Everyone is right.

Photo by AprilCentaur.

I am a loving boy and will do as I wish.

I like to hurl stones, round and firm from tightened fists onto passing pedestrians.

My pedestal is high, and my window’s view lords it’s mighty presence over them.

When the morning sky dons its misty chill, the road will shade a beautiful grey till the trodding steps of my assailants appear in numbers, becoming noise like sandpaper shuffling.

The stones I throw are from the grounds they walk.

I pick them at nighttime till it’s time to launch.

Before I judge them in the early morning, I stare at their unfortunate souls. What else must a mighty king do?

The insults they vent at me are horrific. Some make me smile, others make me aim and shoot.

I once hit a hopping child, and she bled on the soil that gathered the people.

Everyone raised their hands in fury for my death.

The child did not die, why did they want my head?

That day, I retreated indoors. I love what I do, why must they stop me?

Why must they tell me not to throw stones at whoever I want?

Sadness grew a fog in my room, and clouded my vision.

Till my eyes and pillow became wet with eye dew.

But I like what I do.

So I will do what I want.