Young Writers Society

Once upon a time, you ruled. 

You used to rule everywhere. The highlands, the lowlands. The goodlands, the badlands. The swamps and marshes, deserts and mountains. But you lost it all. Every highland, every lowland, every good- and badland. Each swamp and marsh. The deserts deserting you. The mountains falling from your fingertips like snow. 

You never saw them coming, you tell yourself. There was nothing you could have done. But that wasn't true. You could have given them yourself like they'd asked. Like you'd promised. Instead, they took your kingdom. 

Was it worth it? you ask yourself. You think so. As you pace in the cave you call home, the one place they can't find you, you have to think that it was worth it. Because how else will you stay sane?

Every day, the cave gets smaller. There are ants crawling over your body, but you don't really care about them any more. They're much more bearable than the giant spiders. And you used to fear the snakes, but they're so common, you've nearly befriended them. They're practically coming over for tea on Sundays.

But the truth is, you were raised to rule. The only snakes you were ever meant to serve tea to were the ones you counseled for strategies and advice on how to maintain your kingdom. (Those snakes weren't any help when they came and took your kingdom away.) Your kingdom was a part of you, but it's been severed. It's no longer yours, and yet you pine for it. Because you're not sure how to function without it. You don't know anything any more. (Not that you knew anything to begin with.)

You think you're lost. 

You are lost. 

Without your kingdom, you are nothing. 

Nothing but a sad soul longing for a way back home.