A Gift

The Heir to the Kingdom could sit no longer. He'd been sitting for hours. No, he stood up, began pacing his room, furiously, all corners like a cell's dimension.

It was a dull, dismal room, something the Heir was not accustomed to. There was no furniture, apart from a single chair; no light except for a solitary bulb. There was no decoration. The walls were bare, the floor the same, except slightly dusty. There was not even a window, just a lonely, solid door. The Heir wondered if there was even any ventilation. There must have been, surely?

Lonely was an apt word. The Heir was alone, all alone, and felt it too. His wife, whom he loved dearly was not there. He was a sensitive young man. It was painful to be apart from her.

They were a normal couple, the Heir and his Wife, a normal couple who went through the normal ups and downs. The nights he had fought or argued with his wife she used to sleep on her side, sometimes she'd go into another room to sleep. He knew they'd make up, they always did, they loved each other so much. Yet to be that inch apart, even for that moment, unable to touch, was unbearable for the poor young fellow.

Now she was gone, the Heir knew not where. He did not want to think where she could be or what was happening to her. He had thought on this too long. He had to distract his mind or else go mad with fear and anticipation. It was best to get up and walk, he thought, so he did. As he walked the Heir tried to think of other things, better things and better days.

Their wedding day was the best of all. The Heir thought of that day. The grand ceremony, the joy, the acclaim. Though everyone could see (the wedding was televised) it felt like a perfect, secluded bubble. They were safe behind the high walls, so he thought. He settled into a more even pace, then continued circling the room.

The wedding, their wedding was the happiest, proudest day of his life. It was all the greater knowing that he'd married for love. He knew only the crass marry for beauty, while the cynical marry for money. Only the righteous marry for love. As he gazed into the eyes, repeated the vows to his bride, the beautiful young woman, millionaire débutante now his bride, he knew he'd made the right decision. He had married for love. The mistakes of the past would not be made in the future, so he thought.

Everyone they had invited came. The good and the great, kings and queens, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, presidents, first ladies, captains of industry, pillars of religion and leaders in culture came to honour their union. The gifts were sumptuous, the embraces warm. They left the abbey on a bright, spring afternoon. The bells were pealing, the future bright, so he thought.

But there was one guest that could not be accounted for. On the day, their wedding day this guest was only a distant rumble, a faint prospect, a notional being, beyond walls and boundaries. As he circled his little throne the Heir rued it's intrusion into his life. This guest, this uninvited guest was The Idea. The Idea brought with it The People. Together their gift to him was The Revolution.

The Heir to the Kingdom stopped pacing and sat back down. In his present condition he realised it was a gift he could no longer return.