John Colburn | 15
baby, there’s only so much to go around.
We built a pen for the king’s sons, and fed them what we could. At times their angry cries or pleading looks were too much to bear. We felt ashamed. Honestly, at times we treated them like livestock.
They brought us together in service but also in guilt and resentment. They were difficult babies, telepathic and nasty. As one began to crawl, the others watched. Soon enough, princes crawling everywhere.
Sometimes people passing through town asked about the pen full of children. All those baby boys, growing wild together, can that be healthy? Some people suggested we drown them. How much trouble will a pen full of feral princes bring?
We knew they were right.
We found one in a stable. We found another in a flowerbox. The discovery of princes kept on like that for some time. Our lives took on the quality of a scavenger hunt. One day I saw a prince in the squash patch; at first I mistook his head for a small gourd.
We found the tenth prince at the top of an oak tree, in a crow’s nest. A woodcutter saw his little leg dangling over.
We found the twelfth in an open grave. Before we heaved the dead body down, the priest said, “Look, another baby boy.”
Red-haired and blue-eyed babies, like the king. Birthmarks and other royal aberrations.