When Fate Is In Your Hands
The guards hovered nearby, there partly for the ceremony of it all and partly to ensure no disgruntled initiate lashed out at The Wall.
Who would do such a thing? The Wall is sacred. What could be done? The Wall stands thirty feet tall and twice as wide, set into a sturdy cliff face. What would be the point? The Wall knows all, is the law.
I stood there, inching toward the precipice to adulthood, the moment The Wall would pronounce the fate of my grown life, my vocation, and in turn my social prospects. In all my twelve years I had feared this moment, or at least as long as I’d been aware of stuff, life, and whatnot, which encompasses a lot.
A small yellow card, weighty beyond its paper mass, emerged for me to pluck. I dutifully did so and read with eager eyes.
“Well, boy,” queried the priest-nician, “What does it say?”
“Ummm,” I stalled, considering my options before bluring, “Looks like I’m the new king.” Before any questions could be raised I stuffed the card in my mouth and chewed furiously.