THE KING OF FOOLS

“The boy took a step forward. Behind him laid all that was magnificent in the world

he knew—an empire of the greatest majesty and power—burning.”

Alexander Papak
 Was his decision truly right?

The boy grimaced. He knew it was not— knew that, if anything, the condemnation he

was declaring upon his people was tenfold what they would ever be capable of asserting unto

him. But still, the boy had grown weary in his years. His once boundless ambition had been long

ago worn by the swift winds of fate couple with the crushing pressure known as reality. Yet, his

decision still caused him to feel as if he was tearing out a part of his already mortally wounded

heart.

The boy took a step forward. Behind him laid all that was magnificent in the world he

knew—an empire of the greatest majesty and power—burning. It was he who had first fallen in

love with the vision of that very same majesty, and also he who had had the strength and courage

to attempt to make it real. It had not always been as it was, however, though history never

bothered to trace back any further than his birth. The world of his ancestors was once little more

than a small city, although even that label seems to be, in retrospect, rather considerate.

His ancestors’ world had been a secluded world. They were all that was, isolated from

any beings that may have existed. This seclusion proved to be both a blessing and a burden—a

blessing because his ancestors were freed from the conflict of ideas; a burden because what they

lost was the force of creativity.

His ancestors’ world had also been a flourishing world. Its great size and lack of

inhabitants presented room for an incredible surplus of the provisions of life. The countryside

consisted of sprawling fields of wheat, orchards of fresh fruit, and acres upon acres of a variety

of naturally growing vegetables. Littered across the terrain lay countless mines containing untold

surfeit of gold, silver, and precious metal. Beyond that existed ever expansive woodlands of the
greatest diversity of trees and contained within them innumerable game of every sort in such

excess that the people would never have to worry of hunger. Surely children of a world so

prosperous would have no choice to prosper themselves. History, however, told the boy

differently. For history clearly stated that his ancestors’ world had not only ever flourished, but

that it had begun to starve.

The boy’s deep eyes had clearly seen the truth of this for himself time and again. For

whatever reason, a cruel and mocking curse seemed to loom hauntingly over his people’s world.

It was in the twisted irony of this curse that existed his people’s single dilemma: every child ever

born was fated to be born a fool, to mature a fool, to live a fool, and to remain a fool up until his

inevitable death that would be, of course, as a fool. As a result, it was in no time that his

ancestors had truly, in its surest sense, begun to starve.

It was in the cusp of that world’s death that the boy had been born; a single, thin ray of

light in an otherwise endless expanse of darkness. For the boy had been born with the most

peculiar ability: the ability to recognize truth.

He still felt it now as his deep, true eyes stared dispassionately into the dimly lit horizon.

No good could come of this decision. But he had begun to doubt himself. The certainty that he

had once prided himself with had, over the many years of his struggle, begun to fade. He was

finding every decision he made to be preluded by an increasing amount of hesitation and

indecision.

When he had first recognized his people’s doom, he had immediately understood his

destiny. He was able to clearly see his people’s faults, so he had risen above them. Without a

moment’s hesitation he had acted—the only direction to move was forward— and he took it
upon himself to repair his world. He had decided then that he would tirelessly and relentlessly

struggle against his people’s dark fate until the day came when they would be liberated; when

they would no longer be born fools, no longer live as fools, and no longer die as fools. The boy

stood proudly as their savior, and he caused the world to be, for the first time, truly prosperous.

It was only decades later, when the boy had been nearing the end of his life, that he had

first grasped how truly colossal the scope of his objective was. The world had indeed become an

incredible place, and its growth had exceeded any of the boy’s expectations. He now lay on his

deathbed at the head of the greatest and most renowned civilization in history lamenting his

failure, for the boy’s true eyes saw that his people still continued to be entirely dependent upon

him, and that, upon his death, his empire would be placed into their incapable hands and would

surely fall. He had reached an ultimatum, one that no mortal could pass, and it was then that the

boy, with his deep, true eyes, had determined that, for the unconditional love he felt for his

people, no obstacle would obstruct his progress.

When word of the boy’s unwavering resolution reached the ear of the gods, they

descended upon him. While his people cowered and offered pleas of mercy, the boy stood

unflinchingly before them, greeting them as old friends returning from a long journey. The gods’

recognized the boy’s unparalleled potential, so they themselves granted the boy the fruit of

immortal life. Upon him they proclaimed, “You shall inherit from us this world of fools and for

eternity live among them as their leader, their teacher, and their king, but, we wonder, what will

you aspire to next now that your destiny has been decided?”

The boy laughed at the God’s naiveté, for he no longer regarded them as his equal. He

responded simply, “I shall conquer fate.”

 With a second life and the renewed vigor of youth, the boy had swept ahead—the only

direction to move was forward—and had continued to lead his empire, and his empire had

continued to rise. It was not long before it had become the vision of the majesty his true eyes had

bore witness to when they had first opened upon the world. This was, however, no longer enough

for the boy—he scoffed at his younger self’s shortsighted goals—for his empire had yet to reach

even the foundation of his boundless ambition.

As his empire grew, and the last minor segments of land had been put under his control,

the boy had realized that the world was far too small place to hold what he had hoped to create.

Undeterred, he had set his sights upward. The boy’s conquest exceeded the boundaries of his

insignificant word, ascending beyond through the infinite heavens. His empire had reached what

no mind but his could ever have even conceived, a state of unmatched glory. His goal had finally

been in sight; the boy could stretch out his hand and trace the faint contours of his upmost desire

in the distant horizon. For his people—none deserved it better than them—he would achieve the

greatest of all virtues: he would achieve perfection.

Millennia came and millennia passed, and the boy’s subjects had begun to change. They

had come upon a newfound independence, but one not born of effort and accomplishment but

rather born of arrogance towards the continual success created not by them, but by their emperor

and king. The boy had not yet reached the ultimate goal for which he so desperately sought, and

unto that incapability his people had rested all their faults. He held up the world, and it spat at

him to be released. The boy had initially waived their concerns—he knew better—but, slowly

but surely, minute by minute, their displeasure had gradually aged him, placing upon him an

unprecedented sense of weariness. Through this, the boy’s resolve had held; if not for himself,

then for his people, he had no choice but to continue. His true eyes saw that the time was still far
too premature impart the world to a new generation, for the moment he released it, it would,

lacking its support, plunge downward and shatter before he could turn his back.

The boy’s fatigued body exhaled heavily at the memory as he came across a familiar

ruin. Within laid a single, ancient row of stone graves stretching far beyond the horizon. He

approached the most recently erected of which, not attempting to mask his solemn regret:

Here lies our lord, God.

A being of such incompetence, that his own world had to be taken from him.

One of many, conquered by fate.

He turned his eyes away and continued, no longer interested in the sight.

As the boy had wearily moved forward, his people’s initial displeasure had grown to

loathing and revulsion, and he had become increasingly disheartened. Even now he knew their

defects were not his fault, but the weight of their disappointment had drained him. He could not

help but wonder that had he worked harder, even in the slightest, would his goals have already,

with much less sacrifice, been achieved. The only direction to move was forward. He could only

have hoped that when he reached that long sought perfection—for he must—his people would

have been able to forgive him.

In spite of the boy’s many successes, his mistakes had begun to accumulate as well as his

people’s hatred for him. Despite this, there had never been any danger to his rule until he had

issued a command, and, for the first time, someone had responded with a word that had revealed

itself to have more power than he had ever fathomed: no. Riots broke out soon after, and a

rebellion ensued. His attempts to calm his people and negotiate went unheard—there would be
no compromise in the face of his injustices. He had been condemned by his people. His sentence,

to be damned.

It was only when a full-scale revolution had erupted and the last of the boy’s forces had

turned on him that he had been forced to make his decision. As the world had went mad and his

final private sanctuary was invaded, the boy at long last saw it with his deep, true eyes. He would

not achieve his objective; he would never be able to reach the perfection for which had been

allowed to only briefly glimpse. It had been in absolute despair that his decision had finally been

made. As a last act of his undying love, he had granted his people the object of their perverse

obsession and had vanished in the ashes of his burning estate.

Was his decision truly right?

The only direction to move was forward, but he realized that he had long ago lost any

true sense of direction. He searched for a method to redeem himself, but recognized that he had

forfeited any definite sense of purpose. Without his people, the boy realized how empty he had

become, how his every struggle and endeavor up to that point had been for their sole benefit, and

how, in his effort to live for them, he had forgotten what it meant to live. It was in only a flicker

of history that his empire crumbled and fell—as did any last hope the boy had held for his

world—along with his people who had been unable to understand the devotion necessary to carry

it upon their shoulders. The boy walked relentlessly on in misery and shame and hopelessness,

and, in his solitude, wept silently for what he lost. He shut his eyes to the truth, refusing to

acknowledge that it was he who had caused. And he trudged ever onward with neither direction

nor purpose through the now ancient ruins of a world that had become but a distant memory
carrying with him only the binding immortality that he had been so selflessly granted. The boy

truly was a king of fools.