The boy sat on the warm rock and looked across the grassy park before him. He watched the breeze sway the high trees gently, the leaves pulled by the wind as if waving to him. It was the only movement in his selected view so he watched and watched. The empty stretch of grass was too hard for him to gaze upon. He couldn’t quite say why, it just was, and he welcomed the distraction of the wind and it command of the tree's arms.
Not too long ago this field, this battlefield, was a swarm of activity, a land to wage wars. A land to slay monsters.
But not anymore.
He cast his eyes on the dirt at his feet before writing his name in the ash with his sword. Not his real name for they never had real names here. Here, you could be anyone or anything you wanted.
And they had all come.
Jumping fences, riding metal steeds, rolling in on flat chariots with their helmets on backwards, they had come for all over. Screaming as they swang across the bottomless sandpit, yelling as they slide into lava, every kind of magical adventure could be found here.
Some said it was the magic in the land that made this place special, others believed it was the pixies that hid in the forest, or the dragons hiding from view but always watching, that drew the mysterious energies. Many battles were fought over who held the true magical weapon, the all-mighty icon and which wizard hat made the land magical.
But they were all wrong. It was none of those things.
It was within them.
Within the magic of their minds, a few square metres of grass and a couple of trees was a Kingdom that all could live in. There was plenty to do for the Kingdom, for you just had to do was be there.
Every day a princess could be saved… or maybe she wasn't. Some days she saved you with her healing bandages.
Hordes of hiding dragons had to be constantly kept in check unless one would decide to wreck havoc upon the wooden swinging Kingdom. Eyes were forever vigilant upon the edge of their world.
Their fine steeds would need to be rubbed and brushed, the manes touched and played with by all others, even if the prince riding it objected to what he believed was unmanly for his horse's ponytail.
Coats of armour had to be displayed, weapons had to be the finest, the shinest, or at least as long as you thought it was the best weapon about, well, that was all that mattered.
It was amazing what did and didn’t matter in the Kingdom. Wolf howls in the distance never scared you, nor if the wolves walked amongst you. Wild animals were to be tame, even if it was really easy [just a simple wave of the magic stick].
The cannon ball never exploded even if it did hit you in the head, but it was always going to explode when you fired it at a fleeing set of feet.
But the feet were gone. The legs they held up didn’t need to be held up anymore. They sat instead.
Where?
The boy didn’t want to know but he did. He knew where they all were.
At home, enslaved, by the machines that made their eyes redden and hands sore.
The machine could promise wars and dragons just like in the Kingdom. There were castles and warriors, many adventures and paths to follow, but that was all you could ever do: follow.
There would always be a princess to save as well, but never a prince.
It stole.
They might not have seen how at first, for it did seem to be the other way round. But in the end, it would steal the one way, the one key back into their Kingdom.
Their imaginations.
The boy looked at the empty land and decided that this soil, this land was still the Kingdom, no matter how many kings and queens had left.
He would live here alone, fighting to protect his land from the hiding dragons, the lying orges and the hungry, wild wolves; for this was still the greatest Kingdom ever; and he was its finest knight.
He jumped down off the warm rock and waved his sword to fend away the evil, buck toothed goblins trying to scale his castle walls. He would fight until his sword lay broken upon their wicked, gnarled shields.
And then he would find a new stick to play with.
Copyright
Beyond the Bunker
2005
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