UNTITLED
by Ian
The smoke and idiocy in the air was nearly too much for him to put up with, and if the scruffy fool in the fake leather jacket didnt stop elbowing him in the kidneys each time he reached for his glass of warm, urine coloured beverage, he might be tempted to tip the offending party over the balcony to the dirty marble floor below. this was no place for a prince, but then, he was no prince was he? If he said that he was, others would lable him insane, or an egotist, or both. If he himself even thought it, he immediately chastised himself for being insane, and egotist, and a loser. So, maybe he wasnt a prince. But if he wasnt a prince, then the beauty with the short brown hair and the clingy dress standing at the bar wasnt a princess either... and he knew that was impossible... he knew that she was a princess, he was her prince, she was meant for him, and him for her. he knew that he wouldnt get her, would never have her. People have crossed oceans and mountians, through armies and warzones to be with their princesses, but he knew he couldnt, or wouldnt try to get past the staggering, sweating crowd that stood and lurched between him and her. he knew there was no point, and stood back against the wall. he knew he was better than them, and as long as he knew that, why did he need to prove it to them? right? right...?