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The King and His Ravioli
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Two o’ clock in the morning.
He sipped his tea as he closed his book. He had no idea it was this late already, perhaps it was the book that had enticed him to stay up, or maybe time just went by so quickly.
As he stood up, he noticed someone peering through the door. Normally, he’d have his sword ready to pierce whoever that person behind the door might be, but this one was different. It was a little boy somewhere around the age of 4, 5 or maybe even 6 looking at him with those sleepy eyes.
He smiled, “Now Selim, why are you still awake?”
The boy pouted, “I couldn’t sleep.” He said simply.
Ah, fatherhood. He put his book on his study table and headed with his son to the kitchen, hand in hand.
“Father…” the boy said quietly as he watched his father scurry about with making him milk… if that’s what the concoction he is making, “I’m hungry.” He said a little embarrassed.
The man looked at his son. He must’ve looked a bit funny with his expression on his face, not to forget that he does have an eye patch, but he was certain that he had no idea on how to solve this problem. “Er, what would you like?”
“Mother has some left over ravioli.” He said politely.
Oh how tempting it was to call someone to cook for him, but for some reason, he just threw a plate of ravioli, without the plate of course, into a frying pan and started heating it up.
This might be the oddest sight, he thought to himself.
He looked at his son who was smiling ever so happily at him, it made his heart skip.
Ack, I need sleep, he thought smugly to himself as he poured the ravioli on another clean plate and put it in front of his son.
“Thank you!” His son was grinning. No, not like an idiot as he would’ve called most of his subordinates (useless would also be a nice term for them), he was grinning as if he had…well… as if he had found something he was looking for.
“It’s hot Selim.” He said, nearly forgetting to warn him. It was a good thing he hadn’t forgotten, he thought to himself, or else there’d be a crying boy in his kitchen.
Him being in the kitchen was already wrong in so many levels, too.
After a few minutes of him watching his son eat, he felt hungry. What on earth was wrong with him tonight?
“What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing his son stopped eating and was just staring at the plate. Why he was so accommodating tonight, he had no clue whatsoever.
“I’m full.” Selim said, slightly yawning. Ah yes, manners, he said proudly as he noticed his son trying to stifle his yawn. “May I go to bed now?” He asked with those big beady eyes of his.
If the generals ever see this scene, I am so dead, he told himself, but for some reason, he just smiled and nodded as he watched his son wave good night and ran along back to his room.
He must really think about getting his son a permanent, stay-at-home maid.
He sighed, sitting himself on the table, he found himself eating the ravioli he had heated up. It was a good thing that they were thought to cook, he sighed proudly.
“It’s not that bad.” He told himself as he finished up the plate of ravioli.
The clock chimed, it was 3 in the morning. Only for more hours before he officially starts being Führer again.
Lack of sleep does make you cranky, he thought fondly.
Ah, that’s perfect.
He grinned as he excused himself and headed for the bedroom.
Nothing better than some good, old subordinate tormenting to look forward to in the morning.