The Datagram

The guards chatted to Baron about his good-fortune. The boy's father wrote the check immediately after hearing the news. The other child was not discussed. No check had been written. As Baron was released, he stopped in front of Lance's cage and smirked before heading out.

Lance said nothing. He stared straight ahead, ignoring taunts from other prisoners, ignoring offers of protection. That colossal asshat flashed before his eyes, Baron with a beak-nose. Lance looked at his own hands. They might as well have been his, so small and feminine. Grunting loudly, he slapped the walls. They burned.

A visitor, wearing vibrant red and green robes, tapped the cast-iron bars with a golden ring. Lance's bowed head jerked up to see who was there, but his eyes quickly narrowed. The visitor gave a nod to the guard, who opened the gate and let him inside.

Sitting beside the boy, the elder gentleman rubbed his hands together and breathed on them. "I remember the first time I was tossed in this cell," he looked over to the boy, grinning "and how cold it gets in the winter."

Lance did not answer. He just stared at the word 'hate', which was scribbled all across the cell walls. The visitor followed Lance's gaze to the other side of the cell. "Mm," he said "the writing can be influential, can't it?" Lance said nothing.

"What is the matter, Lance? Have you no explanation? No words to defend yourself with?" the gentleman brought his eyes directly in front of the boy's. Green eyes peered into the depths of black. "are you guilty, son?"

Lance thrust his fist directly forward. The king brushed it aside and clapped him across his neck, then pinned him to the bench. "You would strike your King, boy?" the elder hissed. Lance's eyes opened wide as realization set in. A moment later, they grew dull, as if to remember who else had died.

"A king does not offer his protection lightly, boy," King Bradley released Lance from his grip "but he does keep promises to friends--Lance. I had counted your father as one of them." The king stood up and shook his head, leaving the cage and locking the bars with the guard's keys.

"You will return to the school for the summer and assist in the clean-up of the damage you have caused. I'm dissappointed in you, Lance. Your father would be too." King Bradley motioned for the guards to return, when Lance spoke,

"You're not my father." The King looked at Lance, and furrowed his brow. He remembered the experiment. Lance spoke again, "And my father is dead," beginning to cry, "Who do I have then, to be dissappointed in me?" At once, the King's face flushed red.

"That's enough of that, boy. If you haven't got the good sense--!" Bradley took a deep breath, "If you want disappointment, then be disappointed in yourself," taking a step forward, "By god, do not make me ashamed to know you as his son." King bradley turned to go, stopped, and shouted, "Clean up the mess and you clean up yourself!" He left as if he had never came.