Unfinished Business

Unfinished Butterfly July 2016

All I have been up to this week is preparing for, reading about and contemplating the implications of my upcoming and long-awaited surgery.

Our friend the Ruler has been engaged in weightier matters.

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The Ruler of a small but pleasant realm was resting in her chambers when an unexpected knock came at the door. 

Chappie, the Ruler's most trusted advisor, was on holiday and not around to shoo visitors away.

Opening the door herself  the Ruler was saddened to see that it was the Emissary of the Power, the same one who had taken away wheelbarrows full of templates the day before.

Reluctantly, the Ruler let the Emissary in.

"Hello," said the Ruler, initiating the 'Let's Make this Quick' protocol, "the day's light is passing swiftly and we all have many tasks ahead of us. What is it that I can do for you immediately?"

The Emissary from the Power laughed. "Oh, great Ruler," he said, clearly not meaning it, "We will be spending a lot of time together, you and I, so please don't try to rush things." He took a seat. 

"We must address the contents of the templates, said the Emissary. "This is of the utmost importance to my boss of the sixth power. And therefore of utmost importance to you."

"Not really," said the Ruler, correcting her guest. "There's an old saying. It goes like this: You're not the boss of me.

"What I don't get," continued the Ruler, "is why you think you are. Just about every day you or someone fronting for you bangs on my door demanding templates. 

"And I have given you templates. Lots and lots of templates. And yet you want more. 

"I'm trying to figure out what it is you really want, since it cannot be templates. They seem to pass through you like a troll through a turnstile." 

The Ruler was unprepared for the Emissary's answer.

He started to cry.

Blubbering, the once dignified Emissary put his shaved head in his hands, his shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs. 

The Ruler went to fetch a tissue and give the Emissary an opportunity to pull himself together.

He'd straightened up and stopped sobbing by the time she returned, but tears still ran down his cheeks. The Ruler handed the Emissary of the Power a fine silk handkerchief. She was all out of tissue.

"You don't understand," said the Emissary, struggling not to sob and wiping his face, "we've been alone for so long, hiding behind that wall, waiting to see you all again. We were so lonely.

"When the wall came down, our hearts were so full of joy, we brought you our finest templates as an expression of our admiration. We wanted you to like us..." The Emissary started to cry again, real hard this time.

The Ruler figured that was the last time she would see that handkerchief.

"Look," she finally said to the Emissary from the Power, "I'm sorry that it is so hard for you to make friends. But sometimes people don't want to fill in templates. Sometimes they want to do the things they like to do." 

"Their own templates, you mean?" asked the Emissary, brightening just a bit.

"Sure," said the Ruler, recognizing a lost cause. Then she wondered how she was going to get the crybaby Emissary out of her chambers.

An idea came to her. 

*********

To be continued ....

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen