
08-23-2009, 11:15 PM
Its for a contest I'm entering, theres a 100 dollar prize, and this is (a part of) my entry.
Comments? (:
The princess fell to the ground, limbs twitching and eyes rolling in their sockets. Immediately, medical personnel descended from their posts, wasted no time in surrounding the thrashing figure with soft things; pillows, seat cushions, whatever they could find in the immediate vincity. They did this quickly, in complete synchronization. It was a routine they were used to. The head practitioner stepped from his place in the shadows, a mortar and pestle already in one hand, and a bundle of herbs in the other. He swiftly and methodologically crushed the papery leaves between the two stone surfaces. The herbs released a pungent smell when crushed, a smell that only grew stronger as they were dropped into a cup of boiling water, held by a shaking page with wide eyes and white hair. The water quickly coloured, turning from clear to a muddy brown. Its consistency changed as well, solidifying into a vicious goopy mess that was the same consistency of strawberry jam, though no where near as tasty. The practitioner stirred the mixture, using the end of the pestle, for lack of anything else to stir with. The mixture grew smoother, and the colour intensified. When he was satisfied with what was in the cup, he gave a quick shout, the signal for one of the guards to come forward, and secure the convulsing princess’s head. The practitioner, shaking just a bit, tipped the liquid into the open mouth, starting out small, and gradually increasing in volume. He only let up when the thrashings began to diminish, and when she had to be turned over so she could throw up.
At the back of the room of excessive grandeur, the queen began sobbing, throwing herself into the King’s arms. The King wrapped his arms around her torso, holding her close and murmuring reassuring words, while he himself felt the same aura of dread and impending doom. He gazed bleakly at the scene, the medics scurrying around, prodding this and that to check for pulse and heart beat, the maids trying in vain to clean up the vomit, and the head practitioner, standing in a corner making notes on his scroll with a hopeless expression on his face.
It was a full hour and a half before the princess stood before her father again, sporting a new gown and an odd expression. What was that look? The King mused silently. It looked like a mixture of anger, esperation and exhaustion, all wrapped up in a neat condescending smile. The look was tired and world weary, it didn’t match her slight twelve year old profile. She spoke, calm and slow, but with a crackling underlying tension. “I apologize father, that idiotic wretch of a nurse you assigned me insisted I get changed into something fresh. She believed it not prudent to address the King while covered in vomit,” she gave a little mocking bow, “but as if I need to get dolled up for my own father, oops, I mean the Majesty.” She stood up straight and gave her father a sarcastic half smile, the one that drove her etiquette teacher barking mad. The King, obviously uncomfortable, gave a short mumbled reply. “That’s quite all right darling, you may do…” The last bit was too incoherent to make out, and sounded like ‘watermumblefish’.
The young princess eyed the empty throne, and the partially dried wet spot on the front of her father’s tunic. “Father, where has mother gone?” The King had been planning his answer for a while now, and gave his reply promptly and easily. “She went to the kitchen. She was peckish, and went to beg bread and cheese from the cook.” The princess crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to her left foot, a posture that would later become the epitome of teenage disobedience. “Don’t be daft father. We just finished dinner, and no one can be puckish after shoving two suckling pigs down their throat, even mom.” She gave a little laugh, it sounded like barking dogs. “You need not lie, I already know dearest mother can’t stand the sight of me.” She flicked a stray piece of vomit off her chin, a bit her nursemaid hadn’t been able to scrub off.
The king gasped, but quickly regained his composure. It was true, the queen was not pilfering food, instead she was probably in her quarters, sobbing into her bed sheets. “That’s not tru-“
“Can it father. Your lies are as annoying as they are transparent. She is not the matter I came here to discuss.” The King was dumbfounded, and surprised. Not pleasantly so. Though he did not enjoy lying, he fancied himself good at it. Having his fabrication picked apart, by a young girl, his own daughter no less, it was unnerving to say in the least. He asked the baited question, even though he knew, and dreaded, the answer. “So then, what did you come here to discuss?” He said, tiredly. She scoffed. “Father, you are no better than the village fool if you do not know the answer to that one.”
The King bit back anger. If it was anyone else who said that, even the queen, he would order the guards to throw the offender in a dank dungeon for a few days, a king does not look good with his subjects openly insulting him. She was the one exception to this rule. As much as he wanted to, he was frightened it would cause another episode, and no one wanted that.
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