There once was a king who sat upon a throne made of the bones they collected. They walked all across the land to scavage pieces of dead birds and tiny animals. They picked them from the ground and built them into a beautiful nest to sit in. They did it with skill and patience and loved their nest very much. And they thought that it was good.
Every now and then, though, they had to leave their tidy home to hunt for food. They hid behind the bushes and between the tall grass to jump wild rabbits and birds, too slow and lazy to take notice. These were sunny days when animals would rather lay out on sunny riverbanks and didn't fight back, even if they really wanted to.
The king bit into their flesh and tore off their hides, severing their organs and destroying their bodies. They drank their blood and fed off their meat as if they were nothing at all. Once they were stripped of everything that made them themselves, the king would use their clean white structure to raise their nest ever taller. They looked back upon it and saw that it was good.
Soon, rumours spread and the forest learned to stay away from the king. They were forced to hunt farther and farther away from their throne. Until one day they saw it: Her magnificent throne was made of wood she had carved herself. It towered over her like a cathedral and held her small, round body like a mother's crib.
And the king of bones wanted her. They wanted her throne, they wanted her carved cathedral, they wanted her small, thick bones to sit on.
So the king of bones did as they always did. They hid away behind stones and tall grass. They waited to see when she was lazy or tired or unaware. And they jumped her.
"Hello," they said, wearing their best smile. And "Don't be scared," they added, when they noticed she had recoiled.
"I don't want to hurt you," they lied. "You can trust me."
But she didn't respond. Her eyes were wide and her hands were working hard on a new wooden sculpture.
The King of Bones insisted again, pushing her as far as they could. The problem was, they finally noticed, she couldn't talk at all. Her windpipe didn't work and all her emotions and expressions were carved on the sharp piece of wood she had in her hands, on the intricate details she dug into it.
So the King of Bones took his chance. After all, she would never be able to scream.
They grabbed her, strangling her short thick neck with their bony fingers, squeezing as hard as they could. She did her best to keep breathing and her eyes watered. She wailed around, helplessly. They bit down on her neck, on her pulsating jugular and felt the blood trickle down their face. And they were happy. And they saw it was good.
But then they felt it: the warm stab of the delicately carved wood between their ribs. It went in so strong and so deep they lost control of their body before realizing what had happened. They flailed and tried to tear their teeth deeper into the round throat when they noticed the small carving blade sink into their eye.
And they felt their body falling heavily off the wooden throne. And as she drew inward to nurse the wounds in her sore neck, she left them outside to be covered in rain, dirt, and fallen leaves, and her bone nest to be scattered all around the forest and forgotten.
My new book is no longer on pre-sale, but you can buy it here anyway. I can’t wait for new people to read it!