Today's post will be of a flash fiction story I wrote last year entitled, "The Crown of Eyes." If you'd like to hear me read it, you should look me up on YouTube where I have a channel called, "Colin Reads." I upload new videos Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. If you like what I do, please like, share, and subscribe! (I'd really appreciate it.) Here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/user/babaloo55555/videos
And here's my story. Hope you like it.
The Crown of Eyes—symbol of the
Nordkings’ might. A heavy circlet made of gold, topped by seven silver rays.
Beneath each ray lies a semiprecious stone in the likeness of a human eye, all
except the one at the back of the head. There, an eye is simply cut into the
metal of the crown with a bit of mirror as its pupil.
According to the stories, the Crown of Eyes is a potent
artifact, one that gives its wielder unimaginable power. Many say that the
Crown’s magic is what allowed the Nordkings to bring together the northern
lands in the days of old, the crown allowing them to pierce the veils of space
and time. In any rate, the crown passes
down from father to son, in this case, from the hands of the late William the
Wise to his son, Olaf.
Many in the kingdom feel it should have passed to his
younger brother, Fredrick, as Fredrick served his time in the realm’s military with
distinction. Olaf never bothered to show up for his duties. Fredrick was
married with a young son. Olaf led a string of strumpets through the castle at
all hours of the night. Fredrick was dashing, brave and confident, where Olaf
was weak, pudgy and indecisive.
But the law is clear: The eldest son inherits the throne.
The first night of Olaf’s kingship, he drunk himself into
a stupor, still wearing his crown. In his dreams, he met a man who claimed to
be the crown’s maker. He told Olaf that the stories of the crown’s powers were
true, and showed him how to use them. When Olaf awoke, he found himself able to
see through walls, to move small things with his mind. But rather than use his
powers to help the kingdom, he simply played cruel tricks on his servants and
engaged his friends in further debaucheries.
Each night he dreamt of the crown-maker, and each night
the man taught him how to use the gems set into the crown’s brim. One night,
they reached the empty eye, the one with the mirrored pupil. The crown-maker
advised Olaf against activating its power, saying that he wouldn’t be able to
handle what it showed him. “Even your father,” droned the crown-maker,
“struggled with its visions.”
“Piss tosh,” said Olaf, who resented yet another
comparison of himself to his late father. “Am I not the king?” he said
imperiously. “Are you not my subject? I order you to activate its power. I command it!”
The crown-maker said nothing, but bowed deeply. When Olaf
awoke and wore the crown, he felt no different than he had the day before. He
could not suddenly melt steel with his gaze or raise the dead with a thought.
What then could be so dangerous about the empty eye’s power?
It wasn’t until he sat down with his generals that it
started to become clear. On talking with the grizzled old greybeards, he
suddenly realized how little they respected him, how much they wished they were
dealing with his brother. Interrupting the meeting, he left, and sought comfort
in the arms of his favorite mistress. But there he found no pleasure, for while
they were together, she imagined that she held his brother, Fredrick, rather
than him.
Olaf saw what every person he met really thought of him
that day, and on looking in a mirror, he saw himself for what he really was. In
despair, he threw himself from the castle’s tallest tower, having finally discovered
what the empty eye allowed its wielder to see: The truth.
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