son, this bloodbath wouldn’t be taking place.

My father can now finally be at rest as the doors break down, the opposing forces rush inwards and my lover, Brendan, bleeds out before me. As the idea of eternal sleep blossoms. I believe it’s time and I believe it’s mine.