The Hole King

The throne was empty. Undeniably, unordinarily, unexplainably empty.

  Just one day ago, the citizens of Oodrah remembered standing in front of the last remaining mega-screen in the heart of the city, a projector that stretched 100 ft by 75 ft in area, the ebony sides gleaming brightly in the moonlight. It was one of the last objects in Oodrah that was shiny and clean, everyone else’s mini screens were shattered in the center and collecting dust and lint.

  They recalled the scene showed on the screen, a cream wall of gleaming porcelain behind a pointed sky-scraping chair carved out of the finest wood that was the throne. A velvet rug began on the seat of the throne, and flowed down to the tapestry tile floors that depicted images unlike any the Oodrahtions had seen before. Folk tales with splendid merfolk, pure white unicorns, terrible dragons, and other fantasy creatures danced on each square. There were also less satisfying pictures of battle with warriors covered in dented armor, rusted by torrential rainfall. Blood pooled on the grassy ground of the scenes, and darkened the scars on the faces of knights experienced in war.

  More importantly was the individual shone in the screen that the Oodrahtions cared about... though they showed no love for the man they saw, but it wasn’t hate either that played on the faces of the Oodrahtions either. Only worn and tired expressions, with dim, lifeless eyes and dirt shadowing their pale skin.

  This man, however, unlike the Oodrahtions, was rich and clean. His bronze hair was neatly trimmed, his satin robes washed to perfection, and heavy gold shoes blinded the weary eyes of the Oodrahtions.

  What was always the most shocking about him, no matter how many daily announcements he had shone them, was his gleeful face. Not the glee we see most days when those close to us are enjoying themselves in some fantastic endeavor, oh no, it was a mocking kind of glee.

  At the beginning of every message, he would be reclining in his fancy seat, and show a quick wave of his right hand, adorned in an assortment of jewelry. Then, he would lean forward, coffee brown eyes gleaming, and flash his straight white teeth in a huge, insane grin.

  â€œMorning to all my loyal Oodrahtions.” He would say in his awfully smooth voice, dripping with enthusiasm.

  Then, the question. “How is the project coming, my subjects?” He always asked so sweetly and sugar-coated.

  And every day, silence would stalk into Oodrah, and wrap it’s sharp talons around the throats of the Oodrahtions. No one dared to utter a word.

  The King would wait, for minutes at a time, for an answer. Not a “yes” or “no” kind of answer. They knew that would be too risky.

  â€œA response, please?” He would begin to lose his patience after a while. That was when the Oodrahtions knew they couldn’t hold their breath any longer.

  A humble citizen would kneel in front of the mega-screen, eyes closed and head downcast. They could all see him or her trembling under the gaze of the King. It was a stroke of bad luck to choose to speak in front of him, but it was also a sign of courage, no matter how futile it may be.

  â€œIt’s a-a-almost r-r-ready... your h-highness... we just n-n-need a few m-more days...” The unfortunate soul would always say something like this, they never thought of anything else to say. Their fragile minds would simply close off in terror. Like when a hero involuntarily stands frozen in front of a monster heading their way. This was what the Oodrahtions were most afraid of, but never learned to overcome.

  â€œNot finished...?” He would whisper. The King’s smile then would lose it’s edge, and his lips would sink down and contort into a savage snarl.

  â€œSenseless imbeciles! Why can’t you all perform such a simple task?! All your doing is digging a hole in the ground!!!” The King would shrill.

  It was true, of course. Only the King had never told them how big he wanted the hole to be.

  The Oodrahtions cowered. Some of the littlest children in the audience would cry, although their parents couldn’t comfort them.

  This faze always passed quickly, however, and in the blink of an eye, the lunatic smirk would return to his face.

  â€œOh... that’s fine, everything is alright.” He would coo, his voice a faucet of sarcastic sincerity. “Just... have it done as soon as you can, okay?” The mega-screen would turn off, leaving the talons of silence surrounding the city.

No one lived in the city anymore. Not after the King had come to power.

  His first appearance was quiet. It is rumored he walked here from a mystical place thousands of miles away. He came in through the heart of night. Some awake Oodrahtions say they saw his figure silhouetted in front of the full moon.

  He was swallowed in shadow, no one could see his expression, as he lifted one slender hand up to the sky... and PUSHED his arm towards a business firm. The windows SHATTERED and glass FLEW towards the stranger. He made no other movements, and the glass seemed to pass right through him like a diver as they jump into the water, for he emerged without a scratch.

  The destruction happened too quickly, before the Oodrahtions could scream for help. Before they knew it, cement streets cracked, windows were fragmented, buildings crumbled and bent at will... Oodrah was mutilated by chaos.

  The citizens ran from their falling homes, bloody and stupefied. They huddled together as the monstrous new-comer walked into the gleam of the moon.

  They expected to see a sinful face, full of hate and malice. Heartless eyes, hard features, and a turned-down mouth... but what they did see scared them even more than an evil glare. A ludicrous face, brimming with a disturbing kind of joy, all shone in his beastly grandiloquent smile.

  â€œWhat is the name of this place, may I ponder?” The inhuman stranger asked in a bombastic tone.

  â€œO-O-Oodrah,” One brave citizen replied, in a voice that was shaky none-the-less

  â€œWhat do you w-want with us, d-demon man?!” A woman exclaimed, then quickly clasped her hands over her mouth.

  The “demon man” began to pace infront of the mob of Oodrahtions. “Nothing much, dear Oodrahtions,” He started, “I just need you all to dig an abyss in the ground for me, over there.” The man pointed a long fore-finger towards the spiraling outskirts of the city.

  â€œHow large must it be... demon man?” The woman whispered.

  He made no direct reply to her question, only dropping his smile, his mouth forming a straight line. The man slowly walked toward her. The Oodrahtions scattered, the woman standing alone.

  He came so close that they could feel eachothers breathing. The woman’s eyes were wide, and she shuttered with every sharp inhale. He raised his hands up and fingered her round chin, his fingers slowly moving up her face.

  â€œNone of you weaklings are going to call me ‘demon man’ again,” He murmured as his fingers traced the outlines of her mouth and nose. “I am your king now.” His smooth fingers circled around her pleading eyes.

  The claustrophobic silence hung over them both for a short while, until he let out a little chuckle and gave the woman a gentle shove. The deranged smile on his face grew back, as he turned his back on the confused Oodrahtions and started to walk calmly towards the demolished capitol building. They noticed the moon in the sky was setting, and dawn beginning to stretch over the horizon.

  None of them dared to say a word until he was out of sight, as they always did, but as time went by, the Oodrahtions lost the desire for words. The roots of fear were squeezed around their hearts, and their was no loosening them.

  Every day after the take-over was the same. Announcements in the morning, work digging the hole for the rest of the day, all ending in a dreamless sleep each night. They were fine with this drill, any change at all would be too much for them to bear.

  And years after the tyrannical entrance of the Hole King, difference was still a burden they could never carry. The disappearance of the King was the shock of a thousand lightning bolts. Their ruler was gone, for who knew how long...

  The Oodrahtions were connected to certainty like a fetus to its parent. Certainty of duty, of identity, of FEAR...

  With the King missing, they couldn’t be certain of anything!

  The Oodrahtions met at the hole that day. New whimsical creations of nature surrounded them: birds sang cheerful melodies, grass began to shoot up from the soil again, little bunnies and squirrels played in the petty shrubs that were beginning to grow healthier. This beauty, this fascination, this allure, it was all too stunning.

  The woman who had called the King “the demon man” was old and withered, and crawled her way towards the edge of the pit. She stared at it’s familiar darkness. We might not be comfortable in that place she was, but being beside the “abyss” felt like home to her.

  Her heart thudded faster looking into it, it reminded her of when the King had first arrived... visions of the pandemonium of the city cascading around her, the bewildered faces of the Oodrahtions, and the unforgettable grin of the former King, all flashed before her eyes. Yet, surrounding her now was the peace of an emerging forest and the calm faces of her people... and the King... his horrid... wild... comforting smile...

  â€œWhat if he...” She murmured. “He must have...”

  â€œWhat? Must have-” A man started, but his words were blown out of his mouth when the woman disappeared from view.