Experimental short story...tell me what you think! (And if there are any tense errors, I slipped into Auto Mode and wrote in first person towards the end and had to revise it afterwards, so I may have missed something.)
***
The Prince’s greasy hair and purple robes flopped to one side as he leaned into the cab.
“Hello, sir, I suppose you’re to be my chauffer today?”
The driver rolled his eyes and swirled a toothpick around in his mouth. Just his luck. On that shift, he got stuck with all the wackos.
“Whatever, kid.”
The Prince handed a few extra dollars than whas the fare.
“On your first day of work, it’s always hard to adjust, yes?”
The driver snarled something under his breath and took the gift, then focused on the reaview mirror as he backed away from the curb and veered off onto the street.
“What do you know about work? Whatayeh, fourteen?”
The Prince shrugged. “I suppose. As long as you’re happy…”
Outside the Brooklyn street steamed from underground sewers and the buildings seemed to reverbrate with every honk of an agitated commuter’s car horn.
The taxi cab slammed to a stop at a red light and the Prince’s leather Luis Vuittton backpack tumbled onto the floor.
The driver stiffened and angrily bit on the end of his toothpick so that it cracked and splayed in half in his mouth. The only type of person he hated more than complete wackos was rich people, and the Prince appeared to be both.
The Prince picked his back foff the ground, dusted it off, and re-fastened the brass clips, then set the bag next to him and leaned his forehead against the window, closing his eyes and letting the glass cool his skin. It was tough, sometimes, to be royalty.
He smacked his forhead against the pane as the driver screeched to a stop in front of PS 82.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll see you after school,” said the Prince, smiling as he stepped out of the cab.
As soon as he had shut the door behind him the taxi took off again at top speed, weaving through traffic and nearly flattening a girl on her bike.
The girl squeaked a little and jumped the curb onto the sidewalk where she spotted the Prince, smiled, and pedaled a little slower.
He ran up to her, purple cape winding a little in the air behind him. The girl dumped her Schwinn on the ground and ran up to him, unsteady legs wobbling a little. She kissed his cheek and dug a wad of cloth out of her dirtied backpack. The Prince unwrapped it slowly, grinning.
It was a crown, a beautiful crown made of sparkling metal of some sort, encrusted with glittering rhinestones and a real diamond or two.
He kissed her back.
Someday, he’d grow up to be King and then he’d marry her and they’d rule together, both them and their subjects blissfully happy and content.
But that was later. For now, he was on his own.
On his own at a time where his people were rebelling, his people didn’t like him. So much so that he was a little afraid as they tripped him and spat on him and called him dirty things in the hallways, but as long as he stood tall and led a good example he’d be all right, and they’d come to their senses evetually.
They didn’t like his Princess, either, and they would hurt her too, during English, the only class they had together. For that hour, they had to separate, hide their love so they wouldn’t each perish.
After the last class of the day he readjusted his robes, got into another cab and drove home.
At home, it was quiet when he walks into the living room and sat down on a sofa to start on his homework, something that would hopefully help him rule later on.
“Get off your feckin’ ass and do something useful, boy,” the King snarled from across the room.
“What, sir? What shall I do?”
The King stood up and the Prince noticed how tall he was, how bloodshot his eyes were and how his breath was coming (hard) through his nose. “Don’t give me your fancy talk,” the King struck him across the cheek and the Prince didn't dare move to rub the spot. “You sit here doing your goddamn ‘education’ shit and you ask why? Why when your mom’s got work to be done and you’re just sitting here…”
Work? thought the Prince. We’ve got lovely people taking care of us; I don’t think she needs me to work…
But of course, he didn't say this out loud.
“I’m sorry, sir,” says the Prince, meekly.
The King let out a yell from the back of his throat, grabbed the Prince’s arm and twisted the flesh as far as it would go, then releases. The Prince felt his eyes start to sting a little as his arm reddened.
“Get outta my sight. You’re feckin’ useless.”
Feeling defeated, the Prince walked to his room, tears running down his cheeks. “And get some balls, for Gad’s sake, you little bastard!”
The Prince locked himself in his room and lines the doorway with blankets so he wouldn't be able to hear anything and no one would be able to hear him.
He collapsed onto the ground and sobbed between his knees, feeling lost, feeling hopeless, feeling obsolete. The mucus from his nose was running down his face onto his jeans and he was ashamed for it, but he couldn't stop, he couldn't stop…his stomach hurt and worsened with every shaky breath in and only made him cry harder.
He suddenly sat up, smiled, and retied his robes. He couldn’t be seen like that, oh no!
He stood in front of the mirror in the corner of the room and brushed his hair, blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes with a Kleenex, laughing a little.
He had to stay strong, for his people needed him.
it works better
