The Death of an Extra

Guard Number 47 was having a great day.

The sun was shining when he woke up that morning, his wife was the most beautiful person in the world, and he worked in the palace. He wore the helmet on his head with the pride of a king in his crown, happy to be guarding the chambers of the most important man in the kingdom. Smiling as he took up his post, 47 began to whistle. On his way, he passed some of his friends.

"Good morning, Guard 38," he called out, voice ringing like a lark's through the corridor.

"Good morning, 47. Lovely weather we're having."

"Yes, yes. How are the kids?"

"They grow up so fast, you know."

"Don't I."

Yes, it was shaping up to be a wonderful day. There was no sign of trouble, no sign of anything to spoil his beautiful day of standing outside a door.

"I say," he thought to himself, "I must be one of the luckiest men alive, to be guarding this door."

But his luck was about to run out. For deep in the shadows, behind the nearest tapestry, lay tragedy, waiting like a coiled viper to strike.

"Look at that beautiful flower!" said Guard 47 to himself. "The petals are in perfect proportion. If it's still there this evening, I'm bringing it home to my wife. Oh, my beautiful wife! I love her!"

Suddenly, the tapestry next to him exploded. A hooded man leaped out and thrust him against a wall, shoving a sword to his throat.

"Where is he?" the hooded man demanded.

Guard 47 almost screamed. But just as a good captain goes down with his ship, 47 was going to go bravely, with the valor and courage of the King himself.

"I don't know," Guard 47 said, with absolute conviction. This was it, he'd decided. The single moment that decided the course of his life, and his death. He would not tell this hooded traitor that the most important man in the kingdom was on the other side of that door.

The hooded man stabbed him in the chest and ran.

"No!" cried 47, sliding down the wall in agony. 38 ran up, armor clanking anxiously.

"Guard 47! What happened?"

"There's…a…man…" 47 stated. "Find… the… King…"

And so died Guard Number 47, a man who would stop at nothing to protect his country.

His wife cried buckets at the funeral. No one ever brought her the perfectly proportioned flower from the castle. Eventually she became a gypsy, wandering from kingdom to kingdom exploiting her depressing past in the form of songs. His sons-he had five- all became palace guards in his honor, and one by one were killed by the hooded man, who never seemed to die or stay arrested for more than 42 minutes. His daughter never got over his death. Eventually she jumped off the barn roof and now she and her father live together in a cloud complex in heaven.

Not very many people mourned the death of Guard Number 47. He was not well-known, or well-respected (in fact, he was often considered the village idiot), but he was a good man. And he deserved the little love he got one hundred percent.