Kingdom

I want to assure you we are all safe here. We have adequate resources to wait until all of the infected have died. With our fortifications and firepower there is no way any plague carriers can get in here. Furthermore, all of you have been chosen for your talent, intelligence, and genes for repopulating the country when the time is right. As long as you trust me as your King, we will prevail against all challenges. Questions? Yes, my good friend Geraldine Jackson. King, have you looked in a mirror lately? You have a red splotch on your right cheek.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Declaration Of War

The noon sun was a blazing red ember in an ashen sky. It was all anyone could talk about. Even the dogs of the kingdom were going crazy, whining and running in circles and hypersalivating. Meanwhile, on the birthing table, the Red Queen, her knees up, her legs spread apart, her multiple chins trembling, pushed and pushed and then pushed again. Music – Wagner or perhaps Sousa, something rousing – came thundering out of her. She was like a little brass ensemble playing mightily. The royal physician remained strangely calm, as though thinking, “OK, why not?” Blood had never looked so red.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).

A Centuries Old Vanity

The prince stared at the parchment, as his ministers watched impatiently.

“This treaty will mean peace with the Empire and ensure that our kingdom remains independent.”

The prince hesitated as he dipped his pen in ink. He understood the ramifications. He knew that to continue fighting against the Holy Roman Empire would eventually lead to his destruction. The church could not tolerate anything they saw as a perversion.

But then he looked at the names at the bottom. King Ferdinand II and Prince Gabriel Bethlen.

He threw his pen aside. Vlad Dracula would never lie about his name. Not ever.

Getting excited about our historical fiction contest, and so I wrote this little piece, from 1620.

The Final Indignity

At the start of every year, the Kingdom of Urbania elected a new monarch.

Of course, the old royals had to be disposed of in some way. They were driven away from the capital in an old cart owned by Farmer Putnam. They had already been stripped of most of their pomp and circumstance, though the former sovereigns were allowed to keep their scepters.

Farmer Putnam deposited his charges on the outskirts of the city where they would live out their remaining days. It was at this point he informed them that his transport fee was exactly one royal scepter.