The Stream

Azael caught a glimpse of the stream, as he was walking through the meadows. As he noticed it more, he began to hear the sounds eminating from the stream. It was hypnotic, compelling him towards it. He felt wanted by the stream.

Soon Azael used to make more trips into the meadows, just to spend time by the Stream. He enjoyed the feeling. It was fun. Sometimes he would bring his friends to the Stream, but not all the time though. He liked his alone time with the Stream. All this while, Azael dreamt of stepping foot in it, swimming in it and ultimately taking boat rides through the beautiful Stream.

Now Azael, he was not a very special boy. But when he was with his Stream, he knew he was King. But the Stream was not his Queen and his Kingdom yet. You see, Azael had never learnt how to swim. The Stream was the joy of his life, yet it also terrified him like a little girl lost in the shadowy jungles of Korshat.

One bright morning, Azael took a chance that would change his life forever. He put one foot in the water. His right foot. The water was suprisingly warm and inviting. His left foot soon followed. Before long, this simpleton was waist deep in his Stream. He played with the Stream, caressed its waves, kissed the rocks, drank of its waters. Azael learnt how to swim that day. Azael fell in love with the Stream that day.

Few weeks have passed, and Azael decided to build a boat. He wanted to sail with his Queen. He wanted to explore his Kingdom. Though lacking any sort of craftman ship or boat building knowledge, Azael combined common sense, inguinity and an iron willed desire to build his boat. It took a whole year, filled with many failed attempts. But eventually he succeeded. The boat was complete.

Azael could not wait to get sailing, and as soon as the last piece of the boat was fixed, it was dragged to his Stream. He began sailing immediately and Azael cried tears of joy. He cried more and he laughted more. Azael could not stop smiling and stood tall at the front of his boat, screaming his name and nameless words.

And in those countless moments of bliss, Azael got careless. Many times as he was singing and prancing around his little boat, he would lose control of it. Many times the litte jagged rocks in the Stream would inflict little dents at the side of boat. Azael knew this, but he didnt care. He knew his Stream would take care of him, and little dents wont break his boat.

The more Azael travelled into his Kingdom, the more the Stream's waters become deeper, and rougher. The little jagged rocks soon became large monstrosities. But Azael didnt care. His Queen would take care of him. This was his kingdom, and King Azael was safe no matter which part of it he was in.

"Poor King Azael"

That was his final thoughts, as his body came crashing down the waterfalls and into the rocks at the bottom. His body lay there in two pieces. His right leg had somehow been cut off amongts the rocks. The skull was cracked and the matter of his thoughts began seeping into the river. Little fishes and crabs would nibble at his body, his open skull, devouring the remains of the once proud king.

Sad as this story is, i suspect that even if he had miraculaous ly survived, even as a cripple, he would never hate the Stream. He would dare to love the Stream again. But he would love it like a true King should, with respect, understanding and truth. Not like a blind fool.