Golden

Meed sat on a throne made of gold, wearing fine silks and a crown adorned with meticulously cut and shined gems. He was the king of he richest kingdom for miles around, and his land was awash with greenery and life. The people were happy. They had little need of more, though more was always available. Their kingdom was a center of trade, and merchants and traders from the world over were daily arriving with new goods and trades, or leaving with what they had amassed in their time in the kingdom.

By all accounts, Meed was in a very powerful position, having more power than he could ever know what to do with in his hands. There was not a man in the world who would dare stand against him, else he faced the closing off of trade for his people and family. He was called on frequently to give input on political and economical problems in many lands - some even where he was only passingly familiar with the customs and language.

Yet Meed was not a happy man. Every day he awoke to the same golden walls and possessions. He listened to and spoke of the same markets and trades. People came to him to speak about money and little else. He was known world over as the golden king, and his life reflected that. Everything was gold. Everything was valuable to the point where the value in everything was lost. He could not express in words just how tired he was of the color of gold.

A servant came in just as the sun began to be visible in the eastern window. It was the beginning of the golden hour, when the people could enter the golden castle and speak with the king about any issues they were having in the kingdom. Mostly, it was problems with the foreign merchants attempting to cheat people out of their money, or at least so the people felt. The rules and regulations of the land were quite strict in those regards, however, and nine times out of ten, they had not been broken. In the few cases where they had been, the guards were quick to punish and remove offenders.

Meed allowed the people to enter his throne room and air their grievances. He only half listened to them. He listened just long enough to know what the verdict would be in the end, then tuned out the person's words and waited for their lips to stop moving. He did not wish to hear how many times they would utter the word gold. He had once counted, and during a single hour, he had heard the word nearly a thousand times. It was as if the people in his kingdom had learned the word gold before any other, and speaking it had become as easy as breathing.

He was so sick of gold. If he could melt all of the gold in the kingdom and discard it, he would do it in an instant. He would watch the people despair, and the economy collapse.

At least it would be something different.