The King’s Dream

“The King had another bad dream,” whispered the soothsayer to the Bishop.

“Oh dear, not again, should we worry?” The plump, stout Bishop asked worrisome. “This is the third night in a row.”

“No, I wouldn’t worry just yet,” said the soothsayer in his calm and serious manner.

“Do you know what the dream was about?”

“He won’t say,” the soothsayer said, “but I am certain he will tell us soon.”

The soothsayer and the Bishop had been waiting outside the King’s bedroom in the dark and drafty corridor. The door to the King’s room remained closed, no one came out and no one had yet to come in. They waited for the King to summoned them, and they whispered some more about what troubled the King, for not even the soothsayer could say what the dreams were about. A few hours went by, and night still covered the land. Most everybody in the palace were asleep, except the soothsayer and the Bishop who were awaken by one of the King’s personal guards, Joshua. He had been ordered by the soothsayer to keep watch on the King while he slept.

The Bishop was about to whisper something to the soothsayer, when the door to the King’s room opened magnificently and Joshua, the stern, and dignified guard allowed them in the King’s chambers.

“Don’t worry about that now,” the soothsayer waved at the Bishop to follow him.

The door was shut behind them, Joshua had now stepped outside since he was not privy to the King’s conversations, especially about matters concerning the King’s dreams.

The room was cozy, lit by the light of the fire, that created shadows in all the walls. The room was well furnished, decorated in bright red’s and gold’s, a large four poster bed dominated most of the large room, the currents were drawn open and it’s owner was absent from it. The Bishop and the soothsayer gazed around searching for the King, finding him standing next to a window, sadly looking out.

“What is it that trouble’s you my Lord?” the soothsayer, was a tall lean man, with the years etched on his face and his long white hair and beard as white as snow. He carried a large staff that he used as a cane, though it held no special powers as many would assume. “Was it the same dream again?”

The King was quiet for awhile and the Bishop and the soothsayer waited. When the King finally spoke, his voice sounded tired, yet it hadn’t lost it’s strength that commanded people to listen. “It was indeed, the same dream.”

“Was there anything different about it?” the soothsayer asked.

“Nothing changed,” The King said.

“If maybe, your majesty, you can describe this dream for us?” The Bishop sounded nervous. You never asked the King for anything, at least that’s what the Bishop thought.

“I rather not,” the King defied the Bishop. “I would rather forget it if I could.”

“Then, I can’t help you,” the soothsayer said.

“How could you have helped?” The King turns to face the soothsayer.

“Dreams have many meanings,” said the very much composed soothsayer.  “I can help you unravel them. If you let me.”

“What if I choose not to decipher them?” The King was rather annoyed. He hadn’t slept well, and when he did choose to close his eyes the dream would appear to him over and over again, lest he forget.

“Maybe if you spoke about them,” the Bishop was shaking in his shoes, “the dreams will trouble you not.”

“I wish they didn’t trouble me at all,” the King sighed. “I think for now, I rather keep the dreams where they are. Perhaps, they will go away.”

“Very well,” the soothsayer didn’t disagree, “if that is what you wish. We will let you to rest tonight, goodnight, your majesty.”

“Yes, yes, maybe rest is what you need,” the Bishop was taking his cue from the soothsayer, “goodnight, your majesty.”

“Goodnight,” the King bid to them.

Once outside the King’s chamber’s, the soothsayer spoke to the Bishop, “let us give the King some time and not speak a word to anybody about this. He will eventually come around.”

The Bishop agreed and they both left, leaving Joshua to guard the King all night. A distant away, the soothsayer beckoned the Bishop to follow him. They walked through dark, quiet corridors, that lead many ways, some corridors had doors to either side of them, others just lead through complete darkness, with nothing to guide both men into which direction to take. The soothsayer knew these corridors so well, he knew where each lead and which rooms belonged to whom. He was very wise, indeed, and very observant, everybody feared the soothsayer, not because they believed he was ruthless, but because he might have a vision of them, about an eminent death in the family or their own. But not all that the soothsayer predicated was about hopelessness and doom or dread. He could see a promising future, prosperity and good fortune at times, but, lately those were becoming few and far apart.

“Times changes,” the soothsayer would say, “things change for the worse or for the better. It is not mine to say.”




Man of Time

“Where are we now?” Harold asked.

“I thought you would know,” Pieter said.

“That’s Eddy,” Harold said. “What are we doing here? Take me Back! I don’t want to be here!”

“Why not?”

“You know very well why!” Harold was indignant. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To help you remember,” Pieter said.

“You keep saying that!” Harold was at the end of his rope. “I don’t want to remember.”

“You believe if you took the route where you never met Liz that perhaps you can save your friend, Eddy. Each road leads the same way no matter the different turns you make.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harold said.

“If you have never met Liz, the memories you do have will disappear and become somebody else’s memories,” Pieter sighed softly. “She would have married someone else, made someone else happy, but what happened to Eddy was inevitable, you would only delay that which was unavoidable.”

“Eddy was my best friend,” Harold broke down in tears. “I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t have known.”

“Nobody knew,” Pieter said, “that is why his death hurt everybody close to him. He was a broken man, nobody could have guessed. He was deeply troubled and he hid it well.”

“I didn’t known,” Harold sobbed. “Why would he do it? Why would he take his life? It angered me so, I sometimes took it out on Liz. I always wondered if she knew.”

“Why would she know anything?”

“Eddy liked talking to her,” Harold said, “At first I didn’t mind, then it started to annoy me and eventually I hated how chummy they became. I was jealous at times.”

“There was no reason to be jealous, was there?”

“No,” Harold said bitterly. “I had myself believing there was. I guess that’s when I did all that I did. Please, take me away. I don’t want to see anymore.”

“Very well,” Pieter obeyed.

Wherever Pieter took him it caused them to linger in darkness for a bit longer.

“Why is it always so dark?” Harold asked.

“In the beginning, it always dark,” Pieter said.

A small ray of light appeared, at first it spread slowly, then it quite rapidly dispersed.

“Where are we?” Harold was adjusting his eyes to the brightness.

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize it?”

Harold blinked a few times, from a distance he could hear a baby cry. “It’s the day my twin boys were born… We thought it was only one, then to our surprise it was two.”

“You had your hands full,” Pieter smiled.

“That was the best day of my life,” Harold recalled happily. “We thought the twins were the first and the last, then we had our daughter and then our son, James. I was a family man.”

“Then it finally comes together,” Pieter said.

The last thing Harold had flashed through his mind was the day he taught his sons to ride a bike.