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The Patient King
by Mary Welch
05/22/12
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*This is not a film review. It is a fiction short story that I am writing. This is just the beginning scene.
My email is tntwelch@sbcglobal.net.


THE PATIENT KING – This is the beginning of a parable written in reflection of the story of Hosea.

She’s leaving me. Again.
A small whimpering sound caused the King to turn from the tower window toward the gloom of the hollow rooms. Pausing, he listened. Then, he heard it again: the soft cries of bad dreams. Sighing with reluctant resolution, he silently left his bedchamber and entered the nursery at the end of the hall. Alistair noticed the nurse sleeping in her narrow bed across the room, but his attention was on the low bed where the small child huddled.
Pushing the covers gently away from her face, he watched as tiny blue eyes opened, damp lashes fluttered, and then Calistria fought free of the fine linen bed clothes as she pulled a damp thump from her mouth and stretched her chubby little arms toward him.
He lifted the girl into his arms, cradling her soft curls against his cheek. He carried her across the room and quietly spoke the nurse’s name.
Startled, the woman’s hands flew to her mouth, as she began to stammer out an excuse.
He cut her words off with a half shake of his head. “I just wanted you to know that she is with me. Go back to sleep.” The King turned toward his huge comfortable apartments, settling his two-year-old daughter closer, knowing he would spend most of the night sitting in the rocking chair, letting the motion soothe her into sleep.
Regardless of the excellent care he made sure she received, Calistria always seemed to know when she was being abandoned. From the rocking chair near his bed, he watched as the cold moonlight from the open window stretched across the stonework floor to reach his position. He drew his precious daughter closer into the dark safety of sleep. All light brought knowledge, but not all light warmed. And not all knowledge was good.


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