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.

Revised and edited.
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I’ve got a jar of eye balls in my room. All of them are beautiful- all the eyes I collected in my adventurous twenty years. All of them have stories behind them, the pretty little green ones I got after a wild night in a club (she’ll never know what happened to them); the rare hazel ones I picked up at the grocery store (I’m pretty sure his girlfriend won’t notice). I like to sit at my table and take them all out, count them, clean them. I take very good care of them.

Out of all the eyes I own, there is one pair that is my favorite. Icy blue and freezing cold, they watch every move I make from the shelf above my dresser. I can tell they don’t like being in that jar with everyone else; but I can’t find a proper jar for them. Every time I walk into the room, they turn towards me and follow me- screaming “Get me out of here. I don’t like these people.”

ImagiNation!