King of the dark times! Copyright ©

History has been witness to many a downfalls. Those who believed in perennial sustenance, perished. Civilizations were obliterated from the face of the earth, all what remains of these are mere scrolls and paintings and artifacts.
But there were people in these societies who were known as the kings of the dark. Usually dormant to the extent of extinction during their times, these were people who carried the glory and legacy silently. They were failures in their times, but with a purpose. They absorbed everything like a sponge. Their silence would be their weapon.
One such, starts his journey!
The tunnel was dark, cold and deathly sad. Mourning the erased glory . There seemed to be no light at the end. A hopeless venture. But he took his first step, equipped with nothing; only gut feeling, his unknown friend. Fear as a weapon, he starts his journey. The tunnel is silent and chilly, but his spirit is not, his long silence is more silent than the tunnel’s. His task is more important than the past glory. It is to sustain that glory through the dark.
A thousand thoughts cross his mind, failure, fear, getting lost, overcome by his enemy, should he be doing this? His legs keep moving, his thoughts move quicker. The dark tunnel has a mesmerizing effect on him; he had been waiting for this all his life. You and I would be terrified of the dark, he is the king.
His heart pounds like a drum, his blood pressure shoots up with excitement as this is what he wanted all his life. Carrying the responsibility of the legacy, heavy load on his shoulders , he thought would not be an easy task and sure it wasn’t . People might contend that this task was a waste of a lifetime but waiting for your dreams to materialize silently is by far one of the greatest human abilities. The dampness of the tunnel runs a chill down his spine. He shudders, not with fear but with the coldness of failure. But the task ahead of him is humongous, mammoth.
Takes one more step, stumbles on something. Petrified. Confused . Was that thing dead or alive? He stops for a moment to absorb the moment from all his senses. The smell, the touch, the sight, the taste and the sound. His cerebrum deciphers the code, the thing lived once but was dead now. It was a cadaver. A living proof that there were men like him from the eons past who had attempted to do the same that he had dared to attempt that dark night. Living because that was the present truth….death, failure, fiasco! His eyesight now gets accustomed to the dark, and the sight scares him. The path ahead of him is strewn with corpses of men who attempted this in the past. Mutilated bodies, blood and rotten flesh. Some bodies hanging , men who gave in to the torment and gave up their life. A king is also a human so he feels a chill down his spine. Would that be his fate too? Would he be another failure ? He cannot be, he pretended to be a failure all his life, now was his chance, one shot at destiny, one shot!
The stench was excruciating, the vision blur. Each step he took was as scary as stepping on a landmine. He continued. The patience developed over the lifetime was very strong. He could not have given up. He must not. He has to win. Treading forward with that endurance he had developed through years of practice, he feels strong. Only people who have nothing to lose can take on the challenge. The fear of failure is the worst for a man like him, being the man what he was , is not easy. To be condemned by society, to be looked down for his silence is not easy. But stamping the glory into eternity and the euphoria of having one’s name on the winning plaque at the end, proves the worth of one’s life. “ Give me enough medals and I will win you any battle.”- Napoleon Bonaparte . The medal for him would be there and the alleged waste of a lifetime would convert to his name in golden letters in history.

He paces now, he is getting impatient. Not because he has not got his victory but because he will get his victory soon. How is he going to react, what is he going to feel and how will he sustain it. A tiny light apprears from somewhere, tiny but blinding. He got it. He cannot see the orifice of its origin but he can feel its not far. He can smell the freedom, he can taste the fresh air, he can hear the bells of joy waiting to embrace him as a winner. He paces faster, leaving behind the dead,the bad smell of failure, the sound of death.

The light explodes into his face, the smell intoxicates him. He runs towards it. He didn’t fail, he made his own destiny, and he won. He walks into the sun in slow motion, all greeting him, congratulating his victory over the dark. He knew he was the one to move on. He would inspire many in the ages to come to follow their heart and all else would follow. He knew he would teach them to hope and move forward, to shun all fears and chug along. To shine like the sun one needs to burn like it. He did. Many others will and the legacy will carry on. Hail to the king of dark times. Hail to hope !