(RULES: Write a fictional diary entry for a historical character...in ten minutes or less.)
Uncle enrages me. He is so stupid. I hate stupidity, more than anything.
Today, as we were brushing Sampson and saddling him for my ride, we heard two boys quarreling in the stableyard. Uncle said it was none of our affair, but I overrode him on that at least.
"You always say to be a good king, I must have an unquenchable love for my people and concern for their troubles," I said.
That settled it and we went out. The boys were fairly stupid themselves, truth be told--as it must be, here at least, though Uncle would try to have diplomacy come before honesty at every turn. But the boys were fools. They had got themselves all abroil in a fight over who should get to ride a certain horse--a horse that, it was soon established, belonged to the elder of the two.
Now, is it not perfectly clear that if a boy owns a horse, he should be the one to ride it? I told them so very plainly, and the matter should have been settled without further trouble, but for the interference of my father's half-wit, conciliatory, stupid brother.
"They ought to share the horse," he said.
Share! I thought I would lose my dinner.
"Have you no compassion?" he asked. "The younger boy has no horse, and his foot is lame."
"Precisely," I answered. "He has no horse. The other boy has. If God has seen fit to bless their fortunes so, we should not meddle in His providence."
Uncle took me aside. "George," he said, "If you are ever to be a good king, you must learn mercy."
"Uncle," I said, "If you are ever to be a good advisor, you must learn something. Anything. The whole world of knowledge is open to you. You should look into it sometime."
And so I am confined to my room for the rest of the day. That is well enough for me. I would rather be alone.