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The Good King

 Once upon a time there was a prince who would be king, save that a usurper did as usurper's do and took the crown from him. The prince had been a boy at the time, always an easier job for a usurper to levy, and so the prince found himself thrust into the wide world with only a horse and a bag of gold.

    The prince wandered, and as he did, he grew heavy with it. From each town and each village he took away with him far more than a usual passerby. For a prince that would have ruled, he saw the failures of the usurping monarch's reign as did no one else. At first, he bemoaned his lost throne with a sorrow and an anger that filled him with a rage that had no where to go. And then he set his hand to the till, and worked.

    As the prince worked, he improved, ever so slightly, the form in which he worked. Agricultural yards gained steadier yields. When such improvements spread, he turned to mill wheels, and to villages and their small communities' commodities. 

    One day, the people asked him to be king.

    Of course, he did not want it then. He thought the crown could do little good.

    But he did his best to prove himself wrong.

    And when he died, they said he was a good king. 

     

Where Lost Dreams Wander

 Once there was a creature filled with lost dreams. She knew they were there. Somewhere. But whenever she tried to grab a hint of one, there it slipped, right through her fingers. Still, she searched and grabbed. Until she was too exhausted to try any longer.      Which, of course, is where she found them.      Wrapped up in slumber and waiting for her to sleep. 
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A Crown

 Once upon a time there was a fairy queen who lived in a fairy castle and did fairy royalty kind of things. She cut the ribbons, and said the speeches, and did the wave, and visited the places. After half a lifetime of this, she was bored out of her mind.      So she moved to the countryside, planted an herb garden, and became a witch. She lived the rest of her days as content as a fairy who was once royalty could be.      As to the crown, it fell to someone else. They always do. 
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Own Time

 What I wanted to know was this: was I wasting time? Or did I hold perfection in my hand because I had all the choices? To choose to sit and stare at the green leaves all around me, as though I was about to be swallowed by a mouth of trees. To have time to pick up a hurt child, without rushing, time the care itself instead of forcing my mind around a solution that is twisted all the different ways until Thursday. Time, a gift?       But I was taught that this is not so. Time is a curse that flies only too swiftly. Tempus fugit . One must do everything in what little time one has so as not to waste it.       But, I found, this made time fly faster.      So, I went to the forest and stepped into the mushroom ring.       When I escaped from Faerie, the world was a hundred years older. Surely it would let me live with time as it is in itself. But no, the world was no slower. If anything, it had hurried. I left ...
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A Kind of Justice

 There are some people to whom badness clings like stink to that one pair of socks that won't stop smelling no matter how many times you wash them. These are the kinds of people that aren't the ringleaders of fault, but are just close enough to try and get whatever apples get dropped on the ground. That's, of course,  when they find out that the dropped apples were themselves stolen and if the ringleader gets arrested or doesn't, you can bet everything on red that the people rooting around on the ground will be.       The problem comes when that kind of person has been arrested, gets set free, goes back to rooting around the apples with the vague notion that they're probably still stolen, but, hey, maybe not.    I know the type. More often than not, they still come out ahead in the same way that a politician has all that stuff that makes him a politician and still gets to keep his job. It's not justice, to my way of thinking.      I...
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