-A Golden Mirror

[Words to Image. An image chosen randomly and the story my mind perceives it to tell. This, I type]

King Leonardus basked in his riches, daily. The sum of his wealth meant more to him than the touch of a woman, the sound of a babbling brook, or the screech of a majestic bird. He was soothed by the sight of what he possessed. It defined him and blinded him, as well.

Twice a day he would summon the guards to accompany him as he strolled throughout the streets, soaking in the enormousness of his purse. A coin here and a coin there, he thought, as he placed a mental monetary amount on everything he saw. The windows were draped with the finest auburn silk curtains that money could buy.

"Twenty-six thousand dollars per window.'

And there were fifteen hundred of them. The doorways were laced with exquisite edging, meticulous detail that cost a year's wages for an entire family of eight, ten times over. His feet stepped onto the bronze inlays of each crest that was centered in every twelfth cobblestone. He desired for his very flesh to know the amount of who he was, or thought to be, even during the simplest of strolls.

One day, a motley crew of youths scurried past him as he danced and gloated through the streets. The final one paused and asked him why his sandals were off.

"Because I want to feel the money in which I own," he replied.

The boy stared at Leonardus' feet and then at his own.

"What does it feel like?" he questioned.

The king threw his head back and then laughed through his vanity, ready to school the lad.

"I could describe it to you but I'm afraid you could not understand, boy."

The youth thought.

"Does it feel like cool mud when it squishes between your toes?"

The king was appalled at the comparison.

"Or maybe when a wet duckling shakes and the water hits you in the face?"

Once again, the king remained silent but secretly questioned his words.

"I know, it feels like the taste of fresh honeysuckle when it hits the back of your tongue or maybe the smile you get in your belly when the sunrise turns the color of cotton candy."

"No," Leonardus corrected.

"How about the way you feel when your mom warms you up with a warm blanket after you get out of a cold stream?

"No! No! No! It doesn't feel like any of that!"

The king was furious at this point.

"Ohh. Well, ok then."

The lad lost interest in the king's words and scurried away.

That night, his words troubled the king. He struggled to either make sense of them or simply let them go. He accomplished neither.

The next morning, he summoned all of the wise men, soothsayers, magicians, and anyone who he thought could help him.

"I want you to turn my very heart into gold," he demanded.

No one understood. They all stared at him in silence.

"I want mine own heart to wear a golden glow. I want to hold it in my hand so I can look upon its beauty, it's worth. And I do not want to die without it. I want for you to make it still beat and keep me alive ... from my hand. This, I demand. Countless riches to the man who makes this so."

All in the room took turns, attempting to give Leonardus what he desired but none succeeded.

"No! No! No! This is not working! I want you to all try at once! Join forces or whatever you need to do to give me this! Or you will all die here today! Got it?! Now, make it happen!"

The king was determined to have his way. Everyone in the room clasped hands and focused with all of their might. And then it happened. The king's heart glazed over a vibrant golden color. He opened both eyes just as his top magician was handing it to him.

There had never been such a sight in all the land throughout all of history. A golden heart that still beats outside of one's body and sustains life. Leonardus stared at it as the whole room cheered a joyous chant. Until they noticed his questioning eyes. The chanting ceased and the room grew silent. The king turned to look at each man.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked.

"Gaze upon it, your Majesty. Enjoy the beauty of what you see."

The king looked closer and saw his own reflection staring back at him.

"Isn't it beautiful, King?"

Leonardus turned toward him with a face soaked in confusion. He held it out to him and asked, "What am I supposed to see? I see nothing."

The room gasped in disbelief. Each man stepped forward as the king held it to their face to be viewed.

"Well, I see a golden reflection of a pure miracle," one spoke. "The value of this must be astronomical."

"What do you think it is worth?" the king asked.

He who spoke frightened.

"Well, I believe it cannot be measured."

"Cannot be measured?"

The king stared at his reflection, once more.

"And do I love it?" he asked.

No one chose to answer.

"Surely, I do," he supposed. "But I cannot measure it."

The king felt no love. No love for his kingdom. No love for his subjects. No love for his wealth. No love for himself. Once his heart failed to be just that, it became a lifeless mirror of whatever looked into it. It reflected the character and negativity of everyone else around him. Everyone who fed his delusion of how he was measured. At the end of this day he could not even measure himself. He had his heart of gold but his love died the moment he was given what he wanted. He desired praise but lost the ability to receive it. His heart had died a golden death.

Leonardus spent the rest of his days staring at the golden mirror and questioning just what mud felt like when it squished between one's toes.