THE
PRINCE AND THE WEIRDO
written by Stuart Matthews
The castle stood on the hill. Most castles do, it's a strategic place to build them. This castle served no purpose, however, as it had no towers, no turrets, no moat, no drawbridge, no portcullis, no guards and no servants. It probably wasn't considered a castle at all by most, except to the Prince, it was home.
The castle, detached, but close enough to the house next door to share a driveway, didn't have a name. The number on the wall said 47 but to the Prince it was simply 'The Castle'.
As he gazed out of the window, the Prince longed for something to happen. An invasion attempt, perhaps, for he was ready to defend his castle against hordes of visiting salesmen. A visiting dignitary, the gas man, even the next door neigbour. A chance for conversation. He felt alone, isolated in his once magnificent castle, worn down by centuries of wind and rain. He was bored.
Outside, in the street, the younger children played games. The boys kicking a ball, aimlessly, but with a purpose, and the girls chanting, skipping, having fun. "Fucking trendies," muttered the Prince.
The boys in the street had stopped kicking their ball. They had, in fact, lost the ball. High over the castle walls, it had flown, and into the castle gardens. Had the Prince seen this, he may well have been aghast. In fact, he'd have been furious. But he didn't see it. How could a Prince be expected to keep watch over the whole of the castles grounds? That was a job for the guards.
The boys wanted their ball back. Understandably. It belonged to them. It was theirs. Unsure though, how to get their ball back. They could knock and ask. But then, they'd have to speak to the Weirdo in the house. He was well strange. Always dressed in black, wearing make-up. He spoke weirdly. You couldn't be sure if he was talking to himself. Better then, to go into the garden and get the ball back themselves.
The sky was darkening, but it wasn't late. The Prince hadn't been awake long. Time wasn't important in the castle, but he sensed that outside the castle it might be sometime in the early afternoon. But then, that couldn't possibly matter, because outside of the castle, there was nothing.
The boys needed a volunteer. Going into the Weirdo's garden could be dangerous. If he caught you, he'd either eat you, or worse, he'd dress you in black clothes, and make you be his slave. Logically, therefore, the youngest boy was volunteered. It was his fault. He'd put the ball in the garden. They wouldn't let him play again.
The Prince had noticed that the voices had stopped. The ball no longer thudded against the castle wall. But it wasn't late. The Fucking Trendies wouldn't be in bed yet. Therefore, it was either raining, or something was up. He looked out of his window again, down at the younger children. They were stood, at the castle entrance. What did they want?
The Prince went downstairs. He looked out the downstairs window. The Fucking Trendies were up to something. He could tell.
The youngest boy wasn't scared. All he had to do, was get the ball back. Easy. He carefully pushed back the gate. He crept into the garden. He could see the ball. Under a bush.
The Prince was uncertain. Surely, the trendy scum couldn't be invading the castle? And the youngest one at that. An insult. But what did he want? Was he on official business? Or was it a dare. Invade the castle, see the Prince, get out alive. Well, he couldn't allow that.
The boy in the garden, wasn't being subtle. He was clearly visible to the Prince. So visible, in fact, that the Prince was confused. Surely, it was a trap. The Fucking Trendy couldn't be so stupid as to leave himself wide open to attack?
But the boy had eyes only for the ball. He was totally unaware of the back door opening. Unaware, of the tall black figure, coming out of the house, into the garden.
As he stepped out of the castle, the Prince realised how stupid the little boy was. He'd invaded the castle garden, all alone, with no support, all for a football. He deserved to die.
The ball was still under the bush. The boy had lost sight of it momentarily. And he could hear footsteps. Behind him. He could smell something , too. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it. The boy saw the ball. He moved towards it, quickening. He was scared now. The Weirdo was after him.
The Prince was closing on his prey. He could sense the fear. The Prince hadn't been this happy in ages. The little boy was going to be his. He could kill him, he could play with him, he could force him to be a slave. All he had to do, was trap him.
The little boy had reached the ball. He picked it up, and turned around. And look into the Weirdo's eyes. And saw a boy. An older boy, but still a boy. But the boy was wearing make-up. And he smelled funny, like flowers.
"You're
a weirdo," said the boy, calmly.
"And you are a shitty little trendy. I hate trendies," sneered the Prince.
"Let me go, or I'll scream," said the boy, still calm.
"No. You're mine now. You stay in the castle with me."
"What castle?" asked the boy.
"My
castle. You were eager enough to invade. And now you'll stay. Forever"
"No. No, I won't. You can't make me!" shouted the boy, and he ran past the Prince.
A Prince can't always be expected to keep his balance, and they certainly can't be expected to fall with grace. He collapsed in a heap. The trendy had won. The Fucking Little Trendy had invaded the castle, gotten the better of the Prince, and escaped. But there was always next time. And next time, there would be no escape.