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Quote Of Ariel—the 500 Word Challenge Of, Sitten Fattened—King Of Totkogae
an adventure
Like an overexposed photograph, if a picture is worth one-thousand words—our story howsoever entailed is entrailed with life, therefore worth telling. Albeit, stricken by inexperienced shudders of undarkened shutters—peculiar to that setting, this'll scroll out to be only half a tale; overexposure claiming the other fifty-percent of the film, blinding us to the action that was clear to the light.
My father wasn't always a Badmen, although of no consequence; he was murdered by henchmen hired by them. And it was in this way, Vileman, took sole control of Jushran, the city of my birth. But not of Tol, the Kingdom of my birth. Then enacting alone, Vileman relentlessly hunted my two adopted sisters and I, into the Tol River.
They're avid swimmers—I wasn't. We miraculously made it, opposite the rivershore our own, however, we're now face-to-face with its monarch.
Sitten Fattened King, scoots his hefty-lavish throne closer to me, staring me down, as if he were looking for something already hidden within his many folds—robes of flesh, or garbs gaurding the gluttony—I shouldn't care; nothing remains of his reprobate soul obviously encroaching. He moves about as on an ordinary chair, never removing the two-souled twinkle in his eyes. He opens his self-inflicted gaping wound,
"Fatten King, while he was still alive and seated where I sit always told me some things were better left unsaid. He would say, 'Fatkin, some things are better left unsaid.' Isn't all this, his single oration, chiseled into Gravesmarks scattered throughout my Totkogae!? I digress, he was almost always most certainly correct—conversely, under my many proclivities, pomps and circumstances, this can't be one of those priceless entanglements, engagements, or meditations."
To what trees did our journey gavel us onto? Uglier manifests simultaneously, unfixing his twisted predilection toward me dispositioned in his preferences toward my younger sisters through his bouncy bulging eyes; left to Hope, then to Faith, incessantly skipping me over—some men don't know when they've become possessed. Fattened King does. We have no names for finding comfort in monsters, just Vileman; unlike Father, or the henchmen, who practiced Pretense Law. Irregardless, anything I'm going to say must only be truth—convinced, I interrupt his wickedness fermenting before our very eyes,
"My name is Will of Tol—" Fattened King cuts me off, admiring down his manicured fingertips,
"Father never told me, 'Dynasties die nasty,' Will of Rundown City! Remember his Gravesmarks? As is, it's the honor of kings to search out matters; insomuch, Sitten Fattened—King of Totkogae! What manner of a matter is this, flopping like Fish and Shrimp on my riverbed, whence no man comes by way of; that River Treacherous—much less a fish bare bones, with his two boney shrimps? Or two, "His Majesty's" fishes, are they? Who are both clearly Shrimps of Tol! Coy, in five-hundred words please do tell me why I should exterminate only the Shrimp? I've already taxed you your six posthumous words. Begin."
© 2023 Leon Lamb
© Leon Lamb
Like an overexposed photograph, if a picture is worth one-thousand words—our story howsoever entailed is entrailed with life, therefore worth telling. Albeit, stricken by inexperienced shudders of undarkened shutters—peculiar to that setting, this'll scroll out to be only half a tale; overexposure claiming the other fifty-percent of the film, blinding us to the action that was clear to the light.
My father wasn't always a Badmen, although of no consequence; he was murdered by henchmen hired by them. And it was in this way, Vileman, took sole control of Jushran, the city of my birth. But not of Tol, the Kingdom of my birth. Then enacting alone, Vileman relentlessly hunted my two adopted sisters and I, into the Tol River.
They're avid swimmers—I wasn't. We miraculously made it, opposite the rivershore our own, however, we're now face-to-face with its monarch.
Sitten Fattened King, scoots his hefty-lavish throne closer to me, staring me down, as if he were looking for something already hidden within his many folds—robes of flesh, or garbs gaurding the gluttony—I shouldn't care; nothing remains of his reprobate soul obviously encroaching. He moves about as on an ordinary chair, never removing the two-souled twinkle in his eyes. He opens his self-inflicted gaping wound,
"Fatten King, while he was still alive and seated where I sit always told me some things were better left unsaid. He would say, 'Fatkin, some things are better left unsaid.' Isn't all this, his single oration, chiseled into Gravesmarks scattered throughout my Totkogae!? I digress, he was almost always most certainly correct—conversely, under my many proclivities, pomps and circumstances, this can't be one of those priceless entanglements, engagements, or meditations."
To what trees did our journey gavel us onto? Uglier manifests simultaneously, unfixing his twisted predilection toward me dispositioned in his preferences toward my younger sisters through his bouncy bulging eyes; left to Hope, then to Faith, incessantly skipping me over—some men don't know when they've become possessed. Fattened King does. We have no names for finding comfort in monsters, just Vileman; unlike Father, or the henchmen, who practiced Pretense Law. Irregardless, anything I'm going to say must only be truth—convinced, I interrupt his wickedness fermenting before our very eyes,
"My name is Will of Tol—" Fattened King cuts me off, admiring down his manicured fingertips,
"Father never told me, 'Dynasties die nasty,' Will of Rundown City! Remember his Gravesmarks? As is, it's the honor of kings to search out matters; insomuch, Sitten Fattened—King of Totkogae! What manner of a matter is this, flopping like Fish and Shrimp on my riverbed, whence no man comes by way of; that River Treacherous—much less a fish bare bones, with his two boney shrimps? Or two, "His Majesty's" fishes, are they? Who are both clearly Shrimps of Tol! Coy, in five-hundred words please do tell me why I should exterminate only the Shrimp? I've already taxed you your six posthumous words. Begin."
© 2023 Leon Lamb
© Leon Lamb
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