Condamne' and the Userper

The cold gaze of weary eyes lay heavily upon a tattered flag. Its worn vertical tricolours blue, white and red had been rendered by past glories. It reminded the shady figure of his triumph against the last domineering king of France and the tragedy that transpired before his immediate arrest. He eyed a worn noose that hung lazily from the roof of the chamber. It swung back and forth, inebriating the old man’s senses and conjecturing up speculations on what the future might deliver him. His body was limp and his saddened face was cast half in light and half in darkness. He had once thought himself to be the prophet of a new era, but now he knew that it was a madman’s dream, or nightmare.

He slumped further into the corner of his gloomy cell as the insidious darkness began dragging him into its abyss, but before his guilt fully consumed him, a blinding bright light burst through the cell door. Its radiance scorched his withered face and there before him stood a proud man dressed in a red silk robes of which denoted his high bureaucratic statues.

The light behind the robed figure formed a crown of light upon his head. Stillness froze the air, as the old man squinted at the figure before him. Only after a moment of deathly silence did the old man recognise his former colleague. The momentary hush was abruptly broken by his former friend as he whispered to him in a solemn tone “To think it would come to this, Condamné. You failed to control yourself once again. I hope for your sake that god shows more mercy to you then the public has. What drove you to do it?”

The presence of his usurper filled Condamné with a plethora of emotions. His head lowered and his face wrinkled up as if he was in pain. He firmly expected to be decimated by t...

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... his hand and knocked heavily upon the door’s wooden frame. The muffled sounds of soldiers were heard on the other side, before the door was abruptly tugged open by a tall breaded grenadier. He then nodded his head to the official and pulled Condamné roughly through the door next to him before slamming the door on the official. The young man turned to take one last look at the splendid hall. The lights in the hall began dimming one after another. It began from the cell door and slowly it crept down the hall. It blacked out one portrait at a time, which in a way symbolised the ending of all the kings’ one after the other. It brought comfort to him knowing that he had finally uprooted all the kings and king imitators in the land, but before the last light burnt out, he cast his gaze into the mirror beside the last king and to his horror he saw yet another false king.