Princes & I

Chapter 7: Boys & I

"Soon, the Princess's coronation was about to begin...."

***

Walking along the hallway toward my bedroom, I pause at a door that's slightly ajar. Noticing the light switched on behind it, I feel curious as to why the person behind this door is still awake at this hour. Knocking on the door, I push the oak inwards in the slightest.

"Ezekiel?"

Pushing the door fully open now, I peek inside to see the small boy lying on the floor, his head buried in a workbook and his hands scribbling hurriedly in a notebook.

"Ezekiel, why are you still up? You should be in bed by now."

The small boy looks up at me in the door way, his thick lashes fluttering in the light of the dimly lit room. He swallows nervously.

"Are you 'gunna tell Axel?"

Sighing, I pull the sling of my leather satchel off my shoulder and toss it next to his generously supplied bookshelf.

"No."

I survey his room curiously. The room is filled with blue things; blue walls, blue bedsheets, bull carpet. I feel like I'm in the ocean. His bed takes up almost an ninth of the room, an enormously large bed for such a small boy. But the the thing that strikes me the most is the amount of books in the oaken bookshelf. This could rival my own collection.

Dozens of children's book line the top of the bookshelf, but then as my eyes scan downwards, gradually the texts become more complex fictions.

"I read these texts when I was in high school. Are you reading them now?"

"Mhm." He doesn't look away from his notebook, still scribbling words onto the paper. "I like fake worlds."

"Fake worlds?" I raise my eyebrow. "That's an odd way to put it."

"Isn't that what they are? They're fake."

"Fiction, you mean."

"Yeah, that." He yawns, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "I like reading about those worlds, they're way better than this one. In this one, it doesn't matter who you are, everybody suffers."

That...

"Hm." Walking towards Ezekiel, I crouch in front of him, then sit cross-legged. "You sound a lot like I was, when I was younger."

"Is that a good thing?"

Eyeing his paper, I impulsively lay my palm on his writing hand. "No, it's not, Ezekiel."

He stops and looks up at me, his eyes a little wide and tired.

"You should be asleep."

"I can't." He sniffs, wiping at his nose again. "I needa finish my homework."

I shift beside him, and he allows me to take look into his notebook. The words scrawled along the paper are incoherent, complex words are scattered all over the place where unnecessary.

"The positively reflective sheep emaciated upon a difficult hill." I read, my head hurting after finishing the sentence. "None of those words make sense, Ezekiel. At least not put together."