bump my elbow on the armrest. I hug myself, wishing to strangle all of the impatience out of me.
My child! No please, that is my son!
I shiver. My fingers grip the edge of my chair. I squeeze my eyelids, veiling myself from the dim chamber I sit in. My heartbeat hammers my chest. I breathe slowly, calming my emotions.
I can hear a woman’s anguished voice echo in my mind, haunting me.
I should be dwelling on darkness, empowering my Black Magic. Instead, these visions I don’t understand fill my head.
“Those thoughts don’t mean anything.” My father’s voice shatters the images in my head, bringing me to reality; I feel his robe brush my knee and hear him pace past my throne. “Even in here, the deepest part of my domain, you won’t find the answers to your questions about the dream; it’s merely a side-affect to growing your power.”
I try to relax. Merely a side-affect––nothing more.
But I can’t convince myself; the horrible screams pull my mind again, filling my head with the grieving woman.
My body tenses; inhaling and exhaling are the only way I restrain myself from saying anything rebellious against my father’s words.
“How do I see these things?” I ask, afraid to open my eyes. My arms tremble with confusion; I shift my position on the ancient, stone throne.
My father continues to circle me, his footsteps echoing around the stone cellar. “Your power is growing, your mind seeks knowledge from the outside world. You shouldn’t look for answers when I have forbidden you to learn until your time has come, my son.”
I let out a frustrated breath; sweat streaks my forehead.
Knowledge. I lick my lips. How I thirst for it.
To see kingdoms I will someday rule; understanding meanings to foreign words spoken around me is my deepest desire.
When? My mind demands, when can I know? When can I understand?
My heartbeat speeds up. I gasp angrily, slouching tightly as if I can hold back my anger. I cannot question my father’s keeping me in his tower my whole life; I shouldn’t be rebellious against his all-knowing wisdom––The same all-knowing wisdom I can’t have.
I claw at the edge of my throne, scraping my fingertips; I flex my hands in pain, hoping to stop my greedy anguish.
“You’re impatient?” My father’s voice asks. His circling slows.
I nod quickly; eyes still shut. “Yes,” I say, swallowing my shakiness, “I want to know about the world.”
“My son,” he replies, drawing out the words warningly; I feel his hand brush my shoulder briefly. He’s about to tell me all he’s done again. “I’ve destroyed that world into one-thousand islands to prepare your future reign after me. The world lies in ruins, flooded in sand or snow, dwelt by mutated-peoples. I made a single race into many for your sake, my boy. Can you merely wait a little longer?”
Sand. Snow. I don’t know what it means.
“Please.” My right hand slips; I bump my elbow on the armrest. “Let me know something.”