Writer Games: Royals

SEMIFINALS: Demetrius Pelei

I wish the carriage would arrive sooner. I lay on my bed staring at the celling, my left arm throbbing. I don't even remember the night, the blade, the seven rounds, the pain, nothing. It's just one big blur I rub my throbbing temples. The bitter taste of whiskey and morning breath fills my mouth. I cringe. I am an empty shell. Jessamine was everything, and I am so stupid for letting her go yesterday. I punch the mattress below me, sending a wave of pain through my arm. I should have listened to her. Pain shoots through my head. They were all just lies that I let get under my skin. Jess was telling the truth, and I should have listened to her.

I let out a groan. That last round wasn't a good choice. What kind of prince sits in the whine cellar for three hours and drinks? I hold up my wrist. Carved into it is a bright red heart, but down the middle of the heart is a jagged line. Hey, people always said I wore my heart on my sleeve, I guess it's true now.

I lay my arm back down and close my eyes. I can see the fight under my lids and cringe at my words. Pounding on my door disrupts my nightmare.

"Demetrius, are you ready?" asks Jessamine. I groan and flip onto my stomach. I cover my head with a pillow. "Demetrius." She is the last person I want to hear. She knocks some more. It feels like she's knocking on my head. "Demetrius!"

"Alright, alright," I yell back. I get up and stretch out my arms. I go to the bathroom. The red wads of paper have turned a dull brown. I take those and toss them into the wastebasket. I can still hear the sound of the flushing toilet and the odd clank of metal in it.

I splash water on my face, trying to stall as long as possible. I go over and pick up the t-shirt the maid set out for me.

"Demetrius, you have to hurry!" Jess raps her fist on my door.

"Okay, okay," I shout back. I slip the stripped t-shirt over my head. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, and run my fingers through my hair. It fluffs like a pillow. I draw my attention to my wrist. The angry flesh stands out like a sore thumb. Jess is going to ask questions if I don't cover it up. I open the dresser draw and grab the first long-sleeved jacket I see. I slip one arm into the plaid flannel and shrug it onto my shoulders.

"Demetrius, seriously hurry up!" She pounds on my door some more. I shove my feet into the hiking boots and lace them up. Even those simple movements send pain up my arm. Jess bangs on the door some more.

"Alright, alright. Gosh, can't I take in my last day? It's not like your father wants to see me, anyways."

"My father?" she shouts. "My father doesn't want to you, my mother does." I stop mid lace. The queen wants to see me? I gulp. Great, another royal wants to wish me good-bye. I sigh and walk over to the door. I open it.

"What happened to your hair?" I ask. I hear my words slur under the hang over.

"Why are you wearing plaid with stripes?" I clench my jaw. "Come one, you're already late."

We walk down the hall. Not looking or saying anything to each other. I struggle to keep from falling over. My brain is fuzzy.

"Where exactly am I going to meet your mother?" I ask scratching the back of my head.

"Her studio."

"Studio?'

"She's a painter."

"Oh." The conversation stops there.

As we walk, the hallways seem to get brighter and quite odd colored. Instead of the uniform maroon and gold wallpaper, splashes of neon green and purple appear on gold walls. Random sketches, and the occasional mural, also appear. The queen must really fancy her artwork.