It had been alright at first, almost.

He still had his friends, his allies, kind of.

They all worked together, like some ideal community.

Everyone actual liked him, possibly.


His sort of world was one he created himself.

He had heard day in and day out that the public image of him was dropping.

However, from his balcony and windows, it was a world of green lawns and sunshine.

As long as he stayed strong, they all were strong.


He probably read the polls a thousand times a day.

He read the new and the old, a thousand years going.

He saw from his world of sunshine other places like his own.

The people are not right, not right at all.


His only hope was the idea of their return.

They had helped him rule at some point.

There had been replacements, of course.

But the dead can't be replaced.


There were ideas that popped up in his head sometimes.

To revive his friends.

Such acts wouldn't be right.

So he never did.


The outcry grew, though he knew it wouldn't matter.

How do you replace the immortal?

They last longer then you.

He knew there would be no replacement.


His servants were also forever.

They lived to one purpose, to serve.

They could be like him, if they had more morale.

He made sure to crush their confidence every day.


He supposed people thought he would grow bored one day, after trying everything in the world.

They must have hoped he would go insane.

Somehow destroy himself.

If they wanted him dead, they would first have to die themselves.

They were his entertainment.


The people went as they always did, making mock government.

A queen one day, a dictator the next.

The fragile lines would disperse quickly.

Their attempts forgotten as time moved on.


People wondered, as they did, what he was.

Some sort of enlightened one of them?

Or was he a creature of another kind?

He himself is interested in their research.

He does not know.


The ideas that people brought were growing deeper.

As mythology grew, he became more.

Because he was forever, he must have been there before everything.

What was before everything?

Everything else, perhaps.


Time will always pass, it can never be consistent.

Time is only in their imagination.

Some people forget, some remember.

But his rule remains, though it changes.

Once he is ruling a country, another a market.

And when the last remembering person dies, he smiles.

Perhaps he will run again.