Once upon a time, there lived an unlawful king. His rule was great and ever so depressing. He was a horrible leader and a horrible man. He sought power and took it from his subjects. The king grew hungrier and hungrier, so stole food from his villager's. His gluttony was mighty and never satisfied. The king liked the gold on his crown and thought even more gold would match it, so he stole all of the gold from villagers.
This left the villager's to starve and eventually lose their own homes. Fed up with the king's evil rule, a brave villager sought revenge and marched as far as his legs could carry him up to the king's castle. Bursting down the doors, he plunged a knife into the king's chest, killing him instantly.
The brave villager brought the body to his people, and with a unanimous vote, they carried the king's body into a farm and threw his body into the pigs pen, letting him be devoured by his own kind.
The brave villager was seen as a hero and was chosen to bear the crown, and he swore to rule with reason and kindness. To rule with God's vows. The end.
That was the pictured fairytale, "The Heartless King" It was told with the message of encouraging speaking out and detering evil that was sin and cruelty. It was a famous tale preached by God's followers; However, I didn't understand it. I read it again, countless times, I tried to make sense of something I knew I was missing but it didn't work. I figured I needed help, I needed to understand it. With the small, thin book clutched in my hands that the kindergarten allowed me to take home, I stood up and jumped off my bed, walking towards the room on the opposite side of the hallway.
I pushed the door open and crawled on top of the bed and shook my mothers shoulders. The covers moved along and crept up, tugging and pulling at my knees resting on the bed. My mother had sat upwards, eyes threatening to fall shut again and rubbing at her eyelids, staring at me. Brushing her hands against and through my black, growing hair, she said in a ruffled and tired voice, "Messias, my child, what's wrong?"
I brought up the book, opening it up and fiddling with its pages. I showed them to her, muttered and muttered, "Why does the king have to die?" She stopped rubbing my hair and picked me up in her arms, getting up and walking downstairs."The King was a very bad man, he was cruel to others and only cared for himself. That was wrong and unforgivable, so he was punished by god." She spoke, sitting me on the kitchen counter and opening the refrigerator, rummaging through it inside.
I felt the frosting air creeping along my skin and back, giving me goosebumps and shivers. "But the man killed the king," I confusedly retorted. She only pulled her head back from the fridge, a grin on her face as she lightly let out a suppressed laugh. "God always Intervenes, he's that little voice in your head that tells you what good you should do."
She took out a cup from the cabinet as she explained, the jug of milk sitting beside him. She poured the milk into the cup before putting everything back. Holding him in her shoulders, she continued. "The King died because he lost his way with god, and god struck him down to pry the influence of the devil from him. Sin is the embodiment of evil, true evil can never be redeemed, only stopped"
He looked around, now in his room and being tucked into bed. The cup of milk being placed on his miniature nightstand. "Good night Messias" She said, closing the door and leaving him in the dark. He yawned, reaching for the cup and drinking its cold contents. I still have so many questions, I thought. I knew very little, only things that I had read or words that I had heard. Two came to mind. Where was the voice in my head? He had heard nothing but his own thoughts, and they didn't tell him to do good or wrong. Did god not know he existed? That was the first. The second was "Who was God?"