Unhappy fortune!

child in backpack at farmers market When my son was younger, he would cry every time my wife left. But I got smart and learned to take him to the window so where he would calm down and just watch her. He’d giggle and watch her happily the whole time outside. We lived in a second-story apartment, so we didn’t have a yard at the time and I never bought any tools, but she still loved to work outdoors. She’d mostly tend to the flowers out on the balcony, pruning and weeding until we had the most beautiful flowers of any balcony around. Eventually we bought herbs and plants for her to tend indoors as well, but she still loved her time outdoors in her flower garden. And my son would cry if I didn’t take him to the window to see where she was.

And as soon as my son learned to walked and was finally tall enough to reach the windows, he would toddle himself over to watch his mom out tending her garden. But in those days she had started going over to our new neighbors to visit with them. We were supposed to over as a couple, but Matt, the husband, intimidated me by his intelligence. I tried to hold conversations with him at first while my wife talked about shopping with his wife, but he was too smart for me to hold an intelligent conversation with. Plus, he always had ambitious plans for advancing in his career as well. He always shared with me his goals of being able to buy everything his wife even mentioned, and how he hoped to do so with his career advancement. But I couldn’t share such goals because I was doing all I could just to survive with my measly paycheck and our family’s increasing financial demands. Since it was tough for me to fake it through all of our conversations, I just decided to stay home and take care of our son.

“When’s Mommy coming home?” our little Pedro would ask with as he burst in still backpacked from school. He would rush to the window, and wait there for her until she came. “She’ll be home soon. She’s still at work, sonny.” I couldn’t tell him exactly when, though. “When?” he asked. “I don’t know. Soon enough, okay?” I’d respond, and he’d continue waiting there at the window until she arrived. I couldn’t blame him, though. She may not always come home at the same time, but at least she was reliable and made him oh so happy whenever she got there. I can’t say the same for myself. I hated being late, but sometimes I’d forget about our mandatory ‘date nights’ during the week. I’d go to meet her after dropping Pedro off at the sitter’s whenever I was reminded, but despite all the cussing and fuming on the way to our forgotten date she still had trouble forgiving me. She even started calling me ‘loser’ in front of Pedro, until she realized that he’d learned it as well so she stopped.

“Where’d Mom go?” Pedro asked. “She went to the store,” I told him. Pedro sat there playing with his toys, but still wasn’t engrossed nearly enough to forget to keep tabs on ‘Mommy’. I stayed home with Pedro whenever she went to the store. Sure, he could be contented enough for a little bit playing with his toys, but my wife Frederica wasn’t entirely comfortable leaving him home alone quite yet. When I was worried about her being able to carry the groceries by herself, she reassured me that I wasn’t strong enough to help her anyways. She said the young men working at the grocery store were always eager to help her out. She also joked that they could “actually reach to close the rear door.” So apparently I wasn’t needed to jump up and close the rear hatch anymore, and could stay home to watch Pedro instead.

When Frederica starting going out with her friends more, I used to comment on how good she smelled before she left. She’d kiss me on the forehead and tell me that maybe if I took showers every once in a while, I’d have more friends too. It was because I was sick at the time, so I didn’t feel like doing anything at all. Including taking showers. I guess Frederica noticed, but man did she smell good herself. I loved getting a whiff of her fruit smell as she walked out the door. I could smell hints and traces of it around our house, too, so I could even enjoy it when she was gone. But before long Pedro would interrupt my moment of longing with an outburst. He was having disciplinary issues at the time, so I’d spend those evenings just trying to get him settled down before he finally fell asleep and I could go to bed.

My wife’s perfume lingered on my mind, and eventually awoke passions in me I couldn’t resist. And because she wasn’t always around, those feelings drifted towards other women. Ensnared and encouraged by libido, I couldn’t help it when the perfume of other women excited in me the same memories I once restricted to only my lovely wire. So I was embarrassed and ashamed when she caught me in the act. I don’t want to say how, but those same passions she once invoked were carried out with another woman. It’s enough to just admit it. I can’t go into details because I don’t want anyone else to know. My drive was too much to resist, and I gave in to the shame. If she hadn’t left, if she hadn’t gone to see her mother that night, maybe things would be different. But it’s too late for ‘what if?’ Things now began to fall apart, but with Pedro as a teenager still in the house, we had to stick it through, unhappy though we became.

And she even started hating my jokes. Well, hate is such a strong word. Truth is, she just stopped laughing. She started to call my jokes stupid, but carefully never in front of Pedro, no. I was easily amused, and found myself to be quite clever. But Frederica quite disagreed. She said things like my jokes were really bad, unfunny, and that I should never quit my day job. I was never crude with Pedro, and he thought all my jokes were funny. At least I could amuse someone. Now in high school, he’d share some of my jokes at school with his friends. I guess they were a big hit. That, and him being quite the prankster helped him become quite popular with his sense of humor. But Frederica refused to admit that it came from me.

She called me a Neanderthal, too. The name-calling got rough at times, because I wasn’t the type of person who could just talk to my friends about all my problems at home. Maybe it was a sign of weakness to me, or maybe I just wasn’t equipped to ‘talk things out’. So Frederica and I eventually started to seek help from outside. Since it’s tough for me, we started to talk with family, then moved on to ‘life coaches’, and after that didn’t seem to work we sought professional counseling. Yet things never quite worked out. Frederica divorced me because my “brain has not evolved sufficiently to cope well in today’s world”. I found out later that she started a relationship with our marriage counselor. Our son Pedro just graduated from high school, but he hasn’t gone anywhere yet. He just stands at the window all day, wondering when Mommy’s going to come home.

My Prison of Mistakes

Prison bars

Why can’t I just be good at something? At anything? I could have started before the age of two, been a child prodigy because nobody knows what children are capable of until they try. I could have been on television, in magazines, the cute little child with extraordinary talent. All because of parents that started early and believed in their child. I could’ve won tournaments, made everyone talk about my ‘skills’ and ‘potential’. Potential’s such a funny thing. Because you never can truly gauge what it might be and if you don’t harness it you risk capping it beneath its true value. How many youth so full of potential never amount to anything? Well, every single one without the opportunities afforded the others, or additionally lacking something that conflicts with potential. How many “Mostly Likely to Succeed” titulars failed their voters? Too many, I do believe. But I reached certain measures of success by age two. That is, I had teeth and I could walk. How impressive relative to all my contemporaries. But my behavioral shadows were overcast. I only played by myself, and I could become frustrated easily. I threw temper tantrums, and was extremely defiant and resistant to change. Those issues were enough to handle, without my parents ever worrying about what more I could start to become.

Maybe if my temper tantrums weren’t so excessive, I might have had more friends. But even as I grew older my expressions of frustration alienated me from my peers. Since it always had to be ‘my way’, nobody wanted to play with me anymore. So, just as before, I continued to play by myself. I tried making friends, but they just wouldn’t stick around. Who knew that life could be so difficult at such a young age? I mean nobody wants to be alone, but what to do have to have things my way? It’s not that I didn’t have friends. Well maybe it is, if you’d more appropriately call them acquaintances. Because all of the sleepovers and birthday parties I was never invited to made for some lonesome times with ‘friends’.

So as I became more isolated from the world, my behavior got worse. At home it’s one thing, but school is an environment in which bad behavior is apparently less tolerable. Maybe the teachers wanted to demonstrate control of the classroom, and didn’t want children running home to tell their parents more about my disruptions instead of sharing what they had learned. Because then parents would contact the school, and inquire as to why their child wasn’t receiving the privilege of education that they deserved. And the teacher would be evaluated as unsuccessful and eventually be fired. After all, self-preservation is a requisite to maintain contractual agreements. That’s when it was decided that I would be sent away to a more disciplinary institution, which means I never really got to experience the formative high school years where more normal children teenagers learned many life lessons that I did not.

But I graduated anyways, and found a job afterwards. Wage labor was my life from the day’s start to finish. I worked harder than anyone, because I had energy and much to prove. I did not revel in wage labor, but sought furtherance in the form of additional duties that became additional responsibilities and were supposed to lead to titles and positions of authority. But it never happened. They said I wasn’t mature enough, that maybe I should move on to other things because it just wasn’t suitable for me at this time. Thanks, come again. So I reviled the wage labor until my frustrations boiled onto my co-workers. I had to leave, but not before they told me not to come back.

I eventually found other positions of labor from which to earn wages, and accumulated enough funds in my bank account to fix all my problems. Maybe if I just had someone else in my life it would be more tolerable. Maybe I would then be able to wash away everything with emotions of happiness, blissful days full of thoughts of a significant other who loved me. So I started with a tummy tuck, to reshape and firm my abs. I had already tried every instant ab workout, but they never worked for me. I must just be big-boned or something. I also got butt implants, because a butt lift would make me more appealing to the opposite sex. I then got a nose job, because I just can’t stand an imperfect nose. It’s so distracting! Then I got a face lift because I think wrinkles were starting to form in the corners of my eyes and mouth. And to finish off my new face, I got a chin implant to compensate my overbite and cheek implants to give me high cheek bones like all of the models. But the surgeries didn’t work out for me like they did for everyone else. I never found my significant other, never got the person of my dreams to come into my life. And people never complimented my purchased beauty enhancements. In fact, they thought and weren’t afraid to tell me that I was hideously disfigured. All of that work, and nobody yet to tell me I’m beautiful just like they did before the surgeries.

But all was not for naught, because I did get married to one of my co-workers. That’s about as romantic as it can get, right? Such exhaustive searches for people to marry models and athletes, that’s not for everyone. Why not reproduce with the closest of kin, from your own hometown? That was my fairy tale. We even had a child together, though it died in childbirth. Still-born. Such an overwhelming sight. Your beautiful child lying there, still, motionless, lifeless. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. You’re supposed to celebrate, to cry tears of joy, not floods of anguish. A parent shouldn’t have to bury their own child, and certainly not so near what was supposed to be a joyous celebration of life.

And years later here now I sit. I was found guilty for the murder of my spouse. My defense was supposed to be insanity, but it was not heard. So I was sentenced to 100 years without the opportunity of parole. And as I sit here, I start to wonder. Is it too late to start over? God, would you be willing to do for me what you have never done for anyone else in the history of mankind? Can’t you just erase my mistakes and let me try again? Please? I promise I’ll do it right next time. Just give me a chance. Don’t make me suffer. Just let me forget everything that has ever happened and be born anew. No regrets and no mistakes, just a chance please. Let me start over and live life just like everyone else. I promise I’ll do it right, next time.

National Assessment of Adult Literacy

Top

Number of Adults in Each Prose Literacy Level

Prose Literacy

  • Below Basic:
    • no more than the most simple and concrete literacy skills
  • Basic:
    • can perform simple and everyday literacy activities
  • Intermediate:
    • can perform moderately challenging literacy activities
  • Proficient:
    • can perform complex and challenging literacy activities
Number of Adults in Each Prose Literacy Level.

Kittens

An adorably curious kitty; it's adorable, I l...

Bella was a kitten born into a small litter on a farm in Montana. She was well taken care of along with the rest of the litter. All were allowed to play, yet they were taught how to hunt as well. When their owners put the litter up for adoption she was quickly adopted by a young girl and her family, being the opinion of that young girl as the cutest kitten in the litter. Bella was only just weaned from her mother when the family selected her to move to the city with them. There, she would no longer be required to feed upon small vermin, yet was still entitled to the occasional bowl of milk. So life was good.

One of Bella’s notable exceptions of expected kitten behavior was her lack of a desire to play. That does not mean to imply that she was lazy, because she was still active. She just never showed any enthusiasm for the games other kittens loved to play. Perhaps it grew from her being the only female in her litter, and the male kittens always clumsily jostling her out-of-the-way in pursuit of a piece of string or a laser pointer. She may have never overcome that fear directed from her need for physical safety. She had even seen the others get banged around by falling gates and things, and avoided such dangers smartly.

Normally Bella was quite content to laze around all day, grooming herself for hours on end. This was normal activity for a feline such as herself, even as it took up a quarter of her days. But occasionally her grooming would take precedence over other activities to the point when it no longer seemed functional. Such grooming seemed more often to take place during Bella’s sulking periods, which occurred more often in the wintertime when she was unable to go outdoors. Ironically, Bella’s grooming seemed requisite to any outdoor excursions, and hours of grooming regularly led to wanting outdoors.

Bella never completely overcame her instinct to hunt, perhaps as a way to hold on to the memory of her mother, as could be expected of the young of barn cats. She explored the expansive territory her new family’s neighborhood allowed her to claim, and would often bring home birds and rodents to proudly place them at the displeased young girl’s feet. Such hunting kept Bella lean, until the young girl began to feed her cat food. Bella remained self-sufficient, though, and learned how to feed herself with minimal meowing for her occasionally inattentive owners. But she was otherwise unneedy, and could sustain herself whenever her owners were gone for periods on family vacations and the like.

Bella was a solitary creature that disliked the invasive company of certain other types of cat. Very kind and lovable to her adopted family, Bella could become quite aggressive and territorial with the other cats that lived nearby. Though her territory expanded for well over many blocks, she was most territorial near her owners’ home. But her owners and all of the little girl’s friends always praised Bella for being a ‘nice girl’, and they never quite understood why she insisted on fighting any other feline who entered the household. Quite different perspectives, indeed, for the human and feline populations.

Bella had never gotten along with other felines, particularly other kittens of the female sex. Fights would break out often whenever she was in their presence, whether out in the neighborhood or whenever the girl’s friends brought their own kittens over to ‘play’. Biting and scratching were common, though such behaviors are more characteristic of male cats. And the behavior worsened as she got older, perhaps because of decreasing tolerance. Yet Bella’s owners found this to be quite unusual for the same kitten whose high-pitched purrs charmed so many of the household’s human visitors. Bella eventually lived a long life, and even had a litter of her own before they were given away to a little girl and her family.

Alone

Managing emotions - Identifying feelings

Timothy wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how she made his heart jump with every look and pound with every word when close. But Timothy couldn’t tell her how he felt, no matter how hard he tried. Because Timothy was mute. So instead of words, poetries, and the like that would flow from an enamored’s lips, Timothy said nothing at all. Not, “hi” not, “hello” not, “how are you” not, “you’re beautiful” “do you want to hang out sometime” “I’d like to get to know you”. All Timothy could do was plead with his eyes, beg her with a look to come home with him so he could show her how he felt. He could shower her with gifts, surprise her every day, translate every ounce of affection into symbols of love that he could not put into words. But it would never become, because he had no way to tell her how he felt inside. He could only plead with his eyes that she’d understand, but she never did.

So later, after Timothy’s car accident, after he’d tried yelling at the other driver a warning yet unheard, she came into his life again. Would fate give him another chance to communicate these tidal waves of emotion and bring her into his life? No, because those of us who have seen this before know of fate’s cruel and sadistic ways. Still without a way to communicate his words, Timothy’s accident caused his neck to twist in such a way that despite all strained efforts, all he could do was look down at his own feet. And when he walked, those feet shuffled in such a way that made others look upon him with relief that God had not put them in such a condition as well. Timothy tried to maintain his demeanor, to smile at others as if nothing were wrong, but his eyes could never quite reach a friendly face, and without words to bridge that gap, he had nothing to offer.

So years went by, and Timothy suffered through his cruelly imposed condition, losing friends and opportunities at friendship, and family as well, because it is difficult to communicate with one who cannot. So he was forced to withdraw from society, slowly though, because he still went into public, held a job, bought groceries, visited museums and aquariums, and attempted to make the most of his increasingly solitary life. But without friends, acquaintances, or any other people in his life to make loneliness go away, Timothy began to lose hearing. Because though science shows less noise improves our hearing, Timothy’s got worse with no conversations or even kind words directed at him, to the point when he became deaf. And now he could not even hear when the nice girl told him to have a nice day, or see when she leaned over to smile at him.

With nobody to spend time with, he started eating less, since there was nobody to share his meals with they became routine and boring, sometimes skipped now for fear of reminders of loneliness. Eventually Timothy stopped eating at all, because he knew that everyone else ate meals with smiles and conversations, and belonging to groups of people who laughed and enjoyed life in public while he sat alone. And then came the physical numbness, when his emotions had been so hardened by life’s cruel fate that he no longer felt things like the cold winter air or blistering summer heat. His emotions had been turned off so that no longer could he feel anything inside, nor outside of his body either. And eventually Timothy shuffled along a cold, lonesome street, not knowing the time because he could not ask, and not feeling the frostbite set in and slowly bringing his lonesome experience of life to its death.

My Wife and Kids

marriage license

When I was eighteen years old, I married my high school sweetheart, Maribel. I was determined to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health. I took her to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part. I asked God for wisdom and devotion in the ordering of our common life, that each of us may be to the other a strength in need, a counselor in complexity, a comfort in sorrow, and a companion in joy. That He give us grace, when we hurt each other, to recognize and acknowledge our faults, and to seek each others’ forgiveness. I wanted to allow our love for each other to be a seal upon our hearts, a mantle about our shoulders, and a crown upon our foreheads. So we appeared in person before a Clerk at the County Marriage Bureau location, filled in our names exactly as they appeared on the identification presented, completed the known information of our parents, and reviewed the documents for accuracy. We left for the County Office of the Civil Marriage Commisioner, where we verified our commitments with a sixty-dollar fee, which I paid in full myself.

We cancelled our honeymoon because Maribel wanted me to buy her a ‘Hello Kitty’ small black patent embossed handbag, with a matching necklace. Since the store was on New York 5thAvenue, I fueled up my Chrysler Lebaron and set to head off on the thousand-mile journey, but something was wrong. I couldn’t see, because the sun was in my eyes. So I went back inside the gas station to purchase a pair of sunglasses to safely make my trip. The attendant rang up the pair, but my card was rejected. “Do you have any cash?” he asked. I did not. After a couple of phone calls I discovered that a hold had been placed on my account. Apparently, Maribel had already reserved her purchase with my card. So I drove off into the sunset, hoping not to go blind along the way. Luckily, the passenger’s side sun visor still worked, with its vanity mirror’s flip-up cover stuck in the upright position.

Throughout our high school years, I had been a successful athlete. With dreams of playing professional sports, I traveled around to team tryouts after high school, hoping to earn a minor-league contract. A couple of tryout rejections and the anticipation of more wracked Maribel to the point when I decided to give up and just find a stable job. Maribel wanted to start saving for our kids’ collegiate futures now, and I couldn’t let her worry about our future children all alone. A few weeks after my job started, I received a phone call from one of the developmental league teams requesting a personal interview. My big break? I talked to Maribel about it later that night, but we both decided it would be best for me to turn it down.

As my minimum-wage job became less promising, I attempted to move on to greener pastures. I had put in a few applications, and finally received an interview in regards to a mid-level management position I had applied for. I had just spent our paycheck on the shoes I had begun buying for Maribel each pay period. I had agreed to buy her at least seven pairs each month (because one per day was just unaffordable), and her collection had grown considerable since then. At least she was happy, but not having any more paycheck this week meant I couldn’t afford a haircut before my new interview. So once I told Maribel our exciting news, she decided to try to cut my hair for me. And it was horrible. What’s worse is that I couldn’t fix the problem in time for my interview. It broke my spirit and induced anxiety, but I had to continue through for us.

This wasn’t the first time I had done something for Maribel. I also bought her new dresses (albeit at a slower accumulation than the shoes), and later our daughter would come with the same demands as her mother. And instead of haircuts I learned that Maribel was much more successful at painting nails and sampling perfumes. Both of which she decided were much better done by a professional. So I took both of the ladies of the household out on a regular basis for them to ‘gets pretties’, as our daughter called it. And I learned that a haircut wasn’t all that important. Especially once I began to develop male-pattern baldness. As long as the women of the house were satisfied, I didn’t need to ‘gets pretties’ with them.

But before our daughter was a young lady she was just a baby. Her and her little brother. It was easy at first, because Maribel was adamant about breast feeding. But when funds did not allow our diets to be as nutritious as they should, we talked about switching to Similac. Then we realized our new house did not afford us potable water, and she continued to breast feed. Once the children got older and began eating solid foods, Maribel insisted on cooking. She assured us of her talents, which consisted of a few recipes from her mother, but she wasn’t really all that good at it. But what else could we do? Often times, I would skip meals entirely, not because of Maribel’s cooking, but in order to save on groceries.

When the kids started school, my first school shopping experience wasn’t pleasant. Needing a new suit to comply with the new policy at work, I hadn’t realized how expensive kid’s clothes could be. Not that the individual items were draining my wallet, but all of the outfits Maribel was picking out slowly piled into the cart, filling it up until she made me go get a second one. She wanted to make sure the kids were popular, and since they were going to attend a private school that did not require a school uniform, she made sure to get shirts of popular video games, vintage tees, colorful tops for our daughter Cassie, preppy shirts for Alex, and of course gym clothes too, other assorted screen and graphic tees, with all of the clever phrases proclaiming girls better than boys, along with a few one-liners for boys as well, and all of their favorite animals. And of course Maribel had to include with each outfit matching hoodies, button-fronts, layered looks, dress shirts, polos, blouses, pullovers, ponhos, tank tops, tunics, camisoles, cardigans, and mock turtlenecks. When we finally completed and moved to the men’s department, having totaled all of the items in the cart, I had just enough to purchase a $1 ‘Cloak of Invisibility’ for sale.

Black Friday shoppers at Walmart

Midway through the school year, all of my savings having been put aside in the meantime, was our first significant Christmas. Not significant because of Jesus and all of that stuff, because we had celebrated like that already. It was significant because the children were now older, and had the outside influences from school and after-school television to tell them what toys and games were going to be fun. And of course I had to surprise Maribel with new furniture and a remodeled bathroom, Alex wanted the new video game system that had just been released in time for holiday shopping, and Cassie wanted toy jewelry because she was started to imitate her mother. I had to buy Maribel precious stones and semi-precious gemstones, but luckily I could get away with the plastic versions for Cassie. And both girls wanted clothes as well. Cassie because she insisted that she couldn’t be seen wearing the same clothes she wore the first half of the school year, and Maribel pleaded the same case for her work, to include the continued purchasing of the seven pairs of shoes monthly. I wanted a watch to go with the borrowed suit I was now wearing to work, but instead the kids got me toys that they could play with when I wasn’t home. When I was younger, I collected model trains, and this was their justification, that giving me the newest toys would replace the train collection I had to sell in a garage sale once Alex was born.

Because Maribel is extra special to me, I had to get her something extra special as well. I needed a cellular phone that had been mandated by work, but I refused to ruin her holidays because of selfishness. So instead I spent the last moneys on my debit card on a coupon for a “week’s worth of relaxation and rejuvenation” as the coupon stated. Funny how they call it a coupon. I didn’t save any money at all. But I knew Maribel would be happy. I just didn’t know how happy. Apparently I hadn’t read all the print to my surprise, because I had actually purchased a package for two. When Maribel saw this little bonus, she exclaimed, “How romantic, honey, thank you! Now I can take Cassie and show her how to be treated like a woman!” And with that she gave me a peck on the cheek. Apparently she didn’t mind the consideration she must have made that Cassie hates anything to do with “yucky,” to include any mud or other minerals used on the facial scrubs they would surely get. But other than that I was sure they would both enjoy the massages, the floating candles like my wife always used at home, and the neat little rocks that would heat their escape.

Swagger Wagon

And of course I couldn’t skimp on Alex. Boys are too often forgotten in this age, abandoned from a lifestyle that truly interests them less, in this era of things and stuff. But Alex had just developed a newfound taste in music, listening to artists who spoke to the urban in his suburban upbringing. About how life was about money and cars and hoes (or bitches, depending on which term the listener prefers). How these musicians are so tough, not because they were raised in a third world country ravaged by war and had to starve through most of their childhood. No, they are tough because they were raised in government subsidized housing; not because they had no housing. But this was what Alex identified with, because all the children at school looked at these musicians as role models, possessing every ounce of ‘hip’ that one naturally could. So when the musicians talked about being shot or selling drugs, that was what Alex’s identity wanted to become. So, having no money remaining, I gathered up my literature collection accrued over the years. We had a library of sorts in the spare bedroom, bookshelves lining the walls and each reaching to the ceiling, books placed as they should be, and then more when there was no room left. I began packing them into boxes and loading them into the minivan. (The kids call it the ‘swagger wagon’.) I loaded last one up and drove off to the rare book store that had become my salvation in order to sell back all that was once mine, but I hit a curve too fast and the minivan went through a guard rail and over a cliff.

King Nothing

Coat of Arms of King Richard III of England

I used to be king. I don’t know what happened, though. The seditious rose and stole my crown, and now sit upon my once hallowed throne. I have done nothing but serve my people, and this is how they repay me. Traitors! What devil to whisper in man’s ear that the holy scepter be thieved in spite of all that is righteousness! Alas, though the crime be against God’s kingdom, there is no more to mourn. All has been said and done, and now they must live with their own consequences! I suppose I wish them spared of God’s wrath for the desecration of the charge that once he had given me alone! I mourn my kingdom’s loss for those who will now suffer under a liege unproven, unworthy, and unholy in his right. Yes, I may have made mistakes, but it is God’s right alone to force me to suffer for such a fate I have yet unearned in his eyes. Oh, the shame! For what was not mine has been taken from me though righteous I once was!

Sure, I fucked my brother’s wife. But she needed it! There she was, sitting all alone on their wedding day, weeping torturedly in her wedding dress. Her gartered thighs suddenly awoke in me a passion that we both knew we must release! Impassioned moments brought upon us by such a God that is wise yet merciful! Oh, how regret never seeped into our thoughts, though sinful other think they must be! For I was king! How should I be punished for allowing my seed to flow on through history, not regretting my inevitable demise, but celebrating that life brought forth once more to rule His kingdom! But my brother was not so understanding of God’s wishes, and called me things for which I surely cannot be called guilty! Oh, such pity I feel for men who lack the understanding of powers greater than themselves. That their small minds should allow for thoughts traitorous to God’s own commands makes me weep internal for such sacrilege.

My usurpers also claimed, as is the hest of those whom have earned legitimacy none, that I was lazy, of all things! Yes, it is true that some days following other days, I would lie in my chambers asleep (and provedly uncareful of wretched dogs!), waiting for God’s guidance in such matters that my common folks cannot begin to comprehend! I have a kingdom to oversee, and those duties would overwhelm such ordinary minds! So I must rest, as God may will it, perhaps for weeks on end if needed, so that my people do not suffer by mistaken battles and taxes they needn’t afford! That is why I must vacation often as well, to remove myself from a sanctitious lifestyle and visit a more common footing on sandy beach resorts, in my private condominium of lucidity, still struggling with decisions for my people, all whilst I put on a frontage of relaxation, so as not to worry my loyal (hah!) subjects! And usurpation is the outlandish price I must afford for such dedication to my people?!

So at times I grew sick of my subjects, many of whom would abuse my place of privilege for their own reckless gains! Asking for food from the mouths of those blessed enough to eat at my table! Or wanting me to soil my robes and build a roof, simply because a husband was too weak to work (such sloth in common men!). But never once did these beggars consider that their ‘families’ were not divined as was I, and did not deserve such things if God did not will it! So I began to spit on my subjects who dared such behests in defiance of all that was holy! But they misunderstood my tempers, and glaringly called me ‘hoarder’, or ‘keeper of things of wont’, amongst other viler names indeed! Yet the solitary souls who called me such things could be forgiven by a mere wave of my mighty hand. So when such names became commonplace in my public showings, when I gave up my own personal safety in order to explain to the common folks what was happening in the kingdom, I could not help but to piss on them!

St. Edwards Crown

That is when I ordered bodyguards placed at every entrance. We wasted no man who could exchange for my life, though! We only used women and children, because their lives are worth oh so much less than ours. What a wonderful idea of mine that was, to take up all of society’s wastefulness and re-employ them in the service of my great kingdom! Human shields they would perform at all of my events, feet shuffling to ensure coverage of my most valued humanly assets. Those vagrants should have recognized the blessing God gave by allowing them to protect his very own charge! And I was merciful as well. Each time I was saved from an assassination attempt, from a knife in the dark or a poisoned drink that was intercepted from my treasonous citizens, I disposed of the body in what their families must surely recognize in its glorious fashion as the ‘pit of martyrs’. Yes, I, their great king, was generous enough to provide for the disposal of their bodies, instead of just allowing them to lie around and rot!

With all of the cruel methods devised for the reduction to rubble of my grandiose kingdom, never would I stoop to the level of such common thieves. For I would demand hold trial, and execute those who would attempt to take from me what is rightfully mine! The survival of my legacy depends upon it, so I can be none too careful and took to execute all suspects within a fortnight! None shall make the people suffer so for my loss, so I ordered every house searched for debauchery, and every person of interest seized for summary execution! What a waste of time to trial all of these unworthy souls! The people want blood to sanctify my kingdom as safe haven from harm, and so they must receive them in the plazas, beheaded for all to know my might and power, my will to be known as God’s one and the same! The only shame was the too late devisal of a plan to increase the effectiveness of my scourge by employing executions within the households of such traitors!

Never would I have needed to falsify such charges, as they claimed! Why should I have to protect a kingdom when it is plainly in sight that it is God’s will alone! Sure, I told them taxes would not be raised before I was advised that they must be, but surely they must know the difference to leverage such a bold claim against the very hand that feeds them and gives them their pathetic lives to cherish! I told them wars would be waged in interests other than mine own, but that is not indication of untruth against the lesser residents of my kingdom! My words only serve to alleviate the pressures of the truth that should not be placed upon such weak shoulders, unstrong like mine own to carry such a burden! Such things should be kept from simple minds, who simply cannot fathom the meanings of all things divine that are mine alone to understand! So know that what I have told cannot be rescinded, because the interest of the people was always in consideration for the best!

The Sovereign's Orb of the United Kingdom, whi...

In the final days of my rule of law, as it invisibly approached, I found myself more and more cautious as I should have been. But ‘twas not caution enough from those wretched fools who would challenge the hand of God and steal the scepter assigned by Him! Though I chose to hide away my days, bringing food from only my loyalist subjects to feast me cross-legged under my bed, those miserables still managed to execute their unholy schemes upon me! Though I allowed none to enter but my subjects most similar in mind to the kingdom, though one light never faded from the day, they still somehow managed to defy God and annex His kingdom with my usurpation! I should have hid deeper, that could have saved my people from such a fate! Down below the dungeons of my castle, deep in the moldy trenches of war against my kingdom, I should have hidden from all of those who wished ill upon my subjects, who would suffer once my flawlessness was no longer theirs to behold!