Damon had a boozy night without any sleep. Now he was standing on the top rung of a ladder trying to pick the last peach from a tree. His shoulder felt like it was going to come out of its socket, but his fingers were just sliding off the fuzzy skin. He climbed down the ladder and knocked it against the tree. The peach fell from its branch. Damon picked it up, it wouldn't do to put it in with the others, it had a deep gash, so he sat in the shade and bit into the sweet meat. He was all alone, that didn't happen often not inside the walls. People ate on top of each other inside the walls they slept on top of each other, and over and over again; they bred on top of each other. Today the orchard was empty. Today everyone wanted to watch Prince Ragnar get cut to pieces. Damon figured that about now the poor bastard was missing all his limbs. That didn't mean much. Those wretched executioners only saw the light of day when they got to put on a public spectacle, so they were pretty good at making it last. Ragnar probably had a few more hours to go.

"Hey, you, you're not allowed in here. This is a holiday. Who gave your permission to be here?"

Damon didn't move, he gave the young deputy a brief glance and finished his peach.

"Hey, shit for brains. I'm with the Queens Guard; answer me when I speak to you. Answer me or I'll kick your teeth in."

Damon leaned back and spoke softly, "it's quiet here. It's not often a man gets to enjoy a bit of quiet. Look how the wind is blowing the leaves in that tree. So many little leaves all being blown in the wind, soon they will all wither and be blown away, then in the spring another generation will take their place. I bet if you put your ear real close to one of those leaves it will be crying out 'I'm important, listen to me, I have some meaning, some purpose, I'm a righteous little leaf.' but, in the end, we'll never hear it above the sound of all the others."

"A half an hour ago I found a man trying to crawl into the sewer said he saw a little boy down there. I thought he was daft, but compared to you, he was a bloody genius."

"Being daft is no sin, not in a city where the Queen has just dismembered her son."

"I've made a vow, to serve that Queen. So, watch what you say."

Damon tried to weigh all the ramifications of intervening in this young man's life. He looked to be about 17, a new recruit, probably this was the first time he was on patrol alone. Holidays always taxed a security force; it was hard to scrape up enough manpower to keep a quarter of a million people in a semi contained riot. The guy came from a poor family otherwise he'd have been in the officer corp. The guy had a strong sense of loyalty and honor, which was good, but his life was going to be brutal and short. He overestimated his place in the universe and the universe had a simple way for correcting that mistake. On the other hand, if Damon intervened and showed him a brief glimpse of annihilation and its brutal inevitability the guy might spend the rest of his life staring at crystals unable to form complete sentences. Damon made his decision; the poor fool might end up catatonic but at least he wouldn't be a bothersome prick.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Damon stood up, stretched his back and undid a crick in his neck. He put up his fists. "Your mother is a whore, your father got buggered by a donkey and your Queen enjoys being sodomized by stable boys."

The young man didn't come charging at him like Damon wanted. The boy spit and came at him deliberate and calculated. "I know what you are. You're a degenerate, addicted to quid just like my father." He pulled his sword, swung it up over his head and brought it down hard, trying to split Damon in two. The boy was badly trained and had little natural ability. The poor bastard was still trying to pull his sword out of the ground where it had bitten into a thick root. Damon grabbed the boy's collar with his left hand and pushed him backward, when the guard tried to balance by moving forward, Damon dragged him down onto the grass, he mounted him, reached in with his right hand and grabbed the back of the opposite collar. With his arms crossing over the boy's throat, he arched forward and watched the boy's eyes as the blood stopped reaching the brain, fear giving way to confusion then unconsciousness.

The boy looked so peaceful in sleep; there was no sign of his murderous rage. Damon got up and reached into his rucksack. He opened a leather pouch. The boy started to come back around. The boy managed to get to his hands and knees trying to figure out where he was. Damon wrapped his legs around his back slid his right arm under his chin, then with his left hand he shoved a small mushroom button into his mouth. The mouth made to spit it out, but Damon covered it and pinched his nostrils.

"Just swallow and I'll let you up."

There was a brief struggle, but the boy gave in and swallowed. Damon got up and brushed himself off. The guard was trying to retch up the sacrament, but it was too late.

Damon slung his pack over his shoulder and picked up his crate of peaches. "Just watch the leaves on the trees, don't try to fight what's coming, it will only make it worse."

The boy tried to crawl for his sword, he was swearing and crying doing everything but watching the trees. Damon knew the boy's ordeal was only just beginning.