A Crown Too Heavy

• Sean Weir, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2021

The English literary giant Shakespeare famously wrote in Henry IV Part 2 “heavy lies the crown”. It’s an idiom that has come to resonate remarkably well beyond the distant period of 16th century Europe, and unfortunately in doing so has become a term painfully relevant to my current situation. Both literally and figuratively. The crown upon my head is heavy and uncomfortable, locked solidly onto my skull like a magnet to iron. I can only imagine the distaste kings in Shakespeare’s era had towards wearing it, but then again who am I to say. Universal power and admiration are pretty good perks if the only downside is having to wear a hunk of metal from time to time. In my case, universal power and admiration have always been foreign concepts, and when I go on stage in a few minutes I have serious doubts there’ll be an exponential rise in admiration and awe coming my way. Speaking of which here comes the living manifestation of cowardice and narcissism. Powerful words I know, but not without warrant. “Hey, idiot listen to me right now!” I slowly rose my head at the aforementioned individual stomping towards me, waiting for him to elaborate on that thought. “If you screw this up for me you’re done. I haven’t refined my skills as an artist for some mindless twit like you to undermine my performance.” I grinned at his quasi-threat. “I wouldn’t dare to jeopardise someone as talented as you Peter. I’m sure you’ll have a successful career ahead of you appearing in supermarket advertisements. Hell if you’re real lucky you might end up teaching drama at a primary school, 12-week holidays does sound good you know.” Peter sneered and began to clear his criminally insufferable nasally voice, ironic for a guy that fancied himself the next Hugh Jackman. “The jokes on you buddy. My uncle just scored me the main role in a-” Immediately it hit me like an epiphany, Peter’s equally insufferable uncle would be in the audience tonight. Like a revelation from God, I instantly conjured up a plan to put a wrecking ball to Peter’s ego and in the process eliminate any possibility of him getting that role. As the 500 spectators watched the plays climax I got on one knee beneath the lights and waited for Peter to pull the crown off my head. He tried pulling it off but to no avail, once, twice even a 3rd time but it wouldn’t budge an inch. The audience began to erupt with whispers and an atmosphere of awkward sympathy flooded the room. Couldn’t this guy pick up a fake crown? I glanced into the audience to see Peter’s uncle getting up to leave the theatre. For a split second, a wave of ecstatic joy rushed over me. Unfortunately, this was horribly misplaced. In a fit of rage, Peter ripped the crown off my head with my hair going with it. I had become a severely embarrassed bald king.