Destroy His Dream of Beauty
He makes the peasants smile.
His castle—his bronze dream of a better world filled with beauty and wealth—is resilient. It stands on a hill, and the soft foamy waves grow closer and closer with each passing moment. And then Poseidon’s kingdom approaches ever so gently, the water rising steadily to greet the castle. He admires the murky green waves, but even more so, he admires the way his castle’s sturdy walls stand strong against the current.
He built this dream. He made this land-kingdom, and he fancies himself as not only its king but also its savior, its architect. He constructed each wall and tower carefully in his mind’s eye, perfectly imagining each stone, shell, and flag.
And his peasants—oh dear, his peasants—so unwillingly entered into the endeavor with only the promise of a better world as their payment. Now his peasants gaze at him with the bewildered look of people who have known only pain and dirty rags before and have finally been raised up to feel the warmth of the sun on their skins and the softness of the clean linen on their bodies. He smiles at them, a toothy grin that they have waited long to see. They laugh and applaud from their perch outside the castle walls.
He made these people what they are. He brought joy and laughter back into their lives. He gave them the tools to build something wonderful, and ultimately, to make themselves stronger. They know he is their leader, they know they would do anything for their king. He embraces this feeling of total admiration and power as if he has never known true happiness before, and it is all because of his unfailing castle and his absolute authority—
Until his mother grasps his sandy hand and pulls him away from his castle. “It’s time to go home, dear-heart,” she tells him in her exhausted voice. She brushes sweat off the back of her sunburnt neck.
“But, my castle!” he screeches as he wrenches himself back towards his sand sculpture. His father grabs him around the waist, and that happy peasant-laugh erupts from his father’s throat.
“Mom says it’s time to go, kiddo,” his father tells him.
And with a heavy heart and tear-filled eyes, he resigns to the fact that he is no longer king.
He looks over his father’s shoulder as he is carried away. His castle grows smaller and smaller in the distance, and he never sees the ocean destroy his dream of beauty.
He built this dream. He made this land-kingdom, and he fancies himself as not only its king but also its savior, its architect. He constructed each wall and tower carefully in his mind’s eye, perfectly imagining each stone, shell, and flag.
And his peasants—oh dear, his peasants—so unwillingly entered into the endeavor with only the promise of a better world as their payment. Now his peasants gaze at him with the bewildered look of people who have known only pain and dirty rags before and have finally been raised up to feel the warmth of the sun on their skins and the softness of the clean linen on their bodies. He smiles at them, a toothy grin that they have waited long to see. They laugh and applaud from their perch outside the castle walls.
He made these people what they are. He brought joy and laughter back into their lives. He gave them the tools to build something wonderful, and ultimately, to make themselves stronger. They know he is their leader, they know they would do anything for their king. He embraces this feeling of total admiration and power as if he has never known true happiness before, and it is all because of his unfailing castle and his absolute authority—
Until his mother grasps his sandy hand and pulls him away from his castle. “It’s time to go home, dear-heart,” she tells him in her exhausted voice. She brushes sweat off the back of her sunburnt neck.
“But, my castle!” he screeches as he wrenches himself back towards his sand sculpture. His father grabs him around the waist, and that happy peasant-laugh erupts from his father’s throat.
“Mom says it’s time to go, kiddo,” his father tells him.
And with a heavy heart and tear-filled eyes, he resigns to the fact that he is no longer king.
He looks over his father’s shoulder as he is carried away. His castle grows smaller and smaller in the distance, and he never sees the ocean destroy his dream of beauty.