The obsolete nature of his tedious dimensions bored the queen out of her mind. He vowed to pull the lever and lift his soul to the second floor, but didn’t. He spoke to the walls in his doorless cube and punched a hole into his soul. He held the deed in his very left hand and raised his right all the way up to heaven. What is it that makes man so grand in nature and yet still manages to hold his fragility in his eyes? His poker face didn’t last for long as his eyes rampaged against his sword. ‘Alas, O Greatest King of Heaven.’, said the boy. ‘I am but a fragment of the soil’. The boy waltzed across the lobby and stole an orange from the butler’s cart. ‘I’ll eat them all, one by one, and feed the hunger in my heart’, said the fragment. ‘I do vow to change the world.’ Then clawed onto the souvenirs in his mind and left them lying on the floor. Stomped over them, smashing them into little pieces of glass; a mosaic bullshit beauty, a crystal clear enunciation of pain. He panicked, dropped to his knees, and threw up as he crawled up his own skin carrying those pieces he’s made with his own cursed mind. He dropped one piece at a time, leaving behind a trail that he can challenge to ignore, choosing to believe that the amorous void that he’s left behind can so easily forget. Smitten by Thor, he raged against the tides of the waters rising in his eyes. ‘O Prince of Denmark, I have been’, staggered the toddler through the words as he vowed to paint a lovelier picture using the wits that oozed from his sword. Believing he’s indeed worthy of said grace he solved the jigsaw on the floor and rushed into yet another fax room leaving a red trail he’s left before. Let it rain, he said, as he pulled that mightily dark Excalibur from his destiny and plunged its sharpness into his heart.