JESTER

Master has never fully appreciated me. A king never will appreciate a subject – this is how society seems to work. Though I do hear that aside from myself, jesters are normally looked upon admirably by their kings. Only a simple matter of days ago I offered so generously to entertain him- as his conspicuously grotesque, all engulfing figure immersed itself within his throne- an offer he did not appreciate and responded to thusly;
“By the gods, no! Refrain from dancing Jester; your mere presence disgusts me”.  Every word- nay every syllable, was delivered in his battle worn, intimidating, growl-based and sickness inducing style of speech, that he seems unable to abandon. Though he knows not of this fact yet- he will soon abandon speech and every other action living things engage in.
“But sire, you cannot treat me so ill when my service under thee has lasted nigh on three and twenty years” was my weakly delivered, fear driven response
“Why should I be forced to suffer from your attempts at entertainment when I could instead revel in the bounteous glories of wine, women and war?!”
“Your grace- I am but your humble servant and I serve for entertaining purposes alone”
“Keep your tongue in captivity, jester! Or you will find yourself a bed fellow for the pigs…again”
“Yes, master. Sorry, master”
“I have been confined to this godforsaken palace for a week – a week that has seemed like a ruthless eternity, made only more painful with your constant mutters”
“I shall take my leave at your request, my liege”
Every attribute held by The King causes my blood to reach a horrifying temperature .His poorly tended to forest that rest upon and around his face, the manner in which wine forces itself ungracefully down from either side of his cave-like mouth every time he makes an attempt at drinking.
But now I can tell the hour is soon to arrive- the pale yellow sands of time begin to dart through the hourglass. In my vision his body becomes cold, unmoving, deprived of life; a vision that I desperately desire realisation of.
I visit an apothecary and from him acquire an item that the so called noble king may enjoy with the wine he is so closely attached to. My plan can soon begin its oh-so glorious fruition. The land is always rife with suspicious figures- and the cloaked individual I swiftly brush past as I leave the apothecary is by no means an exception.
My king shall sample gallons of wine and said wine will have within it the perfect potion to send him a-slumbering. As he slumbers stilly, but perhaps not silently, lying within his unwelcoming, dirt encrusted chambers, a glimmering but vicious dagger from some height will plummet into the depths of his mountain like back. I shall no longer be anybody’s victim, anybody’s object of play or abuse, anybody’s fool.
I glide across the palace floor with purpose for perhaps the first time. I clutch the King’s goblet firmly as I thrust my person towards his throne room. There he sits, or perhaps slouches, eagerly awaiting his beverage. It would appear that his eyes become luminous as I place it in the animal like appendages that are referred to as hands when upon humans.
“Jester, please indulge yourself in sitting- and sample some wine yourself”
He produces an identical goblet and within it pours an amount of the drink he harbours such passion towards- he has retrieved it from one of the bottles he – in his semi drunken stupor- had forgot was by his side the entire time. This uncharacteristic display of generosity will not redeem the abuse he has forced me to endure for over a decade. The oafish king drops the cork that for so long has preserved his wine
“Jester, retrieve that for me, will you?”
“Yes sire” I happily accept- acting rashly and expressing anger at this point may jeopardise my plotting, I shall comply until the time is right
“Now, Jester drink up. Come on, don’t sip, man! Glug!”
I do as he says once again. This is not yet the time to rebel. I eagerly await the golden moment that he takes his own wine. But wait- I feel my senses dimming by the second, and my limbs produce a strange numbness. Oh no- I have sampled the wrong wine. My king has more brain than I assumed. He must have swapped the cups when I retrieved his cork from the floor… but how did he know? .My vision begins to fade, my surroundings become colourless and nondescript- but I still hear; in fact my hearing sees the king’s repulsive voice echoes in my mind.
 “Oh dear oh dear, it’s a shame your plan didn’t work jester. That cloaked figure you saw outside the apothecary’s earlier? I regret to tell you that was one of my more loyal subjects – He followed you there from the palace on my orders” He wildly inhales as he pauses from speech, a clear undertone of maniacal laughter in his breath.
 “Then I saw you placing an addition into my wine: I knew what you were planning. I took the liberty of exchanging our chalices when I knew you’d planned to drug me. I couldn’t give you that satisfaction you yearned for. Feel free to thank me for this, should the opportunity ever arise”

As I fade into a state of unconsciousness, I feel his arm clutching my shoulder. His arm feels like a beastly talon.