This brief bedtime tale is inspired in a dream I had this somewhat lazy morn, and on some contemplations I had the night before:
"Once upon a time, on a small island in the Mediterranean sea, lived a sad King, whose sorrow stemmed from the loss of his dear Wife, who in her wake, in her endless sleep left but a thick, bronze lock of hair, a bookmark in his crimson notebook, once the place where all his passions were kept. Each night the king burned one hair from the curl as an act of remembrance and mourning, but as years passed, the curl never thinned within his book nor did the King dare to ever write within it again.
One dreamless eve, desperate to rid himself from the tangles of dolorous memory, he tore the dense whorl and cast it out of his heart and into the hearth. But when the hair did not catch flare, remaining stolid in the thick blaze, the king resolved to fuel the flame with that which burnt most brightly within him, that which tormented him each moment of his now solitary life. He took his volume, empty of visible writing, yet thickly scribbled with the ink of his Love, in all its shapes and sizes, with each thought dedicated to his beloved Queen impressed there by his bare breath and subtle touch. Grasping it in his right hand, he prayed to free himself of grief, to find happiness again even if it cost his Heart. With that, he threw the volume into the fire.
What occurred later that night is but dead reckoning, but in the dawn the court saw an eerie Fishbowl standing upon a slim, hourglass shaped table by the throne. Within, turned and swirled a shoal of green finned parr and one Goldfish in water that oft reminded one of quicksilver, appearing at the same time thick and murky, yet also bright and of easy flow. No plants nor rocks adorned the Aquarium, not even muck nor rests of food were to be seen, since the King had ordered them not to be fed. Day in, day out the King observed the fish, and when, out of hunger, the Goldfish gulped one of the fishes, he would promptly and merrily declare war upon one of his many neighbors and mobilize his armies to seize their domains.
As the kingdom expanded so did the Fishbowl begin to run out of fish, until one day the very last parr was devoured by the greedy Goldfish. That eve, the King hosted a great feast, serving his noblemen and officers his best wine from his clearest crystal glasses, and bade them shatter them on the floor, but throw as they might, no glass broke nor scratched. Taking this as a good omen, the King took a small band of his closest knights and marched upon his last remaining rival, a Gypsy maiden residing in a low keep. The Gypsy offered no resistance and, to welcome her visitors, removed from their hinges the gates of her hold, much adorned with flamboyant designs depicting the forests, mountains and sea around her modest patch of land. But the jealous King was covetous, and said: "This is my domain, not yours to picture and delight in." And with that he ordered to chop and char them.
Mute, the Gypsy motioned her guests to enter her abode, whose walls were filled with Romany art and the air riddled with music, offering them her best delicatessen and drink, but the cruel King would take none and ordered his knights to tear the silken cloths, smash the painted vases and rip the guitars' strings. The Gypsy fell to her knees and wept, cupping her hands up to the King and with her moist eyes asking "What then? What will you take?" The King, satisfied, smiled and took in his hand her long black mane and with a swift cut severed it off her head. Thus he turned and left her, bearing away the sign of his last conquest.
That night, the happy King looked into his Fishbowl and watched his Goldfish twirling within, chasing its own, now nibbled tail, until all at once it caught its tail fin and bit further and further until it finally swallowed itself whole. As the liquid stopped moving and cleared in the vacant Aquarium, the King came to himself and remarked that in his hand he still held the Gypsy's mane. As he turned to glance at it, he discovered it was not black, but bronze."
"Once upon a time, on a small island in the Mediterranean sea, lived a sad King, whose sorrow stemmed from the loss of his dear Wife, who in her wake, in her endless sleep left but a thick, bronze lock of hair, a bookmark in his crimson notebook, once the place where all his passions were kept. Each night the king burned one hair from the curl as an act of remembrance and mourning, but as years passed, the curl never thinned within his book nor did the King dare to ever write within it again.
One dreamless eve, desperate to rid himself from the tangles of dolorous memory, he tore the dense whorl and cast it out of his heart and into the hearth. But when the hair did not catch flare, remaining stolid in the thick blaze, the king resolved to fuel the flame with that which burnt most brightly within him, that which tormented him each moment of his now solitary life. He took his volume, empty of visible writing, yet thickly scribbled with the ink of his Love, in all its shapes and sizes, with each thought dedicated to his beloved Queen impressed there by his bare breath and subtle touch. Grasping it in his right hand, he prayed to free himself of grief, to find happiness again even if it cost his Heart. With that, he threw the volume into the fire.
What occurred later that night is but dead reckoning, but in the dawn the court saw an eerie Fishbowl standing upon a slim, hourglass shaped table by the throne. Within, turned and swirled a shoal of green finned parr and one Goldfish in water that oft reminded one of quicksilver, appearing at the same time thick and murky, yet also bright and of easy flow. No plants nor rocks adorned the Aquarium, not even muck nor rests of food were to be seen, since the King had ordered them not to be fed. Day in, day out the King observed the fish, and when, out of hunger, the Goldfish gulped one of the fishes, he would promptly and merrily declare war upon one of his many neighbors and mobilize his armies to seize their domains.
As the kingdom expanded so did the Fishbowl begin to run out of fish, until one day the very last parr was devoured by the greedy Goldfish. That eve, the King hosted a great feast, serving his noblemen and officers his best wine from his clearest crystal glasses, and bade them shatter them on the floor, but throw as they might, no glass broke nor scratched. Taking this as a good omen, the King took a small band of his closest knights and marched upon his last remaining rival, a Gypsy maiden residing in a low keep. The Gypsy offered no resistance and, to welcome her visitors, removed from their hinges the gates of her hold, much adorned with flamboyant designs depicting the forests, mountains and sea around her modest patch of land. But the jealous King was covetous, and said: "This is my domain, not yours to picture and delight in." And with that he ordered to chop and char them.
Mute, the Gypsy motioned her guests to enter her abode, whose walls were filled with Romany art and the air riddled with music, offering them her best delicatessen and drink, but the cruel King would take none and ordered his knights to tear the silken cloths, smash the painted vases and rip the guitars' strings. The Gypsy fell to her knees and wept, cupping her hands up to the King and with her moist eyes asking "What then? What will you take?" The King, satisfied, smiled and took in his hand her long black mane and with a swift cut severed it off her head. Thus he turned and left her, bearing away the sign of his last conquest.
That night, the happy King looked into his Fishbowl and watched his Goldfish twirling within, chasing its own, now nibbled tail, until all at once it caught its tail fin and bit further and further until it finally swallowed itself whole. As the liquid stopped moving and cleared in the vacant Aquarium, the King came to himself and remarked that in his hand he still held the Gypsy's mane. As he turned to glance at it, he discovered it was not black, but bronze."
very impressive
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