I’ve just married into the royal family. Yes, it’s a bold way to begin a story but the lead up to the day wasn’t the exciting part. Make a Hallmark movie about it if you must.
This story begins the day after my wedding during the customary hair cutting. You see, where I’m from it is a long-held tradition for members of the royal family to cut their hair after being sworn in.
It’s a tradition going back centuries and is meant to represent your rising into the ranks of society. You shed your old hair and make room for something better.
It all starts with a young woman and a golden chair.
“Sit,” she says quite stern. “There’s nothing I can do for you unless you are in the chair.”
At this point my heart is racing. I’ve spent the previous 24 hours meeting dignitaries and some of the most powerful people in the world but no one has scared me more than this young woman.
She holds long sheers in one hand, a shimmering comb in the other. Her skin is blemish free to the point of disbelief. Her hair hangs from her head to one side over her right shoulder -- it waves in the wind although we are inside and there is no breeze to be found. When she moves the light creates rainbows through her long locks and shines like a diamond.
“No really,” she begins. “Sit.”
“Oh, right,” I walk over to the chair, slouching as I walk and avoiding eye contact with her. I place my glasses down on a nearby table.
As I approach the chair I can feel the hairs on my arms stand on end. I reach out and place a hand on the chair to steady myself as I turn to sit.
My back makes contact with the chair and I’m immediately filled with the sensation of floating. My feet are firmly planted on the ground but my body is floating high above the clouds. I can feel the wet air flowing across my cheeks, the cool air smell wafts against my nostrils, the warm sun is penetrating my skin. For a moment I’m weightless.
“Okay, so what are we doing today?” the voice of the stylist whips through the air like thunder.
“Wh-what?” I ask as I’m trying to reposition myself into reality. “I don’t know. I-I haven’t really thought about it.”
The stylist places her hands on her hips and raises a single eyebrow.
“That’s okay,” she says as she walks behind me. “I wasn’t going to listen to you anyway. I just ask that to make people feel better.”
She takes my hair into her hands and places her scissors against them. I close my eyes.
As if time was standing still I could feel each and every strand of hair being cut and I could hear them land on the floor with the softness of relaxed exhale.
I open my eyes and I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every inch of it adorned in gold, shimmering in the daylight streaming in from the large windows.
“You’re awake,” says a voice from across the room. “I was wondering how long you were going to be out. You almost had me worried.”
My wife stands at the foot of our bed, her hands placed upon one of the wooden columns of the four-post bed.
I prop myself with my arms behind me.
“Wait,” I begin. “Wasn’t I just with the stylist?”
“You were,” she says, “but that was several days ago.”
Now I’m utterly confused. I rub my eyes and reach for my glasses on the nightstand. I find nothing in their usual place. I look over and they are not where they should be. But more surprising, I can see clear as day.
I touch my face to make sure I hadn’t fallen asleep wearing my glasses.
“You won’t need those anymore,” my wife says with a slight smile. “There are a lot of things that have changed since your appointment. That’s why it takes several days. Did no one ever tell you about the stylist growing up?”
“Yes, but those were myths. Rumors passed on by crazy townsfolk who believe in magic.”
“Maybe you should listen to crazy people more often,” she says as she walks toward the door. “Don’t forget, you’re wanted in the chambers this morning. Your royal duties begin today.”
Once she has walked out I rush to the bathroom mirror to inspect the damage.
Every imperfection on my face is gone. My jaw line is noticeable, my nose, eyes, and mouth are perfectly symmetrical. My hands and arms are muscular along with my legs and the abs that were non-existent a week ago.
“Holy shit.”
As I enter the Chamber I’m hit with a cloud of cigar smoke. It hangs in the air at just the right height to sting my eyes and cause each breath to result in a slight cough.
The Chamber is a large round room filled with wood paneling, hardwood floors and old wooden furniture, like an old courtroom. In what would be considered the front of the room, is a large collection of television screens with a long table in front of it.
At the head of the table sits a large man holding an almost finished cigar. He’s watching the monitors and hasn’t noticed that I’ve entered the room. His head goes from side to side as if he is watching a tennis match. With every head turn or so he snaps his fingers.
I slowly walk up to the table and clear my throat so as not to startle the man.
“Excuse me,” I begin.
“Ah yes! Welcome to the Chamber,” he says in an almost jolly tone. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come. Sit down.”
He waves over and points to an old office chair beside his own. I sit down and immediately notice how uncomfortable the chair is. Almost as uncomfortable as the rest of the room and the man sitting near me.
“So, I see you’ve met with the stylist,” the man says while watching the screens. “And now it’s time to begin your duties as a royal.”
He looks over at me and smiles wide. I return the look with an uneasy toothy smile of my own.
“What we have here is our ‘eyes in the sky’ so to speak,” he begins to explain gesturing toward the wall of monitors sitting in front of us. “These screens allow us to see individuals of interest,” he said, putting air quotes around ‘individuals of interest.’
“As a royal you need to always be aware of certain people,” he said, again using air quotes.
“For instance, Jeffery here is the local banker in charge of managing the royal bank account,” the man motions toward a screen at the right side of the wall. “It has been made clear to us that Jeffery is being less than honest about how much money we have and where that extra bit he’s not telling us about is going.”
The man stands up and walks over to the screen. In it Jeffery sits at his kitchen table, eating breakfast with his family, he holds a newspaper in front of him and his coffee sitting nearby.
“Now watch.”
He raises his hand up to the screen, his thumb and middle finger connecting. Then SNAP.
The moment the man’s middle finger lands at the base of his thumb Jeffery slumps forward onto his newspaper and table. His coffee knocked onto the kitchen floor. His wife runs to his side and begins screaming for help and rushing to her phone.
For the second time in just a few hours my face shows every bit of shock rushing through my body. I can’t take my eyes off the screen. Jeffery’s family is in a panic, an emergency crew surrounding him. I can hardly get the words to form in my mouth but I finally manage.
“Did you just kill that man?”
“I sure as shit did,” the man says with a large smiling forming on his face. “And now it’s your turn!”
My face goes from shock to disbelief as my eyes dart to meet the man’s.
The man walks from one side of the monitor wall to the next. He points to the upper-left corner, where a screen shows a man sitting in a park. Birds are gathered at his feet as he tosses handfuls of seed to them. A briefcase sits beside him, an umbrella propped up against the bench.
Children run behind him on their way to a nearby swing set, a woman follows close behind carrying a baby. He waves to them as they pass, saying good morning to the woman.
“This is Albert,” the man begins. “He owns a large parcel of land that we intend to build a new factory on. At least we will once he agrees to sell it to us. He’s being a right dick about the whole situation at the moment.”
The man walks to the table and picks up a manilla folder and pulls some papers and a photo.
“You see, with Al out of the picture his poor widow would have no choice but to sell the land to us and we can continue building as planned,” he said while handing me the papers. “Your first responsibility will be to make sure Al is out of the way.”
As I’m looking over the papers the man lights his cigar and once again begins filling the air with smoke.
“It’s simple really,” he begins to explain. “Just take your fingers like so and snap! Easy as pie.”
I can feel the sweat building on my brow. My breathing is getting quick and my heart is racing. My eyes dart back and forth between the screen and the cigar smoking man in front of me.
Can I really do this? Can I take the life of an innocent man just because I’m a member of this family?
I lift my shaking hand and curl my fingers into position. I stare at the man I’m about to kill with the quick snap of my fingers. He has no idea he will soon meet his end. He’s just trying to live his life with what he’s been given.
I close my eyes and...
SNAP.
I look up at the monitor and there is Albert on the bench. His briefcase and umbrella undisturbed. Children run by. The birds continue to eat.
The Chamber is silent. Smoke lingers in the air. The strong smell emits from the end of the cigar now lying on the floor. I drop the papers onto the man’s body resting near the legs of the large table.