ARILA AND FORD

FORD

...

I stared at the ceiling. Works of art crisscrossed all over the ceiling wall. A light bulb hung extremely low giving off a faint yellow glow. The art was beautiful, extremely beautiful but yet this beauty did not appeal to me at all.

Sometimes I wondered if I was really royalty yet the papers and the ranks showed I was the Prince of West Kingdom.

I was an only child, the only prince therefore the only heir to the throne. Sometimes I wished it were different, have an older brother who would take over all the roles while I'd be just laid back but reality was different.

Staring all over the room, my eyes landed on everything, from the bed to the paint on the walls, everything was expensive, as they say, fit for a king.

The door was pushed from outside and in came Jerome, my butler. He was fifty six years old and he wore the uniform of the highest rank, he was the head of all the servants in the palace.

He said a good morning greetings to me. No other words were needed, none said anything because I already knew everything, every routine, I already knew it by heart.

My morning routine was fast, as required by the rules.

After everything was set, I stood at the balcony of the highest tower in the palace, stared at the majestic walls that surrounded the palace. Many people dreamt about being Kings or princes and praised palaces with fancy words but to me it only meant one thing,

PRISION.