Great Kings Never Throw Pitas
PROMPT:
I knew my doom was near. They had just taken me from all I had ever known. My fellow Pitas watched in horror from the confines of our home, The Bag, as I was carried over to a plate. My friend, Shawarma, was likewise carried to the plate and placed next to me.
“I’m cold!” she cried as she edged her way towards me. Of course, I let her take refuge under the warmth of my steaming, toasted mass, but I knew it could not provide enough comfort for the terrors to come…
STORY:
Our platter was lifted and carried into the Great Hall, a slow and pompous journey which only served to increase the terror within me. Our entrance was met with a short fanfare, blown by the royal trumpeter. They always introduced the courses this way.
I gazed around me, momentarily distracted by the ornate furnishings of the hall. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, and some filmy fabric had been draped from the ceiling, mingling with the light from glowing lanterns. It was beautiful... but the beauty was twisted. All this opulence, all this splendor, was only to please the eyes and minds of those who would be our demise.
Shawarma peeked out from beneath me and inhaled softly. I knew she was also in awe of the Great Hall.
But all too soon our platter was laid to rest on the long wooden table, nested among trenchers and goblets and half-empty plates of the food that had gone before. I lowered my eyes. Their fate would soon be mine.
I heard a loud, booming voice above me, and eventually gathered the courage to look up. To my astonishment and confusion, our platter had been set before the king – the one who was responsible for this whole feast. Why, then, had no one tasted us before we were brought to the hall? The king's food was always tested for poison. It was the law.
The grand feast progressed, a blur of smells and babbling voices and flickering lights. Shawarma and I waited, our fear mounting and paralyzing us as the night went on. Every passing second brought us closer to the doom we knew was inescapable.
Finally, the king's notice fell upon our platter. He reached down and grasped me between his greasy thumb and forefinger, then dropped me onto his plate. I hoped he wouldn't take Shawarma. Then again, perhaps it would be easier to get it over with now; food that wasn't eaten during the feast was given to the castle servants. Anything left after they had eaten their fill was thrown to the dogs.
A new voice rose up above the din of feasters, one that came from the end of the hall. The doors had been thrown open and a tall figure stood on the threshold, illuminated by torches which flanked him on either side. He pushed back the hood which hid his face.
"So this is what you've stooped to." The newcomer's voice was young, yet commanding.
I saw the king's face fill with recognition... then anger. He shoved back his chair and rose to his feet, his whole body quivering with rage. "I told you to never step foot again within this kingdom!"
"And you promised your citizens that you would care for them during war and famine." The stranger gestured around at the tapestries, the food, the richly attired guests. "There are crowds of your own subjects starving outside the castle gate. And you sit here, feasting!"
The king clenched his fists. His face was red, veins standing out on his thick neck. "Guards, seize him!"
No guards appeared. The stranger was chuckling. "Don't you think I thought of that before I crashed your party? Have no fear – they will awaken with nothing more than headache. Good as new."
During the whole conversation, I had nearly forgotten about my impending doom... then the king reached out and snatched me off his plate. What was he going to do – eat me right then and there?
Nothing of the sort.
The king threw his hand forward, and suddenly I was flying across the great hall, past the tapestries and lanterns and crumb-covered faces of feasters, until I landed with a soft thump at the feet of the stranger. He gently tossed me aside with the toe of his boot.
"Well, well, your Highness... look how far you've fallen." He chuckled again and folded his arms across his chest, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. "Using handfuls of bread instead of your sword of old. Everyone knows..."
The hall was silent, breathless, waiting for him to finish.
"Everyone knows that great kings never throw pitas."
STORY:
Our platter was lifted and carried into the Great Hall, a slow and pompous journey which only served to increase the terror within me. Our entrance was met with a short fanfare, blown by the royal trumpeter. They always introduced the courses this way.
I gazed around me, momentarily distracted by the ornate furnishings of the hall. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, and some filmy fabric had been draped from the ceiling, mingling with the light from glowing lanterns. It was beautiful... but the beauty was twisted. All this opulence, all this splendor, was only to please the eyes and minds of those who would be our demise.
Shawarma peeked out from beneath me and inhaled softly. I knew she was also in awe of the Great Hall.
But all too soon our platter was laid to rest on the long wooden table, nested among trenchers and goblets and half-empty plates of the food that had gone before. I lowered my eyes. Their fate would soon be mine.
I heard a loud, booming voice above me, and eventually gathered the courage to look up. To my astonishment and confusion, our platter had been set before the king – the one who was responsible for this whole feast. Why, then, had no one tasted us before we were brought to the hall? The king's food was always tested for poison. It was the law.
The grand feast progressed, a blur of smells and babbling voices and flickering lights. Shawarma and I waited, our fear mounting and paralyzing us as the night went on. Every passing second brought us closer to the doom we knew was inescapable.
Finally, the king's notice fell upon our platter. He reached down and grasped me between his greasy thumb and forefinger, then dropped me onto his plate. I hoped he wouldn't take Shawarma. Then again, perhaps it would be easier to get it over with now; food that wasn't eaten during the feast was given to the castle servants. Anything left after they had eaten their fill was thrown to the dogs.
A new voice rose up above the din of feasters, one that came from the end of the hall. The doors had been thrown open and a tall figure stood on the threshold, illuminated by torches which flanked him on either side. He pushed back the hood which hid his face.
"So this is what you've stooped to." The newcomer's voice was young, yet commanding.
I saw the king's face fill with recognition... then anger. He shoved back his chair and rose to his feet, his whole body quivering with rage. "I told you to never step foot again within this kingdom!"
"And you promised your citizens that you would care for them during war and famine." The stranger gestured around at the tapestries, the food, the richly attired guests. "There are crowds of your own subjects starving outside the castle gate. And you sit here, feasting!"
The king clenched his fists. His face was red, veins standing out on his thick neck. "Guards, seize him!"
No guards appeared. The stranger was chuckling. "Don't you think I thought of that before I crashed your party? Have no fear – they will awaken with nothing more than headache. Good as new."
During the whole conversation, I had nearly forgotten about my impending doom... then the king reached out and snatched me off his plate. What was he going to do – eat me right then and there?
Nothing of the sort.
The king threw his hand forward, and suddenly I was flying across the great hall, past the tapestries and lanterns and crumb-covered faces of feasters, until I landed with a soft thump at the feet of the stranger. He gently tossed me aside with the toe of his boot.
"Well, well, your Highness... look how far you've fallen." He chuckled again and folded his arms across his chest, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. "Using handfuls of bread instead of your sword of old. Everyone knows..."
The hall was silent, breathless, waiting for him to finish.
"Everyone knows that great kings never throw pitas."
THE END
PROMPT BY: ABBY DEE, AMELIA PETERSON, & JOE KING
STORY BY: LAVENDER PENRYN
PHOTO BY: NIKLAS HAMANN
I was entralled by the scope of the conflict and stunned by the grandeur of the drama. If this doesn't win an Oscar I will be very disappointed.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Steven! We'll await our Oscar nomination. ;)
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