Two Souls

Two souls, divided by heart. One hurt, one was hurting. Both were broken. Untold stories and forged rumors made them suffer, as they both seek the same purpose, happiness.

As the town slept, he awoke. Two miles away, while the other rested, he prepared the swords and arrow heads. Treasure belonged to the people, but the shiftless royalty treasured it for himself, sleeping in a gold bath when the people slept in dirt. Luca swore to end it all. Suffering ends only if one does something to end it, so the hero sets again to steal his father’s stolen money.

The people always looked him down. His royalty long forgotten, now he was just known as merciless and unworthy. A drunkard father and an eloped mother, he remained the last hope as the incapable son. With a heavy sigh lay the prince in bed, thoughts of the thievery of royal treasure circulating his mind. As the crystal waters fell from the eye, Carlos couldn’t help but wonder how, for his own people, he was much more the villain than the bandits ever could be.

Darkness hid the wounds, silence loudened the cries. Bags of gold juggled around, the bandits and soldiers fought with each other. Bruises were made, lives were taken. The evil bandits fought for the good, the good soldiers defended the devil. Another soul down, as Luca took out his jabber from the chest, the soldier letting out a last wail of cry as his gaze darkened.

The wail resounded throughout the castle, trespassing the royal walls as it crossed over the ginormous building, reaching a broken prince, blending in just right with his cries. But he noticed the change in sound, as he got up sensing the drop in surrounding. The guards following behind, he approached the treasury with a sword he had no experience with, and saw the bandits trying to leave from a window (more like a hole in the wall made by the bandits themselves) as the royal soldiers did their best to stop them leaving. The entire scene unfolded in front of him, the moon illuminating only one of the thieves as he stabbed another guard.

Then, the eyes met. Royal blue eyes, with a hue of mist and cold, along with pure hate. Hate? Or was it fear? The weak prince stood behind his guards, Luca staring him down then proceeded to take down another soldier. Swords and bodies fell, and finally the men left. Sure that his last words would resound in the prince’s ears, a smirk crept his face as the money was taken where it belonged, with the people. As to why the deep blue eyes still hovered his mind, he was unsure, and with this unsure mind lay the male, just as dawn was about to come.

“All hail Prince Carlos.” He wanted this to stop. In an endless loop it played, sickening him and maddening him. Though, from the outside he seemed at peace. With the little of night which was left, Carlos thought of poetry. A pen in hand sat he at his desk, as he wrote, ‘If only royalty was a choice, not a duty, If only the question with live was why and not how, Would the unworthy finally find worthiness too.’