When I Became King

I’ve decided to write a little story about how I became so envied, how people decided to be my slaves and why I should be the hero that they write about in history books in years to come.

I now live in a clean castle, I have servants that prepare me food and wash me and put me to sleep if I’m having trouble doing that myself.

I only recently regained my memory of how it all happened. See, I was in a car crash before I got my current status of savior of the innocent. It was my friends fault the world was losing innocent lives and I freed the people of this planet from his murderous ways.

I grew up in a orphanage and I remember being mostly alone and hoping one day to bring something to the world, that people will thank me for, love me for. I didn’t like talking to the other kids, I mostly watched them. Nobody seemed to mind. After I turned eighteen I left the orphanage and I found a job in a warehouse that consisted mostly of taking things out of boxes and putting them in other boxes. I liked it, because I didn’t have to talk to anyone and it was easy to do. Having a job allowed me to rent a place to live. After a while I got tired of doing the same things over and over because it didn’t seem to get me anywhere, so I decided to start doing something I never imagined I would. I started going out to talk to people, getting to know them by conversation and interaction. They mostly seemed nice, even though some of them weren’t. The ones that beat me that one night in the ally behind a bar I frequently visited – the weren’t nice. But if it wasn’t for them, I couldn’t be the king. A random stranger that broke up the fight that night by threatening to call the police became my friend and he also became the reason this story is in front of you today.

He helped me get up, get to my house and he calmed me down. We became friends, he was my first and only friend I ever had. I don’t have friends now, but  I don’t need them, because angels and kings like me are alone and we can’t show affection to others, no – that would cause jealousy and eventually bring harm.

We were friends for years and one nice summer day we were out on a road trip. I was at the wheel and he was sleeping in the front seat, for it had been a long drive. I heard a little bell ring near my right leg, it was my phone eagerly signalling me that I have a message. It was from a girl I met recently and I think she might have started falling in love with me, as I was with her. Funny, now that I think of it – that was the last time I heard from her, I wonder if she still loves me. I bet she does, everybody does, but I better not contact her (for kings like me must stay alone).

I lifted the phone up and left my gaze drift to the shining screen to see what she had written. ”I miss you” and then a smiley emoticon followed by a  lot of exes and ohs. I smiled and even though there weren’t many words in that message I read it again because I found it heartwarming that not even a handful, but just a pinch of letters could make me feel so many things.

Suddenly I felt the steering wheel jerk quickly and then the darkness came, but just for a few seconds. Lights came back up and I could smell medicine, I could hear the lights making a little buzzing noise above my head. Most of all I could feel the pain in my ribs, my shoulder and my nose. I sat up in the blue and white bed I was in and I looked around. Machines that beep, bags that drip, wires attached to me and needles inserted in to me. I knew I was brought back to life. There must be a reason for that. I ripped the wires off and I away from that place. Someone tried to stop me, but I didn’t let them, I fought my way out. I walked on the street and I felt that I have to revenge my death, but I had to find out who killed me first. I knew there must be something in the papers, I noticed a calendar on the wall in the house they brought me back  and I knew almost a week had passed since I died. It wasn’t a big city, so I knew where the closest news stand was and I went to it. I looked through many different newspapers until I found what I was looking for in the local press. There was a little column about a car crash, I didn’t read it all, I just saw my name and I knew it was the one I was looking for. My friend was mentioned too. ”Two dead, one injured” it said. I knew I died and I felt that my friend must be alive, so he must be the injured one. I skipped past the lines looking for something that might help me find him. ”… we will say our goodbyes at st.Jones church Sunday at 3:00 PM”.

I remembered everything – it felt more like a dream, not a memory, but I know it must be how it happened. He must have, no he DID pull my hand while I was reading the message making us crash and kill someone. He must be stopped. The paper said he was saying goodbye or something. I needed to get there before he could escape. I ran. The pain I felt before was gone and it got replaced with strength. There were people around him when I arrived. They must have been his followers, because they seemed sad that he was leaving. It must not have been the first time he had done this. I have read stories about murderers going from one town to another committing crimes, taking lives, making them look like accidents. It isn’t rare for them to have followers, admirers. He was in some kind of capsule that was half open, probably to be smuggled away, I saw a long car outside with dark windows, I quickly understood that it must be his get-away vehicle.

He looked pale – he must have seen me and gotten scared. There was violin playing in the background and candles were lit all around the room, people were wearing black. I understood that it is some kind of satanic ritual. It felt cold in there. I knew there was only one thing that can be done and it had to be done then and there. People in the church were looking at me with red eyes, screaming at me, telling me to leave. I looked down and saw my white, bloodstained clothes. It seems that there must have been stitches that had come loose while I ran. I looked back up and time slowed down. I picked up a wooden cross with a sharp end on the bottom and I walked towards the man that I knew now was the devil in the wooden box that these worshipers surrounded. I couldn’t let him take another life. I fought off anyone trying to stop using the cross. I stepped on the box and raised the cross above my head. He had his eyes closed and he seemed peaceful. I knew I was the only one who could stop him and I stabbed him in the chest with the cross and I pressed my whole body on top to make it go deep. There was no blood, he didn’t make a noise – he wasn’t human. In fact there were screams in the church before, but now there was complete silence. I went out and nobody touched me as I left. I stood outside and nature thanked me with rain, washing the stains off my clothes and a thunder sang of victory until cars came with sirens of celebration. Beautiful lights on top of cars driven by the people that serve this fine country. They took me away and I slept. Upon waking they gave me water and asked a lot of questions about what happened and I explained everything in detail. They put me in a white shirt with long sleeves that could be tied behind my back so that I would be warm until I got to my new castle where I now live. The servants bring me food and water and they take care of me, like they feel they must, for I am their kind – the angel that freed the world from the devil.

  • Stephanie Reynolds

    That was extremely interesting. Didn’t expect that kind of story from the first paragraph, great job.

    • MrKalns

      Thank you, I really appreciate it 🙂

  • teresa robinson

    Great story!

    • MrKalns

      Thanks, share it with your friends, the more feedback I get the better I might get at writing 🙂