And across my sapphire sky, the very sky I was raised to rule, I pierce through at high velocities trying not to black out from the G-Force that strains my brain. My armor rattles and this tin can holding me in teeters on the edge of implosion. I attempt to pray to the many Gods my people were raised on but can’t find the words. Instead, all I hear are the condescending accusations from the judges that brought me here; they echo in my head and once they’ve passed the ear, they bounce back and repeat for their second rounds in order to torment me more.
As if my situation couldn’t be worse, the judge booms:
“By the decree of The Fifth Galactic Empire, and by sword’s strength and purist faith, I sentence thee to exile amongst the land of The Forgotten Kings.”
My eyes are now rolling back to the eye sockets. My world is becoming blacker and blacker. The world is abyss as I hear, “Pity. Most Kings exiled actually leave as well… Kings. But you. You are just a prince. A daft, childish prince you are.”
Air exists! My unconscious body forgot that it did. Sweet air rushes into my lungs. The thrilling rush of life compels me. In shock I shoot up, near uncontrollably, until my head rams into the ceiling of my capsule. As my head throbs, now, the cockpit sparks. The screens are filled with static. A random dot of red falls from my forehead and hits the floor in a small splash of fluid. Still dizzy, I examine what I have. Little did I know, I was dangling that hold time. The straps that imprisoned me – having set only the beginning stage of my royal decree – barely hold me as the chair itself has broke to the point where any part touching me dangled with me. We, myself and the loyal pieces to my chair, are repelled by the unexplainable strength of the inner coiling of wires. Still catching my breath, I scan my capsule. Remarkably, I’ve survived. Half of the tin can they provided me with is dented, too.
At the base of this caved in escape pod, my royal anointed sword lays before me. I try to reach for it but it’s too far for me to reach. It’s obviously too far but I’ll be damned if I don’t hold my sword. I earned that golden piece of royalty above all else. I earned the red rubies planted within it’s casing that reflect the glorious reign I would have led. I earned the pointed tip that would have protected my people from foreign invaders.
I reach again, squeezing my arms and wrists through the straps while ignoring the pain. My fingers are just three inches away from it. The pain becomes too overbearing. The thresh hold becomes just too much and I brake. Now my bones and muscles throb as another drip of blood rolls off my nose and onto the sword. My exulted blood landing on such beauty. This motivates me further. Nothing shall taint that sword. I reach again. Oh, how the pain throbs throughout my body but now I keep reaching for this great stroke of effort will define every fiber of my body ’till the end of time. I will reach that sword. I will hold it once again. I will conquer my –
Snap! The wires give in and drop me to the unforgiving panels of the escape pod. My face and chest smashes against the surface of the obsolete controls. Bruised. Winded. Exiled. Humiliated. I lay there for a second as all forms of pain overwhelm me. At least my sword stays with me though. I suppose, now, it’s the only friend I have. Sentimental thoughts don’t matter, though. I must get up. In one push up’s strength, I shove myself up and fight gravity to regain my balance. For the first time in hours, I stand. I kneel down to grab my sword and pride and latch it to my belt. The day begins and I have survived.
To my right, is that red lever that no one ever touches; the escape pod’s escape lever. Following it’s clear instructions, I pull down and the air sealed door shoot open and hit their opening radius so hard that the unstable surfaces vibrate and bellow low tones. The small air tight windows crack at the awkward motions of the doors. Shattered in fragments – nature’s art.
I heave my body out for I cannot look towards the past. Besides, I’m curious as to what this new world has in store…
It’s dry and vast. A few several plateaus stand before me in the distance. The sun rises in the far east. A tumbleweed blows by miles and miles down. The land of lifeless, arid exile becomes a true reality now as I stand half a mile high on this cliff. Speaking of which, where did I land? I check my surroundings. A roughly circular platform propelled by further rock… Of course I landed on a fellow plateau. How efficient! How am I supposed to get down without sliding to an injured back? If I had the company of someone, my sarcasm would have filled their ears with pessimism and spite in every syllable.
Oh, this situation is not a pleasant one. I did not deserve this. I merely spoke and due to it, diplomacy hammered down. The dimensions of my people’s political system were able to take their “upmost priority member” and vanish him to deserted desert. My family couldn’t even sway their choices, that’s how powerful my government is. Only a flawed system such as this would know of such a planet – The Exiled Planet.
I wonder if I’ll see fellow Kings who are just as poor as me. No matter, though. I’m here. I must survive now… But still! Just the thought of this corrupt system boils in me. We are just puppet figures. We as in everyone along with the “royalty”. The puppet masters are my congress and the law they spew… or what would have been my congress. But I didn’t just lose a title. I lost my friends. I lost my education. I lost my family and the pets we owned. Oh how I miss them… I’ve lost just about everything. 16 years old and the only possessions I hold are my sword, the skill, the vast knowledge I gained from royalty, and my teenage needs.
“Fuck!” I shout to my inexistent audience.
At least I can curse now. Royalty is forbidden to use such foul language. And at least I can conspire with myself for now I am the Congress, the Judicial, and the Supreme Order of stability. And at least I can do battle with any enemy that comes my way! This is a new and vast world, though. While the scenery is foreign, intimidating, and intriguing overall, I can’t help but feel the need to examine myself for fear of injury. I look around for anything reflective but have nothing big enough to see me by. Then I remember: The glass windows on the escape pod! I rush on over to it and look at the shattered window to see 10 of me looking back. All 10 of them look lost and scared yet determined to find quality in life. I examine my forehead. A minor scratch but somehow I still bleed. One thing I remember though, having been reminded by the 10 of me staring back, is that I am still wearing my crown. Now the question lies – do I continue with it or without it; to show my pride and heritage or become one with this uncontaminated landscape. I haven’t looked at it with my own eyes. I pick the crown off my head. It’s gold with a ribbed top and jaded branches. It glistens in the sun and nearly blinds me for a second. In every atom of it lies the heritage of my people. The sacrifices and stories that come with them resonate real and pure power. My lineage is pure. My reality is distraught. But I can’t keep this precious gem. I just can’t. Frustrated at this Kafakaesque dilemma, I place the crown on the ground with respect and delicate care. I cannot hold this crown anymore. It is safer here on this forgotten plateau than with me. It’s merely the ashes of deceased figures, frozen and lost with time.
For now I’m exiled and cannot look back. I cannot lie to myself any longer than I already have upon arriving here. I look out to my world and fall in love with it: The land of forgotten pains. The land of forgotten souls. The land of forgotten use. Pessimism has no use here. This world may just be better off than home. Here the skies are purple. Here the sun is close. Here the land is unexplored and exciting. And here, I stand: The Forgotten Prince.