Saturday, May 3, 2025

The King

 

He was King of all he surveyed.

The morning sun felt good on his smooth skin. It was a good sun, and it was his.

The bark of the tree was rough, but solid. It was his tree, and it was good.

He feared nothing, not even the bird that had bitten off his tail. He’d cursed it, and it would die. All things died…if he wanted them to.

He glared at the human who took his photo, wondering “what kind of lizard” he was. Lizard? He was the King.

He might curse her, too. If he felt like it.




 

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