The soldiers strained as they heaved the doors open in front of him. He hated them, he hated this, he hated it all. The room was adorned with gold, decked out in silver, and there were statues guarding the hall. The dirt that fell from his form dirtied up the pure white marble floors, his grime destroying the otherwise majestic image of a throne room. He could see him, sitting up on his throne, he could watch the king who was so feared by him. The soldiers shoved him forward and the doors closed with a great noise behind him. In mockery he spitefully went up to the throne and looked up at his king, but could not hold his gaze for long. Knowing he would surely die unless he showed respect, unless he proved himself worthy to live, he knelt before the king's throne.
As he felt the pain of kneeling on cold, hard stone, it struck him. Suddenly he saw that he was wrong. Always completely and totally wrong, and he knew it. Completely humbled, his whole body began to convulse, and trembles ran continuously down his spine. Tears streamed down his face which he allowed to flow openly and unashamedly. Honesty came upon him and he saw his death plainly in front of him; leering at his pitiful and terrible life. He could no longer see, he only knew that the man in front of him was about to order his death.
Then he felt a hand upon his shoulder, he felt himself being lifted up. The king had stepped down from the dais and now stood, helping him to his feet. The king led him silently to one side, while the criminal (for now he himself accepted this title as the truth) blindly stumbled along. He could only focus on the king, the one thing he could hold on to, the one and only hope he had.
Cool and refreshing was his next thought as he realized that the king was washing his face with water. He felt unable to move and in fact he didn't want to. He stood, reveling in the comfort the water gave him. It was only when the king gently loosened his grip that the prisoner realized that he had been clutching to the king, desperately clinging to his garments. The king washed his hands as well.
Next the king clothed him, removing his tattered rags and replacing them with clean white robes. And last, and most glorious of all to the criminal was the food. The king lead him back to the dais and fed him with bread from his own hands, for again the criminal was found clinging to the king's garments. He was fed, and then the king gave him to drink from his very own cup, and all of his thirst was quenched.
So relieved was he that tears streamed down his face for a second time; but these were tears of joy and not of sorrow. The king did not scold him nor stop him nor send him away. No indeed he welcomed him, he embraced him and he held him close unto his breast. The prisoner clung to his king, and he loved his king, now again he feared him. But no longer did he fear his wrath, but his absence seemed a horror too terrible to imagine. And so he treasured the words his king now whispered into his ear.
"Do not fear, but rejoice, for I will never leave you or forsake you."
more fiction, of sorts; a simple parallel.
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