Authority is like shit.

I ponder on my metaphor as I wind a length of rope across a roof beam. I'm standing on a stool in a room bereft of furniture and decoration aside from a single writing desk, placed somewhere in the back of the multi-story building in which I reside. Perhaps the only room in this huge place that isn't loaded to the rafters with over-the-top paraphernalia.

But as I was saying, authority is to people what predators are to animals. Everyone wants to avoid it, though some who are insane, or merely masochistic, seem to enjoy the practice.

"Mm, that's a pretty good simile. I think I may write that down...I think I brought some ink and paper, where'd I put it...?"

I head over to the desk, and pat my pockets to find my quill. I choke down the disgust that comes from seeing the ostentatious peacock feather used to make my writing implement. Really, does something used to write have to have so many different colors?

I tap my chin with the uninked nib, and ponder the meaning of life. And whether anyone will be able to read my handwriting.

I sigh, and open the ink bottle. Whatever, it's not like I'm writing this for anyone else's sake. I set the tip to paper, but then I start to wonder which I should write down first.

"Maybe I should just write some crap that sounds deep and profound, and call it a deal. Mhm, I'll go with that."

-Dear whoever finds this note,

There comes a time in every mans' life when he is forced to confront himself in a way that makes his heart and soul tremble. A time when it feels like the only thing he can rely on is his own puny, fragile self.

When that time comes, that man must turn to the words of his teachers, his mentors, and all of the people who have helped to teach him. The man must take on the beliefs and hopes of all the people who helped him grow, and hold all the dreams and goals of those who helped him to get to this point.

A man who thinks he stands alone is a fool. To confront oneself alone is impossible. To become someone others can depend on, he must depend upon all of those who stand by him. He can lend some of the burden and take a helping hand. He can stand side-by-side with those who went through the same things he did, and lean on those who have helped him and those he's helped.

But not only that, he can also trust in those who he's imparted his wisdom, he can believe in the people that he has become a teacher and a mentor to. He can stop being the one who protects, and be protected himself...

And so, when life feels as if it's falling apart, like everything around you has been turned against you, when you feel as if all around you only enemies lay, when you give all you have to give, but it's not enough, you can do all that has been mentioned previously.

Or just give up, that works too.

                Sincerely,

                               -Krisenilof Mastorif IV

There, that sounds pretty good. Ah, I used all the paper, so there isn't any more space to put my simile. Or was it a metaphor? I always get those mixed up. Whatever, not like anyone's gonna read my thoughts and get all bitchy about an obscure rule of language that I've managed to get incorrect.

Where was I again...? Ah, right!

I open one of the drawers in the desk, and pull out a book.

"Hah, who puts gold-leafing in a book about knots? Well, I guess it makes sense. It was written for a king, after all."

I took my time studying, and when I'd finished, I felt the satisfaction of knowledge gained. Like a cover has been removed that you hadn't even noticed was there. I've always loved learning new things.

I went back to the beam, and fixed the knot. I then tied a noose, and adjusted the length to about near my neck. Outside, sounds of many boots falling let me know that they had finally started looking for me.

I smiled, fitted the noose around my neck, and let out a relieved sigh.

"I hope you enjoy dealing with all the shit I left behind, you bastards. Asta la vista, fuck you all."

Saying so, I kicked the stool beneath me out, and let myself fall. I have to admire my own skill at noose-tying. It's tightening very nicely, and in a second my spine will snap.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

I'm glad. Suffocation isn't a nice way to go.

Falling is such a good feeling. Like flying in reverse, a freedom from gravity. The promise of something at the end just makes it sweeter.

The rope comes taut. The beam creaks.

Then snaps.

I fall to the floor, and feel the pain of my body hitting the floor, and my head hitting wood. But although the pain of my body is sharp, the inner agony of my soul screams much louder.

I crawl to my knees, my body shaking with sorrow.

"Dammit, I failed...I failed again...why?...why!?"

My knees buckle, and I hear the thunder of feet and shouts of people converging on my location.

"Here! Over here! I heard something!"

"Quick, before he has a chance to make another attempt!"

"Hurry, hurry!"

The doors' lock, hinges, and mounting all shatter, and a tall, fit person dressed in a well-fitted suit and carrying a thin sword at their waist, with short-black hair, mostly closed eyes, a tiny nose, and a small mouth, stepped into the room. A tight smile stretched across the persons lips, though the left side had a constant twitch.

"Ah, Your Majesty, what could you be doing in such a boring room?" Asks Bijinor Ghroen, head of the castles' guards, and chief of the kings security. Other titles include Piercer, Watchdog, Assassins'-Nightmare, and my personally given title.

"A better question, Pain in the Ass, is why you are in such a boring room," I say while getting to my feet and dusting off my knees. "Just go back out for a second, I won't be more than a minute." I continue, while setting the stool back up under a different, more solid-looking beam.

Bijinor walks over to the desk without looking, briefly placing a hand on the sword attached to her waist. She lifts the paper I'd used to write my note on, and begins reading.

Meanwhile, every beam in the room has suddenly developed several holes, and look to be an inch away from breaking. I drop my remaining rope, and fall on my butt. "You're a real party-pooper, you know that? And won't those holes threaten the structural integrity of the building? That might cause the roof to col-" I cut myself off, getting an idea. I reach up to the nearest beam, unfortunately, I'm not tall enough, and while I was thinking the stool I had had suddenly become tiny pieces of kindling. I give Bijinor the death-stare, but she seems to be absorbed in reading my note.

"Mhm, this is actually pretty good, aside from the last sentence." mumbles Bijinor. She pockets the paper, then turns to look at me. "After the scribes have a look at this, and we clean this up, we can put this in your autobiography." She comes over to pat me on the shoulder. "Good job, Your Majesty. You do work even when we unworthy subordinates aren't encouraging you."

I feel the tears start to fall. "...what autobiography? It's just a bunch of things you people write from my point of view that puts me, the kingdom, and all its' people, in a good light." I hug myself, then eye Bijinor. "I hope you don't think I'm going back to that dungeon you call an office."

Bijinor stretches her smile another millimeter. "Don't be like that, if you finish early, I'll let you have a go at yourself with a letter-opener."

I stop crying. "...bribery won't work. I've been tricked too many times to fall for that."

She pats my shoulder, then gives hand-signals to the arriving guards, dismissing them from the search. "I'll leave the room if you finish two hours early." Bijinor walks away, but I'm not fooled. She's waiting, just out of sight, for the slightest hint of danger.

I know I'm going to be tricked again...I know she won't give me even the slightest chance, but...

"Wait for me, Letter-opener!"

----------------------------------------

AN: Just something I thought of while waiting for an event to end. And as these things go, the muse has evolved. Well, I may be doing something terrible by making a comedy about suicide, but hey. I, for one, find death hilarious.

Plus I'm having trouble coming up with a title for HG chapter 10.

Would, "Jealousy Enough to Clip Wings" or, "Jealousy to Clip Wings." be better?

I can't decide, they both sound lame. But I can't think of anything else.