The Lord

He sat at his desk looking out the bay window. The wrought iron framed panes shirking rain and
imprisoning him. He sat in the plush red leather and velvet chair that four other men before him sat in.
He was a man of high society. He was a lord. A heavy oak desk was the focal point of the room. From
that desk the lives of countless people were decided. He made and broke men. He had created careers
for several men. Opened doors and opportunities for several people who then went on to do better
things. They had traveled the world, had families and seemed to have carefree existences. But there he
sat. At the same oak desk, in the same mahogany paneled office. Twenty five foot tall book shelves
looked down at him it seemed with pity. He was a man of high position but nothing more. Stuck in
protocol. He had a planned life. His marriage, children, finances, vacations all planned. He was going
nowhere in his life.

So there he sat looking out the bay window. Watching the rain cascade down in oppression. Each
droplet weakening his spirits. He looked at the letter opener on his desk…no…too easy. As was the
revolver in the drawer. Finally he got up from his desk and walked over to the bay window and sobbed.
Even his death had to be planned. He lorded over many people but could not be the lord of his own life.
He jumped. His limp body was found minutes later three stories down with glass shards making his face
barely recognizable. The rain washed away the blood and his shame. He was finally free. He was in
control. The lord is his own master.