The Quest

In a very small village the boy lived. His Father was stout and important. The boy was frail and disinterested. Until the day, the terrible day, when his father was impaled by a spike of his own making in a ghastly accident which begged the question: why?

They said the boy wasn’t up to the challenge. They said the boy couldn’t do it. They said the boy was too weak, too sensitive, too inexperienced, too unprepared, too immature. Overall, the boy couldn’t do it—live up to his father.

The boy decided to create his own journey, his own quest, to show the villagers that he may not be his father, but he was a human: a human with ideas, with morals, with a code, with the code: to live his life justly and with not a little conviction.
The villages jeered at this seemingly vainglorious spaniel, this cocksure boy. They drove him out of this town—and the next for unknown reasons. When he landed, he was in a place with a different currency, a different tongue, a different creed even!

He strolled up and down the marketplace with a glint in his sea-weary eye (his other one gouged out by a maniacal townsmen).

Nobody noticed him. Nobody cared. He changed his name to Noughbuddy and nobody understood.

The boy threw an apple at the jester. Noughbuddy laughed.

The boy moved seven towns and three counties over. The air was warm and the competition was fierce, too fierce for the boy.

He struggled back over kind days and odious nights, nefarious winds and troublesome whims.

He made it back, but why? Back to where it all began. Back to where he remained.
The chorus sang a sad song. A family gave a warm, but unsure hug. A boy blindingly looked to his window and wondered what could have been.