MarcThomson
The prince's methods were questionable, but his goals were truly noble. No one in his kingdom stole or murdered, nor did any children play or any dogs bark. He had achieved peace, at last, but at a cost.
The heat beat down on his face mercilessly. Sweat flowed like a river down his face, slowly dripping onto his chest and neck. He was alone in the heat, walking through a desolate wasteland where there was once life.
Sometimes he felt as if the world had an unending desire to prevent his success. To capture him, to cage him, to keep him from all his greatest wants. But such a roof could not hold his spirit.
He didn't ask for much in his life. A bed, a house, food to eat, water to drink, and the occasional cigar would do just fine for him. He convinced himself he was content with simplicity. But beneath his external feelings was a deep passionate desire to drink deeper, to reach higher, to live greater.
He glanced downward at the sharp peaks beneath him
"I can't go back now," he muttered in the frigid air. "I have to go higher."
The air stung his face as his hands clung to the sides of the cliff. His pack weighed down his shoulders, pulling him toward the abyss.