King

A human carpet lies over the world. It bustles about, doing its chores, jobs, learning. It follows the law, or it suffers the consequences. What creates the laws that the collective must obey? What dictates what is right or wrong? What is ignored and respected, and what is watched for and prevented?
You do.
You sit in your throne, situated atop a pile of your enemies’ bones. A lowly serf comes to you for a favor, hat in hand and head bowed. You commend him for his bravery before he is decapitated and added to your throne’s base. You cackle with egotistical glee.
“Guard!” you bellow. “Publicly execute some people right!”
He nods and jogs away. You smile, envision the bloody, pointless deaths of the innocent. “Make some of them children!” you shout after him, hoping he heard you. And still the doctors just watch you as you rock back and forth on the white pads.
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