The Sonnet
CHAPTER 1
Jack of Canterbury hastily began sweeping away the crumbs that remained on his mother's kitchen table. He was always patient, but somehow the newly baked batch of hazelnut cookies drizzled in dark chocolate had gotten the better of him. As he wiped, what remained of the evidence, a tall man entered the dimly lit kitchen and proceeded to walk past Jack on his way to to retrieve a glass of cold tap water.
"Wrahh," he murmured to himself after spitting it out moments after. "When's the last time we had the pipes checked?"
"I don't know," Jack answered truthfully, "we've never had any previous problems with the water supply."
"It wasn't the water," his brother answered, wiping away the droplets that had beaded his chin. He then turned on the tap again and procured a new glass filled with water for Jack. "Here, have some."
Curiously Jack took the glass, observing his brother quickly place the palm which had held the glass moments before into his black long-sleeved shirt pocket. After drinking the water from the glass, which to which Jack tasted a bit off but still manageable, he collapsed.
"Help, oh help!" screamed Daniel, quickly putting the empty glass into the sink besides his.
A man with a huge grey beard entered the room and stared at the body before kneeling down. "What happened here son?" he asked as, weeping as his wife emerged and wiped away his tears, only to be carried away by those of her own.
"Mark my words," he swore, "we shall not rest, lest Jack's mysterious death, be put be sent to heaven for inquest."
"You there!" he bellowed to Daniel, "what saw you, a time an eye ago, before were graced with this most unwelcome event, upon which me and wife now vent."
"My good father," answered Daniel politely, "Jack of Canterbury..."
"Do not call him of title, for he is your brother," shouted Ogen as he rose to his feet, followed by his wife, or at least he was."
"Forgive me father for I have sinned, a most unrighteous deed, before you came," responded Daniel, eyes blurred with tears of his own. "Not ten minutes ago, I came for some water, where not but who should I see, but my good brother."
"And what did you do," asked Mona curiously.
"Why I laid a deception, in which I poisoned him while his eyes were distracted." Finished Daniel, whose face was now red.
Ogen walked closer towards his son, "why you little..."
"Let him be!" shouted his mother, "for banishment is a better cause for his repenting, most contracted, upon an hour as this, most consuming of emotion, I beg thee kind husband, let not stir another commotion."
As his mother fell back down to her knees, Daniel ran out of the kitchen and out the front door grabbing his jacket before he shut the door.
"Oh poor Jack," said Ogen, voice now kinder.
"Me oh my, let me never be blinder, as to fall for a deception so great as to let another stride in again, from the long a tedious origin, of he who was from the city of Kings." How could I have foreseen an event most foul to happen, but without notice...
The pen suddenly ran out ink. Derrick fumed at his lack of preparation. "Blasted quill," he mumbled to himself as he moved to the end of his bed. "Out there, on the streets, I see peasants, I see noblemen, but I do not yet see my play...."
Two knocks proceeded to come from his door. Standing up, Derrick grabbed his brown leather doublet and fastened it snugly before he opened the door.
"Oh good gracious!" he shouted with enthusiasm, "oh happy days! How are you Marcos."
The blonde-haired man smiled back and proceeded to enter Derrick's bedroom when he was signaled to. "Aye, I am fine Derrick, how are the plays coming along?"
"Plays?" Derrick repeated.
"Aye, That is, if you are still considering creating plays to earn your living, and before I forget here is a little present for yourself," Marcos removed from his navy-blue vest a small bag.
"Oh you mock me!" Exclaimed Derrick suddenly, as he accepted the small pouch and signaled for Marcos to sit on his bed. "Look outside Marcos," he said pointing to an elderly man standing on the street below with his hands cupped, as he begged for change. "Watch, and learn, for visuals are a thousand times more crucial for learning to be achieved if one wishes to accept the knowledge to be gained." He then took the pouch and turned it upside down. The coins fell and one at a time, landed in the man's hand.
"Quickly now!" whispered Derrick as he pushed Marcos back from the window. Outside, the man stared up at the empty sky above, with no identity of the person who had assured his family another meal for at least one more day.
"Have you gone mad!" yelled Marcos, as he got to his feet and pointed out the window. "That man is a bum, the utmost scum of the earth!"
"I do beseech thee to shut up," said Derrick throwing a pair of women's stockings at Marco's face. "For your information, that man recently lost one of his sons to death; and both if you count the fact that it was the other who killed him. Here," Derrick slid the pieces of parchment forward, to Marco's interest, "here's the play I've wrote about it."
"What is it called?" Marcos asked, reading the messy, but untitled document.
"I don't know," answered Derrick, "I think I'll call The Tragedy of A Father."
"Now I know you're mad!" replied Marcos, as he continued to vent. "The Tragedy of A Father," he repeated, "if you are to write a play, give it a proper title."
"What do you suggest?" said Derrick staring up.
Marcos could feel Derrick's piercing, hazel-eyes. He hated that about him, for his friend always had that look that soon led to the observer emptying his mind in a duration lasting no more than an entire hour. "I suggest naming it, The King" he said, trying to keep his answers short and to the point.
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