( v e r s e ) kings & queens

[caipirinha]

KINGS & QUEENS. The roads leading into London are bare, these days. The tarmac is cracked and littered with weeds, and those brave enough to wander close enough never stay long, too unsettled by the eerie silence that surrounds the city, only broken by the low rumble of something that sounds like thunder even on the clearest days with the bluest skies. Even the M25 sees little activity; no one remembers the last time a traffic jam was seen on that motorway. People prefer to give the city as wide a berth as they can, because what they can’t see thus doesn’t exist. If they ignore it, sweep it under the carpet, then it won’t be a problem. The glorious former capital is little more than a distant memory, now an unfortunate stain that cannot be removed. It is said that once you step inside the city’s boundaries, you’ll never come back. That’s what they tell impressionable young teenagers when they tell their parents in a fit of rage that they’ll go to London, and they say it with such sadness and conviction that their child won’t ever utter the notion again. It’s an exaggeration, of course, but not a great one. In London you are either killed on sight or first drawn into the thrall of the kingdoms. One way or another, you’re bound to end up dead, it all just depends on how long you can stave it off. “Borough” is no longer an accepted or used term. In fact, you might even call it somewhat archaic, the irony being that the peculiar form of hierarchy and governance present in London itself is out-dated and antiquated. The city is now comprised of thirty two kingdoms, each ruled by its own miscreant royal, a king or queen, full of savagery and misspent youthful exuberance. The kings and queens rally their subjects, their knights, their scouts, on a daily tour of chaos, hunting and survival, forging allies where their whims take them, and enemies where anger prevails. There are no systems, no rules to follow unless your majesty decrees it, where heirs are chosen and not born. Children are rare on the streets of London – that is to say, the few that exist are kept tucked away, out of sight, until they can fend for themselves. Every king and every queen has their own goals. Some want to reclaim old territories, others want to revenge for certain deaths – others still just want a good fight. Each kingdom has its characteristics, known for its brutality, its cunning or maybe its fortification. Everyone wants to mark their name in the history of London’s royalty, to be revered or feared, shouted or whispered about. There is no peace in this city now, just the promise of adrenaline, blood and a short but thrilling life, if you have the guts to stick it out in a world where death is a sure-fire inevitability and happiness is derived from planting a messily made explosive in enemy territory. While the rest of the world slowly moves on, trudging along at a mundane pace, the kings and queens of London career the city into decay at an ungodly pace, rejecting the quiet and order of the rest of the world, substituting it with their anarchy and irreverence.

Comments

[recognizes]

also right this is still me. just not in his account.