The Once and Future King - Serendipity

Part 1 - Chapter 1

We fall to ruin and ashes. 

The people cry for help late at night, always in our heads, over and over the same voices. Where is our king, protector of sky and land? Where is our king now? 

As I crawl to bed in the bitter cold, I find myself asking the same question. 

Where is my king? 

It was early in the morning when Arthur slid out of bed, shivering and sweating all the same. The window was open, a cool breeze sifting through the half-drawn curtains; the yellow lights from the lampposts outside cut a sliver across the room, lighting a pile of textbooks on his desk. Outside, the moon was gone, and the stars were beginning to fade behind the periwinkle sky. A cat crawled across the streets, stalking one of the birds on the mailbox – it was the block's friendly cat, Timothy, no one was quite sure who owned him. 

Arthur sighed and pulled from the window, head throbbing more painfully the longer he stared at the lights. The voices echoed over and over again, like shouts in a hollow cave, noise in the dark. It was so dark. 

King, but what king? King, but why did they shout to him? 

He rubbed his temple, there was, of course, the possibility that he was going mad. Arthur pushed that to the back of his head and went downstairs for some Panadol instead. 

It was quiet and dim, some teacups left out from last night's debate about England's politics, and the table cluttered with his parent's paperwork. On the couch was a brown leather duster that Arthur reminded himself to return to its owner – Lancelot Bridgette. Then, staring at him from the kitchen bench, was his university acceptance letter he must have gotten a two weeks ago. Arthur grimaced and headed for the medicine cabinet, swiped up two Panadol and washed them down with a glass of water. Checking the clock over the top of the fridge, it was almost 5:30. 

For too many days had he seen the clock at that hour, almost every single morning he'd be woken by the screaming in his head, by the talking voices. A few times he'd considered telling his parents, or his best friend Percival, but the fear of what they might say to him after prevented the confession. The only people who heard voices in their head were schizophrenic. 

He marched to his room to fetch his phone and then tip-toed back into the living room where he perched himself on the arm of the couch. It was no use trying to go back to sleep. 

There were a few unread messages from his co-workers at the pub and one drunken voice message from Lancelot on the group chat. Gawain, Lance's university roommate, had sent a torrent of laughing emojis, undoubtedly drunk as well, while Percy left them all on read. Arthur ignored the group chat and switched off his phone – not a moment later did Lance privately text him. 

Gawain decided it was a good idea to let me into the local Lidl at 2 am... 

Arthur grinned at the message. Lance was his childhood friend; he, Percy and Arthur all met at a neighbourhood potluck when they were five and found out they all went to the same school – Lance was a grade above them but clung tight as a leech the older they grew. 

It was over a year ago that Lance graduated high school and set off to university, meeting Gawain at his drama class soon after, and Arthur and Percy were left to fend for themselves in grade 12. Luckily, Percy met a girl called Lucy and all three of them went on group dates – much to Percy's persistence.