Lack of Love

Lack of Love

It was a mild day in the lieu of spring, the plants had turned green and the birds had once again started their song. Despite the cheery aura of the outside world, inside the castle it was dark. The grey stone walls didn’t help either, as no light penetrated through the barrier. It was like a prison. The mood of the castle seemed to also affect the people inside of it. The king had lived there almost all of his life and in result was very greedy and unhappy. He was especially unhappy with his only son, who was not yet thirty. No matter what his son, Peter, did he never seemed to please his father. Ever since an early age, the King expected more and more from him. Even if Peter succeeded in what his father had expected him to do, he just expected more.

It had been a normal month, if you consider war normal. The King’s people were at war with their arch-enemy yet again. The on and off of war had been going on for more than one hundred years. Peter was so used to war it had become a daily chore to him.

So when he awoke that morning he didn’t think that anything would be different. That soon changed. When he was eating breakfast with his son and nobles, a pudgy man came running into the room. The king immediately stood up and the man hastily bowed. “My Lord, urgent news from the front line. Your soldiers have been massacred, allowing the enemy to get through the barrier and into our land,” he said quickly and out of breath.

The son looked over at his father who was standing at the head of the table his wrinkled face frozen in thought.

At last his father spoke. “How many are there?”

“Almost two-thousand, sire?”

“Peter.” Peter’s father turned to him. “Go now with your troop and face them.” Peter stared at him in shock and anger.

“But father, I only have three hundred men.”

“Stop complaining, and do what your father tells you.”

The son looked over at the faces surrounding him. They all knew that the father and son did not get along.

“Father it’s suicide,” Peter remonstranced.

“Then let it be suicide for your land.”

Peter stood up and walked towards the door.

“And don’t disappoint me.”

Peter glumly drove his army into battle. His army was of three hundred, and as he told his father, not nearly enough to ward off the forces of the enemy. The ground started to show great acclivity, and Peter’s thoughts went to his father. He knew that he was obdurate, but to send his own son to his own death was absurd. Then again, that’s what his father was, absurd. What if he never retuned from this journey? He would have never heard his own father say, “I love you” to him. Maybe his father didn’t love him after all.

Peter’s army reached the woods and the road was very sinuous, as they dodged fallen trees and branches. All of a sudden Peter heard a whizzing noise go past his ear. It took him a moment to realize that the man next to him was not moving, for an arrow had pierced him directly in the heart. A loud war cry echoed through the woods, and Peter’s troop was surrounded. Peter looked at his men all of whom looked terrified. He didn’t blame them, this was it.

“FIRE!” He heard a man scream and soon arrows were flying everywhere and men were falling down.

Peter lifted up his bow and blindly shot into the air. He wasn’t going to fail. The last thing he saw was a tip of an arrow.

The King pretended to listen. The peasant before him was pleading for something, but king didn’t care what the man was saying, he just nodded his head up and down. Finally something grabbed his attention. His messenger rushed into the hall.

Just like the other morning, he looked shabby and out of breath. “My Lord, your troop has been killed. There are no survivors.” He paused. “Sir, your son is dead.”

The King’s mood darkened. He responded by stating, “He has failed me.”