“When the daylight returned the King was dead”, the obituary read. As they gathered at the gate with candles, bouquets wailing the length of his days cut short the King slipped out into a Wrangler purchase just recently made. “Tragic, tragic” most wept, though poetically ought be weeped, while some begrudgingly grumbled who’d get it that Jeep.
He knew t’were the only way he’d have a life, theirs’d go on in these modern times as caterers called prepared brunch for new friends who didn’t care who or wherever he’d been, and the widow next door leathery-tanned, smile dazzling walked in.
Eyes sparkling he grinned.
The prompt this week:
“…when the daylight returned the king was dead…”