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Sons Of The Flaming Throne – Ch. 4 | KT OLLA

FLEEING Jerusalem wasn’t a sudden thing for Absalom. The young man seemed to have got it mapped from early start.

It was to be his exit method if his schemes did fall through. And yes, they did. So here he was, escaped already.

And safe.

The Third Prince had reached Geshur in the North by the fifth night. And his maternal grandfather, the king of the city, was there to shelter him.

It did indeed seem the Prince had got everything within the grasp of his hand. But things were actually different.

 That night that the Third One arrived in the city of Geshur, he was welcomed with a sumptuous feast.

But that night, Absalom lost all taste in life. He looked at the banquet and remembered the last meal his brother took.

He lost appetite right there. Yet he must eat the meal served in his honour; and so he forced himself.

 But everything turned tasteless for the young prince. And he felt empty and vain.

Indeed, Absalom knew he was welcome here. He knew he wouldn’t be on the run anymore. Or chase after another revenge.

Yet it was for these same reasons that the boy felt purposeless. It was the same feat that was killing him now.

The prince slept that night, but his sleep was heavy as lead.

He had all sort of dreams. He relived the murder scene in repetitive images.

And then as days and weeks rolled into a few months, and a few months into a couple of years, nothing was changing for Absalom still.

It was as his first night in Geshur even now. With the same slice of tastelessness, and emptiness.

Yes, taking revenge on Amnon had been the Third One’s biggest goal since the First Prince raped his sister.

But the young man didn’t expect to have the task finished in just two years.

The revenge came faster than he thought. And easier, too.

Now he slept and woke in his grandfather’s palace, with a camel load of spare time and nothing to make out it.

There was food in excess. There was wine and everything sumptuous.

Yes, there was everything. But Absalom’s life was tasteless still.

He’d become more sunken and shrunken; more withdrawn like a shadow of himself.

It looked as though the ghost of his brother had possessed him when anyone sighted him. He was simply better off being the grumpy kid he was before everything.

So, each year passed over the other, till it was the third year of doing nothing.

Now the man couldn’t bear his meaninglessness anymore. He cried at the height of everything.

‘The dead is happier!’ he groaned. ‘The dead is happier than the living dead!’

But there was no man to hear his cry.

The young man had no one in Geshur.

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