War of the
Roses:
The Red Book
By: B.T. Smith
‘Chapter 1: Father of Mine’
“If you won’t take the crown outright then you should wait
and let them fight it out. Support
both sides from the shadows and th-“ the old man gasped for air clutching his
chest and shifting in bed to sit up more. “Then… grab the crown for yourself
when the moments right.” The old man started into a coughing fit for a minute
before the young man in the room turned around to stare down at him.
“No.”
The old man’s head tweaked at the words and his one eye widened.
“What do you mean no?” he said in a raspy losing voice.
“I care not for the crown, it matters not a thing to me but
worrying woes. I would rather be rid of it and make safe my sanity, besides the
safety of the people is paramount, I would but cause more damage.” The young
man messed with his short dark hair.
“You fool the crown…” the old man drew breath harder before
setting into another coughing fit. “The crown, it means everything. Power, that
is what it is, and safety of the people too. All that matters is..”
The young man stepped closer to the crippled ailing life aged
man before shaking his head. He then turned abruptly around and started to walk
away towards the door.
The old man again coughs, as blood trickles out the corner of
his mouth and nose. “Where are you going; that crown is your birth right! That
right which the hands of fate from your house stole. Whisked away by death of your great
grandfather the King, lost to your grandfather by design and taken from your
father, from me!”
“With your death, Father;
is it freed from the hands of a tyrant?” The
old man’s face boiled red as blood leaked more.
“Truth be told Father, our forefathers weep in the heavens
above at how low you stooped; without provocation and only of wanton avarice. I
rejoice the sad fallen nature of our house. The honor of our forbearers is lost
on you even now at death’s door. Your shady backstabbing dealings in the dark
have left us naught but barren estates. Our name once glorious is now tainted due
to all the deceit and death bringing only ire and distrust.
The ailing father coughs up blood onto the bed sheets. “How
dare you be so insulting, it’s because of those dark dealings you will have any
power once I die. Because of that you will have estates and land at all. Be
more grateful to the dead.”
“I’ll be more gracious when you’ve taken your last embrace
with breath and are truly dead… Father.”
The son leaves the room before closing the door.
