Art – Cries – Amanda Yu

Cries

Amanda Yu, 11

acrylic painting on paper

Continued from page 12

alive.

Raul decried the movement up until they came to his door, after the coup. Shortly after the current government was put to death, the military clique came to power and put Raul under house arrest.

“King” Raul I was relocated to the now-vacant royal palace. When he arrived, the blood from the Prime Minister’s execution hadn’t even been cleaned yet.

The clique was smart. They couldn’t let their newly-crowned King just dissolve the government because he disagreed. So that’s why the “Rightful King” was taking orders from a group of six military officials.

King Raul returned his gaze to the pile of papers and let a hopeful smile cross his face. “Maybe things will change.” He said to no one in particular.

The Propaganda Department gave him the go-ahead to begin publishing works again. Nowadays, his only solace was with pen and paper.

And now, it is complete. His magnum opus. It was a tragedy, the story of a young boy coming to terms with his own mortality, forced to wander the world as a spirit. Raul picked up the phone and pressed the only key on the device. “Yes, my King?” The voice of Jose, the King’s liaison to the Clique sounded on the other end.

“I finished the story. I’ll send a copy to you right now.” Raul said with the excitement of a child.

“Splendid! I’ll contact the Propaganda Department for review.” Jose sounded as upbeat as ever. That was intentional. The Clique made sure to make the liaison to their King was always upbeat and overly ecstatic.

Raul rose from his seat and made his way to the bed. He stepped across crumpled papers and pencils broken in writer’s-block frustration, and collapsed into bed. As the embrace of sleep slowly took him, Raul felt happy. For a little bit, he was no longer Raul I, King of Vergue and Master of All Curro. He was just Raul Diaz, author and poet. The shrill sound of the phone ringing jolted Raul from his sleep. Moonlight gently crept through the window and warmly illuminated the room. Raul tossed around in the bed, falling off the left side and

slamming to the red-carpeted floor. Now fully awake, Raul rushed to his desk on the opposite end of the room. He scooped the phone from the receiver and held it to his head. “Hello?” Raul said, rather annoyed from his rude awakening. “My King, the Propaganda Department contacted me about your manuscript. Director Alfonso would like to speak to you in the Department Headquarters. “Were they there to protect him from potential assassins? Or were they there to prevent him from escaping? We have the Royal Transport outside of the Palace. Please arrive as soon as you can.” Jose said with his usual happiness. The call terminated shortly after. “Shit.” King Raul cursed to himself. That probably wasn’t a good sign. Alfonso would either congratulate the King for writing such a good piece, or tell him that it can’t be published. King Raul threw on his suit. It was one of the only choices he got to make. The King was not fond of the ornate robes and traditional dress. He rushed out the door, coming face-to-face with a limousine. The back door swung open by itself and the King sat himself on the fine-leather seat. Without a word, the chauffeur took off towards the Department Headquarters. King Raul took a look out the window. The capital city of Bonimo looked back, in all its glory. The city was beautiful of course. The cultural pride of Eastern Yodari. But after all this, after the Diazistas and the Coup, the King couldn’t see the capital of his realm the same ever again. Fine paved roads made the trip very smooth. Moonlight embraced the buildings, reflecting off windows and polished stone and presenting an almost unreal beauty. But of course, this was just the North side. The Industrial Park and slums of the South were like a different world. Workers toiled in factories for little pay, facing

unsafe conditions and dangers from pollution. The vast majority were of the Barbeau minority group. The King’s heart ached for these people, forced into a life of poverty just because they had a different culture.

King Raul’s mourning of the Barbeau’s plight was cut short when the limousine stopped. “We’re here.” The chauffeur said. He sounded rather angry, probably due to driving around in the dead of night.

“Thank You.” The King said. He exited the car, and made his way into the building’s enormous lobby. Two soldiers, clad in military fatigues and sporting an assault rifle slung over their backs. The two soldiers bowed at the king and began to speak in a horribly choreographed way. “We will safely escort you to Director Alfonso’s office, my King.” The two said in unison.

The three made their way through the building, passing countless offices housing some sort of bureaucrat. Each one had a worker standing in the doorway, bowing as the King crossed their office.

As they made their way through the labyrinthine building, the King couldn’t help but wonder why there were armed escorts. Were they there to protect him from potential assassins? Or were they there to prevent him from escaping?

The trio stopped at the Director’s office. A fine wood door stood in front. “We have arrived. We will await the end of your meeting to escort you back.” The soldiers said with another bow. King Raul took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Director Juan Alfonso sat on the other side of an ornate desk. He sprung up from his chair and bowed as the King approached. “Welcome my King, I am glad to see you in good health.” Alfonso said. Considering this was one of the men who forced Raul to become the King, this greeting seemed almost mocking.

“Yes, I hope I can retain my health after waking up so early.” The King said. A veiled jab at one of his puppeteers. King Raul hated “The Clique” who controlled him, but he especially despised Alfonso. This was the man who controlled how Raul addressed the nation. If he was the “King”, shouldn’t he be able to address his subjects freely?

“I apologize for the early meeting, but matters were... pressing, so to speak.” Alfonso said politely. Raul hated this most of all. This man knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the King hated him. He relished in it. So he acted all polite just to toy with him, knowing Raul was powerless to stop it.

Alfonso turned towards his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. A copy of Raul’s manuscript. “The Propaganda Department has reviewed your piece for publishing, alongside my personal viewing.” Alfonso said as he flipped through the papers. Raul knew this was a blatant lie. While a group of bureaucrats could rush through the script, there is no way a busy man like Alfonso could read it within a couple hours.

“It is very well written. Both our reviewers and myself thoroughly enjoyed your work. But...” Alfonso spoke with fake excitement. A hint of sadistic enjoyment flashed in his eyes. “We have collectively determined that the work is anti-royalist and unfit for publishing.”

There it was. King Raul knew this was coming, but it hit hard all the same. Normally, he would back down in defeat. But the King felt defiant today. He was rushed out of his sleep, only for Alfonso to crush his hopes.

“Why?” Raul said with pure malice. Alfonso stared at the monarch. “It’s a simple piece of fiction. It’s about a wandering spirit, it’s not even realistic. Why is it ‘anti-royalist?’” Raul continued. Alfonso continued to stare. “I’m the King dammit, that’s what you bastards call me.” Raul went on, each word dripping with venom. “Shouldn’t I be able to address my own fucking subjects? What good is a King that can’t speak his mind?”

After a few seconds of silence, a devious smile crossed Alfonso’s face. “I’m sorry my King.” He spoke with complete sadistic pleasure. “It’s an executive action. For the protection of both yourself and your subjects.” Alfonso continued. “Why don’t you head home? The night is still young, after all.”

King Raul sighed. He exited the office. The troops escorted him back to the limousine and disappeared inside the building with another set of bows. The King entered the vehicle and sat himself on the same soft leather seats.

As the King took off towards the Royal Palace, he looked out the window at the city again. Not as a man, but as a King in a gilded cage overlooking his realm of deceit. Ethan Zeichner, 12

short story