What happens when a king falls?

“Ella and her ignorance and Trish and her arrogance” Words I used to describe the curses on my soon to be ex roommates, very rightly chosen words may I add. They speak of treaties and peace keeping between the four of us (Them, Anna and myself) yet roll their eyes, and become enraged (possible hyperbole but still) when parts of the agreement that don’t completely follow their social lives come into play. Surprisingly for once their frustration lies on me, for asking if no one could be around OUR room tonight. I gave no explanation, because I thought no explanation was needed, but i was wrong and they came to me upset. One comment made in our discussion confused and upset me the most which was that I make this request everyday. That statement was indeed a hyperbole, a full out exaggeration to prove a point they wished to make. A point that they think puts me in the wrong. So now as they paint me in their minds and to their friends as an Wicked Witch I sit in disappointment, for I hoped for so much more from them. Friendship, Understanding and apparently more then they deem necessary to give.

See for the past month I have been dealing with a personal crisis of  belief. The man who mentored me and gave me the skills and confidence I possess today, has fallen ill. A very sudden illness that will have an ever changing effect on his life, and not only can I do nothing to help I am also in “camelot” a place quiet far from him. So as I deal with the short and vague  information on his well being that I get every few days I expected some respect and curtesy from those I live near. Yet no they instead  continue to refrain and more appropriately refuse to do anything beside think of themselves. I only wish for a small amount of peace, to do the small bit I can for him which is essentially to pray. Pray and hope for his health, cause he is truly a king to me and in a sense I am his humble servant only grateful that he has shined hope into my life.

My crisis of belief comes with this illness, for I am only alive because of this man. Zachariah the faithful, a warrior and king, for all he met where touched by his talents and kindness. No creature immune to his charm and personality, not even a witch. He found me in a time when I had cursed myself, with doubt, hate, fear, and I was close to death because of the two things I would not grant myself, faith and love. He brought me to life, lifted my curses helped when I fell back into old habits, never judged a rumour on who was courting me and was another father when I could not bare to tell mine. Now this man that I imagined as a king, superhero and much more is lying in a bed ill and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I had faith that good things happened to good people, that I deserved saving but I would rather be lying in that hospital bed then him any day. He deserves life much more than I, and that is something I cannot bare to think about or else I cry. My faith in karma and life and everything has become as dark as it can get. He is a good man and does not deserve what he has been given, but I suppose do any of us.

Well If you will excuse me I can no longer bare to discuss this,

Ruby, the not so wicked witch

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