A short story I wrote based off of a picture prompt!
Eric stumbled over the forest floor, the leaves and pine needles muffling his uneven steps. His armor clanked with each step. He tripped over a rock but righted himself and continued on, never letting go of the object clutched in his slick, bloody hands. Eric had been running for who knew how long, away from the fight that took place outside of the forest.
Glimpses of blood––so much blood––a pair of pained, brown eyes so much like his own, and an arrow sticking out of an armored chest kept flashing before his eyes. Haunting him, torturing him, never leaving him, no matter how far he ran.
Keep running.
The stitch in Eric’s side grew, but he ignored it.
It wasn’t until he tasted the salt on his chapped and busted lips that Eric realized he was crying. Great, heaving sobs that, under normal circumstances, he would’ve never been caught dead doing. Now, it was all he could do not to completely fall apart.
Finally, when there was no more air in his lungs, he collapsed onto a stump, gasping and crying. After another few minutes, Eric calmed himself enough to look down at his lap, where he still held onto the precious item.
The cool, sharp edges of his father’s crown dug painfully into his hands. Three gold crosses rose from the gold band, the crown worn from use.
Tears blurred Eric’s sight, dripping down his chin and onto the old crown. He groaned and leaned over it, clutching it to his chest, the memory of his father’s death replaying again and again in his mind.
They were in the midst of a battle against the bordering kingdom. Bodies of both armies littered the ground, but the king and Eric––his son––stood strong.
Until the archer came along.
With a release of the sting, an arrow flew through the air and struck Eric’s father in the heart, so strong it broke through the armor that was supposed to protect him.
He dropped dead immediately.
Leaving Eric, his only son, as the new king. And what did he do? He ran, like the coward he was.
Bitterness rose inside of him like bile.
Father would never have run. He would’ve stayed and fought. I’ll never be the man Father was, so why should I even try?
Eric jumped up and kicked at a clod of dirt, raging against the injustice of it all. “Why! Why, God? Why did he die? Why did you take him from me?” Tears burned his eyes and cheeks.
He continued on like that until he was hoarse from yelling and crying. Finally, he slumped back onto the stump, weary on the inside and out.
It was only then that Eric remembered the crown. He must’ve dropped it, as it laid on its side in the dirt.
Taking in a shaky breath, Eric reached down and picked up the crown, wiping off the dirt with his gloved hand. This crown had belonged to his forefathers, his father, and now him. It weighed heavy in his hands with the responsibilities it came with.
Was Eric ready for that? Was he ready to set aside his past life and become the ruler his people needed him to be? A ruler like Father?
He had to be.
Resolve replacing his anger and grief, Eric stood and placed the heavy crown on his head.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
–– Katie Marie