Creative Works… 150 The Boy is a Prince by Asia Lavay
There once was a boy with eyes that sparkled with blissful arrogance. He sat on a throne, with his head held high, a pouty face, smelling like a discount fragrance. He had all the riches and saw all the sights, but something was missing and nothing was right. He went to his father, who gained strength from his father, and had bored, blue eyes and stolen hair. He went to his mother, who gained strength from her husband, and had tired blue eyes and was gasping for air, “why do I feel bad about the life I choose? I feel beaten and broken but I have no bruise?” His father was shocked and troubled to the bone, but his mother was lenient; she didn’t always have the throne. When his father left, he punched holes in the walls and was unable to speak. But his mother caressed him with gentle hands and had eyes that were weak. “Listen, my son, it’s dangerous out there and the people are angry; there’s no forgiveness in the world. Listen, my son, you don’t want their crimes; I’m telling you; you’ll shudder, your toes will have curled. Your shoulders will tense; your work is in vain. You’ll want to relate; they’ll call you insane.” But the boy did not listen; he never did. He preferred his methods; he was still a kid. So out he went, to seek something worthwhile. But there were no smiles. And all the meanwhile…
