Score (Part III)

For years I ate the hot crispy noodles from the same stall, every morning, at the same times each week. The kind folk who supplied this sustenance would put chili on chili, sauce and fresh and dried, with pepper ground and split, making food that would raise a hellish sweat. I loved it. The heat in my body and the increased velocity of blood from caffeine (long hard black from the other stall) prepared me for each hard day.

I was on top of my game. Everyone said so. But it wasn't the game that mattered to the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne.

Innocently, I taught, I learnt, I walked around. I was given a Ring of Power, but I never really used it. Still, there was fear. As a wiser and older colleague pointed out, the insanity of ambition sees competition in every minion; those who lack it are often victims of the sudden strike, the knife in the dark.

The Dark Lord said to me once, "Do not dream of building an empire. I will raise to eminence only those who will do my bidding and will not contend against me."

I had not thought of building empires, rising to eminence, or contending against him. Unfortunately, I was soon to realise that I would not always do his bidding either.