The Man Who Lived

Once upon a time not too far away there was a man who ruled a country. He was named Freyr Abelon but he wanted the people to call him The Lord which won’t be much of a lie because Freyr meant Lord in Old Norse. He was meant to be a leader since his birth. He excelled in every field that he was into. He showed impeccable talent and intelligence since his childhood but one thing that was strange about him was that he didn’t like to be told what to do.

Being a powerful politician’s son, there was not many rules that he followed. He grew watching his father, learned how some of his Father’s ignorance and fear had cost him his life. He didn’t want to do the same mistakes, he found the socialist in himself and he knew that the only way to impose socialism was for him to take the authority himself and defy any authority that was imposed on him.

Even Freyr’s childhood showed what he would become in the future. When he was as the same age of Martha, he was expelled from the school for a lot of petty bad things such as bullying and disobeying the authorities. Despite events like that, he grew up to be a fine scholar well versed in politics and law. After a few years of struggle and since he had the necessary influence and certain political drama, he was elected the leader of a political party and that gave him the reach that he needed to the people of the country to believe in him. He wanted to achieve greatness in life and that was his only goal.

The people started trusting him and soon by their power he became their political leader. He had a large army under his command which was his only and biggest strength. He took every opportunity to start a war against a neighboring country and expand his territory. His empire grew bigger day by day and with each passing moment but he was also aging at the same rate. He grew from a favored leader to a man that every citizen hated. They were afraid to even speak of his name in the public.

As always, there were a few daring ones who lost their heads trying to talk against the Lord. He started believing that his country can only be saved if there is a central power of authority that was not only rigid but also brutal. He hanged the peasants and farmers couldn’t pay the levied taxes. He put the people in jail for life sentences for petty theft. He treated his citizens like slaves and his slaves like animals.

“I’m getting old Commander, the wine is getting tasteless and I couldn’t chew my chicken,” said Lord Abelon.

“No my lord, I think you look just fine,” said Claus Gunnar, the Commander in chief of the army.

“You can be honest with me Claus, there’s no one here and I like your head so much that I couldn’t see it apart from your body,” joked the Lord.

Claus showed a hint of a smile and spoke, “I’m speaking only the truth my lord. You can ask any girl who are waiting outside who would say the same.”

“Those women are meant for that Claus, they’d call a donkey a tiger if you pay them,” said the Lord with a huge laugh tapping his big belly that was full of wine and fruits. “But truth be told, I’m worried that I’d be forgotten Commander, after everything that I did, people will just see me as a dictator for what I did. I also heard the whispers that there is some conspiracy going on to see me dead. All I wanted to see was a country with no crime, for that I had to all the crime, can you see the irony?”

“Yes my lord,” said the Commander looking away for a second.

“I don’t want to die, I want to be immortal,” said the Lord.

“But that’s not humanly possible,” said the Commander raising his eyebrows.

“I want the best painter, the best writer and the best sculptor in the country by sun down, make the arrangements,” commanded the Lord.

“May I ask why my lord?” asked the Commander Claus.

“To make me immortal,” said the Lord Abelon and tilted his head to the left.

Before it was sun down and the best painter, the writer and the sculptor was brought before the Lord. The painter was asked to make a portrait of the Lord as accurate as possible not missing even the slightest detail which specified of making his pointy ears visible amidst his dense blonde hair which would be hosted in every street of the capital city. The writer was called upon to write a biography of the Lord highlighting his war success stories, his conquers, his childhood, his glory which would be distributed along with the daily newsletter. The writer was asked to finish the biography within two days. The sculptor was asked to sculpt the figure of the lord in the most expensive bronze to perfection which would be erected in the center of the city within the week.

A week later the lord opened his eyes to the sound of gunshots, screams and shouts of people outside the window of his chambers. He wondered what could have happened within the night.

“Commander!” he called coming out of his bed. “Commander Claus? Where are you?” he shouted in a louder voice but there was no one that came to his call. The lord came out of his chambers to reach the stairs to see a huge number of people running towards him carrying knives, wooden torches. The lord who got his nerves locked ran to his room and closed the doors behind him. He didn’t expect such a revolt from the people just in one night.

The lord’s face grew red with fear and sweat. He knew he was going to die and that was the last few moments of his life. The doors were burst open by the people who came in big numbers and the lord was in utter shock when he saw his Commander Claus among them. Even before he can realize what he was into, he was knifed by a peasant in his right chest. He was out of breath and he no longer could see. His vision grew bright as he could not bear to stand any further. The lord fell down to his knees and on his back, to the ground.

The whole building was demolished, his portraits were destroyed, his sculptures were wrecked, and his biographies were burnt. The people went on days to erase even the slightest remains of the man whom they wanted the world to forget and whom was considered close to the devil himself. And here I am, telling you the story after two hundred years of his death.

“Who told you the story Grandma?” asked little Stuart who was almost asleep in his warm bed.

“I was told this story by my grandmother when I was six, which is about your age little man,” said Grandma Mercy.

“You said the people wanted him to die forever so they burned everything, but doesn’t he still live in our memories?” said little Martha with her eyes wide open.

“Yes my dear, sometimes such men must remain immortal to remind us to be humane,” said Grandma.