There he sat, atop his throne, looking down his button nose at Maraschino Kingdom. All appeared quite well with his citizens so he patted himself on the back once again. He closed the lid to his laptop. Pleased. They performed. Not as fast as he’d wish, but, still, they had done just as he commanded.
Satisfied smoke billowed in to a hookah’s hose at his feet. Ready for His Majesty’s inhalation. He toked deep. Savoring the flavoring of the finest Nepalese tobacco. A belly full of banana cakes and blue berries welcoming the cooled vapor.
It’s good to be King. The King thought to himself.
Yes, yes it is. He agreed.
The King rose from his throne, exhaled a cloud of pomegranate smoke and floated across the room to a gilded window. He thrust open the nearest sash and gazed down upon green streets. Streets paved with money from many lands. Hard earned cashola. Deutsche Marks. Euros. Rubles. And Reais.
It’s good to be King. He thought yet again.
Yes, yes it is. He agreed with himself once more.
The gardens of Maraschino Kingdom are lush with trees that look just like rainbow colored lollies and strawberry suckers. Stuffed animals roam the green green grass unencumbered. One hundred PooPoo Bears and Egg Eyes on the lawn nibbling on hemp and keeping to themselves.
Children with rainbow-colored hair lead mountain goats on leashes throughout the city’s center. National treasures wandering to and fro on trails made of glitter-coated marble. To a place beyond the park’s bubbling fountains. Where the green green grass meets up with the banks of winding copper streams. Where the goats can sip the caramel nectar from the stream while the children do as they please. For these children, too, roam these streets unencumbered. No mother’s nagging at their heels expecting celebration once again for giving them life. No not these babes. These are motherless children in a Kingdom of The King’s design. A syrupy and sugary sweet sovereignty.
“It is good to be King.” said the King out loud.
“It is good to be you!” a chorus of children responded in unison.
“It IS good to be me.” agreed the King as he shut the sash.
“It is Sire!”
“Yes it is!” he nodded.
“Yes we do!” remarked the King.
“It is good to be you!” agreed the chorus of children once again.
“You already said that.” noted the King.
“Yes we did.” agreed the chorus.
“Well, then, no more of that.” commanded The King.
“As you wish Your Excellency.”
“Yes. As I wish.”
“It will be as you command, Your Imminence.”
“Right away Sir!”
“How dare you mock me! Don’t you have any manners?”
“Manners? Sire?” The children queried. “What are manners?”
Flabbergasted, The King said “Manners? Why they’re a guide on how to properly behave in my Kingdom! Hasn’t anyone taught you what is right and what is wrong?”
The children looked at one another bewildered and confused. A few moments of silence were observed. The children scratched their heads and their goats nibbled on the children’s shoes and the children whispered frantically amongst themselves before a chosen child spoke up and said:
“Who would teach us these things you speak of…these manners Your Majesty?”
An exacerbated King shouted “Your Mothers!”
And the motherless children asked in unison: “What is a Mother?”
And the King thought long and hard then spoke these words: “She is the woman who gave you a heart beneath your ribcage and breath within your lungs. She held you closest when you were most vulnerable and she sacrificed herself for your well being.”
And the children tilted their heads and smiled because a mother sounds like such a nice person. The children wished they had mothers of their own.
In that same moment, The King remembered his own mother and how much she loved him so. How she would sing to him. Bathe him. Cuddle him to her breast. And he began to cry. Wax coated tears fell from his eyes and formed a blue pool at his feet. When it was near to his ankles, he sighed.
And when he recovered his voice he declared (on behalf of everyone in Maraschino Kingdom, of course) that: On this day, this glorious day in May, all mothers should be celebrated! No other chore be done. No work. No play. It will be a day for our mothers!
And he reopened the gates to the kingdom and the mothers poured in and went to the feet of their children (each recognized her own children all at once) and the mothers’ sobbed for their children had grown without them. They checked for ten fingers and ten toes, skinned knees and elbows. Each child was without injury but much needed to be learned. And the mothers and their children looked at one another and smiled and the children let go of their goats’ leashes and took their mother’s hand instead. And they walked up the glittery walkways away from the King, down his green streets and through the gilded gates and off in to a sunset, hand in hand on this the first Mother’s Day in Maraschino Kingdom.