Paintings of the West

In our last session, the prompt was to generate a book title and for you to write about it. The title I generated was “Paintings of the West,” and this is what I came up with, Hope you enjoy!

I wander through the sprawling hallways of my father’s castle and am entranced by the paintings lining the walls. My father has a long lineage dating back thousands of years and every grandfather, father and son who had ever had the duty of the Western throne stares down upon me. Their gazes are steely, eternally frowning and judging me as I walk though the halls, they are my past, and I their future. The faces all blur into a mess of colours, nothing more than vain attempts to preserve their legacy, a long line of imitators and frauds descended from Akron, naming every new suckling babe after him, as if that changed the greed in their hearts or the disaster they had brought the kingdom. Men of my family, they are all the same. Wine drinkers, and deer hunters. Gluttons and unlawful fornicators. They are the reason the Western kingdom yearns for the golden age of Akron, the real Akron while the pretenders all defile his name, claiming to finally be Akron reincarnate. The Lord’s servant come to bring the rains back. And every time the fools listen. The masses swarm to the coronation and pray that maybe for once, this King will be worthy of Akron’s name. Seventy six times their hopes have been crushed, and they return to their fields, praying the next King will be the one. Tomorrow, my brother will become King. He is Akron the Seventy seventh. King of the Western Kingdom and Lord of the West. Long may he reign.

There are no paintings of women, we do not have that honour. We are inferior to the male sex, and therefore unworthy of having our image preserved. That’s what my father always told me, and I had believed him. How could my father, Akron the Seventy Sixth, the one who was prophesied, be a liar? He protected me from the cruel peasants outside, and always gave me food to eat even in our Kingdom’s famine; my father was a provider and a righteous King. I still look back at that naive girl and wince, no wonder she has no painting on the walls. The walls which show every failed king and ruler. They are the paintings of the West.


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