At twelve o’clock the king died, or there abouts. It’s not really that important when he died. The important fact is he died. He died; we’re to mourn him. Put on your veils and sigh. Adorn yourselves in black. The king is dead, and we must weep for him. The prince? He knows, or’s about to know. Who knows when or if he’ll know? His father’s dead, and he is king, or will be king, or someone will. Someone always seeks the throne. The chimes were striking twelve, but my watch said five to noon. The thing is, he died.
Drabble: The King is Dead
Tale Told 