High on the hilltop the old king sits as he rants about the disasters and backstabbers that befell him. Once upon a time, he was coherent, and maybe even could have convinced one of his innocence.
Now, though, his speech is staggered, his arguments reduced to the repetition of his favourite phrases from within them. Before long it would turn to nothing but grunts, hand gestures to which only he would know the meaning and piercing looks that were meant to convey his anger at never having realised the greatest of his ideas that had fallen by the wayside.
Upon a plateau only accessible from below the old king sits above his former castle dreaming of the days he lived below and his predecessor rotted up here with only sheep to hear him speak.
Fed by the butcher, who each day leaves him a basket and takes one of the former king’s companions back down the shaft, he has long since stopped trying to converse with his only human contact. Leaving the old king to grow madder as he grows closer to death.
Now, though, his speech is staggered, his arguments reduced to the repetition of his favourite phrases from within them. Before long it would turn to nothing but grunts, hand gestures to which only he would know the meaning and piercing looks that were meant to convey his anger at never having realised the greatest of his ideas that had fallen by the wayside.
Upon a plateau only accessible from below the old king sits above his former castle dreaming of the days he lived below and his predecessor rotted up here with only sheep to hear him speak.
Fed by the butcher, who each day leaves him a basket and takes one of the former king’s companions back down the shaft, he has long since stopped trying to converse with his only human contact. Leaving the old king to grow madder as he grows closer to death.
Written for the Light and Shade Challenge from both the written and picture prompts:
High on the Hill Top the Old King sits - William Allingham, From 'The Fairies'
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