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“Rest…no rest, no rest. No time. What if they figure it out? Figure it out…figure it out. Figure me out. Yes, the truth…the truth,” he giggled as the word truth popped out of his mouth, but humor lived far from his home.
“He’s coming.” Pausing briefly as if he were listening for something, he quickly resumed his repetitive, frantic rocking from his granite perch. “They’re coming. He’s coming…coming for me,” he whispered into the darkness, biting his nails frantically.
Suddenly still, he caressed the dilapidated granite throne, only remnants of its former glory. “Mine, yes, all mine. Bring me pleasure old friend. No one shall have you but me. I’m too clever, I am. Smoke and mirrors…yes, much smoke and mirrors. Distractions…keep them distracted. Hate. Fear. Doubt. Pride. Disease. Poverty,” he cackled. “Can’t forget death, can I? My crème-de-le-crème of creations…yes, the cleverness of me.”
“Who’s there?” he shrieked and recoiled into a ball, pulling in his legs and arms like turtle in a defensive position. “Who’s there? Answer me at once!” He ran his fingers over his sunken eye sockets where his eyeballs had once resided. Silence answered his screams once again.
“What were his words?” He searched his failing memories, “ If you shall have no sight than no sight you shall have.” Remembering the man who had removed his eyesight over 2000 years ago, he spewed curses into the air, blowing them upward on the miniscule, dank breeze that rarely wafted through the corridors. The prison he had retreated to because of him…them.
“I’ve done just fine. Sight or no sight…I see more than he sees. Yes, dying for mankind, dying for those who serve me. Sight…no, more like stupidity. Fool!” howling another curse into the breeze. Rocks tumbled from a nearby cavern breaking the deadness of his silent tomb as if in defiance to his curse. “Who’s there? Speak to me,” he pleaded.
“It is I, your servant, Lord.”
“Are they at the gate? Are they here? Are they coming for me? Is he coming for me? Speak to me, you slithering salamander, before I squash you under my foot. Where have you been? Gone to conspire against me; I’m sure.”
“No sire, I do your bidding,” the servant hesitated under the resolve of a commitment made a millennium ago, “ for all eternity.”
“If so, tell me the truth. Is he coming? Are they coming for me?”
“Who sire?”
The Faithful, you insolent fool! The Faithful and their King!” Once again, he cowered on his throne, his crown toppling to the floor. It spun three times on end and fell into a crevasse formed by a long spent earthquake, another distraction he had once devised…in his day.
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