Mother Knows Best(book 1)

Chapter 39

Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness

Alejandro Jodorowsky

          King Æthelred was a very unfortunate man. He was the keeper of many cattle and rooms and knights and wives and children. He was the protected pawn of three kingdoms. All were well fed and well kept and well protected from chaos. He was, indeed, so very unfortunate. He had summoned the presence of his highest, strictest, wisest, well polished, and controlled by tight strings, judge to the concealment of his castellated gothic cloister. Judge Smoothers, whom the king was well pleased in, was well pleased to come. And the very fact was utterly unfortunate.

         Strong and towering fortified walls encircle the cloister too tightly. A gate of iron and bones and death came in hand with the walls, bearing no one to enter without permission. And by the gate were two sturdy moving statues with blood-thirsty swords. Inside, distant from the gates and crowded by wildly calm flowers, was the cloister and all its rooms. It was all too unfortunate. King Æthelred had many rooms. 

      All served to him on the richest and freshly carved silver platter, made by the bones and blood of beaten villagers. Seven out of all his unfortunate chambers of slumber were opened to guests of all sorts. The suites formed a long and straight vista, folding doors sliding back nearly to the walls on either hand. The rooms were caked in decorations, nevertheless, they were too attractive to one's eye. Each room clung to its own sin, leaning to hear its beat and the silk sheets of the comforter, matched perfectly to its heart rise. 

       The first of the seven was painted with goats blood that was alive even as it was brushed up on the wall. The blanket was a dark and vibrant and deathly and youthful spill of blood on the bed. By it was a candle, a skinny and short one, that was never once unlit for long. The shadows beat upon the small flame and reached for its neck and strangled it. The flame fought hard and hard before dying out. And when it did, the candle was ordered to be lit again. 

         The second was furnished and lighted with a syrupy orange. The room was filled with exactly four things; an icebox much bigger than the door, a sulking bed, a long table, and a chair. On one end of the table, there are all shapes of bottles. Most are empty with lip stains on the brims and some are filled with rich liquor. The other end is laden with delicacies. Roasted cows and pigs and goats. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruit and nuts. Ocean creatures sprinkled in sauces. Countless cheeses, loaves of bread, vegetables, sweets, and streams of spirits that flicker with the flame. And the icebox, it stores more than it as the door handle struggles to maintain its belly. 

       The third was a muted light blue. Dimly lit as the flame of the candle tried to hang onto it like earrings. There are thick curtains that block out intruding light beams from what seemed to be windows. Besides the windows and the walls; in the room are three antique beds, one for each wall that held not a door, and all the same size and height; on the beds, around them, and underneath them are large pillows. The pillows make the room too crowded and too stuffy and too choked up. It was a room perfect for nothing but sleep. 

      The fourth was purple in its walls and blankets and tapestries. The walls couldn't be any darker and it couldn't be any lighter either. It didn't appear to be any color unless curious eyes sensually poked at its details. It was a very attractive room. Beautiful old faded tapestry panels--violet--and some gothic furniture--and other things mixed in. It was all the more pleasing. The room was big and spacious, but not empty. It was filled with strong emotions that pulled the clothes off guests and beckoned for them to come closer. The owner of the room was very pleased to show it. To reveal its untouched details and have eyes roam through before fingers. It was his best and well attractive room. And thus, he showed it to all first. 

       The fifth was green throughout. The once frilly drapes are thick with grime. The light struggles to reflect throughout the room. Both the wall and the flooring are like a forest floor in color and texture. Although the flooring in this room was beyond green, the very room whispered how much greener it could be in the other rooms. It wanted to have longer and bigger windows. Wanted brighter and clearer walls. It wanted to be better, way better than the other rooms. 

       The sixth with violet. The room itself is uncomfortably large. The floors are polished, the walls cleaner and neater but darker. It is cold in its tranquility with soft music. There are no personal photographs instead there are mirrors. Long, tall, and huge mirrors on every space of paint on the walls. There is no bed and no chair and no curtain. Nothing but a door and mirrors.  

      The seventh chamber is yellow. It was, no, still is a room filled to the brim with furniture. Desiring more than it can even hold. It had a yellowing flooring now carpeted with dirt and hoarded items. The walls are all burnt tones of yellow. The furniture is pastoral and dark, sprinkled liberally with vibrant cushions. There are tables and dressers. Dresses and shoes. Gowns and gowns and more filthy gowns. Boxes and boxes. Endless stuff that greedily little curtains couldn't help but want. There are more things than actual photographs of the owner and his family and more things than the paint itself.

               And it was all so very unfortunate.