His name was Piyabutr Thong-di.

Piyabutr meaning;{ father's son}

and

Thong-di meaning; {good gold}

He was born on the very same night as Kanya.

Every second, minute, and hour was tantamount.

The only difference was when Piyabutr was born the heavens mourned and the earth vomited..they repelled him. Every neonate that is born on the earths ground, is like a magnet. The earth's sensational gravitational pull creates that, but for Piyabutr it just wasn't. There was no gravity nor pull, it was just him and dull, full, deluge.

His face was born cold, and distant. His lips light purple with a tint of blue. His eyes gloomy and black fierce like a serpent. His green chiseled birthmark on his left butt cheek. His sharp tilted eyebrows that completed his physiognomy. And, his bald head that was the only thing that shined, the only thing that seemed wondrous. And, finally Piyabutr was complete, the 3rd son of King Decha Thong-di, the most powerful man in Siam.

His แม่/ Mæ̀/Mother - Busarakham that was sitting on the glass floor, washed over the blood that soused Piyabutr, with yellow and white powder illuminating his now and forever status of royalty, he was adorned and stuffed into a Khrui (a lighter outer garment worn as a gown or robe in certain ceremonial settings.), before he could even be embraced by Mæ̀, ever the less learn a kiss from her. A khrui that was polished deliciously with fine sun gold, and a lemon hat that sent hello's to the sun itself, was what he wore the milliseconds he was pushed out of the solitude he endured for 9 months.

He was a doll.

A doll worth more than his own life.

Then there was a thunderous sound that approached the door of that newborn, it sent rashes and cold sweats to the maids that were rare..but around. The king stepped foot into the yellowed triangular room where Piyabutr laid, with pointed pelf shoes that slid across the glass floor and took one look at the fully furnished "thing" and ordained him to be called Piyabutr, father's son. If there was a reason behind "the thing" being called "Piyabutr", it would take years to explain, for it would make you sick.

For in that moment when the King looked into the eyes of Piyabutr, he understood why the heavens and earths bellowed that night, for they performed the same anthem for him every year, and every year the same anthem. King Decha bowed towards the newborn, applauding his presence alone, his fingers that were dirtied yellowed from top to bottom with gold, touched Piyabutr features that were archetypal, he sanctified them. He savored them with heavy worship, kissed them like a crown. Hungrily he took Piyabutr out from between Busarakham legs and nestled his head between Busarakham like a child, holding Piyabutr in his arms, baptizing with Busarakham's blood, drinking like a feast and feeding Piyabutr with Busarakham's wine and bread. The scene made the maids intolerable and too sick to watch on forth, as the minutes increased of insanity the floor was flowered beautifully with vomits and bodies of maids. Decha then rose up like a corpse with blood raining down his bod and effortlessly, carelessly, hopelessly swung Piyabutr into the thick air that choked their throats. And, in that peaceful significance there was just two humanly bodies swimming into the atmosphere of planet earth that defy them in a yellowed triangular room that was ravishing in cranberry sauce.

Busarakham noting the scene that arose in front of her and her bloodstained legs confused the mother. She has never seen the world rotate so slow in her entire life, the slow imagery of the palace maids dropping like flies with fresh vomit and foam around their mouths and Decha smiling so soft like he has never before. Busarakham asked, " what is it?", no one answered so Decha did..."it's god".

Busarakham shunned by the response and the dreaded reality that hit her just laughed, she just laughed. There was no emotion in her laugh, because there was nothing that was humorous, she was simply just shunned and silenced. Busarakham was overwhelmed by her own dry laughter and looked for her maids to lay her down, but they were all dead. She just wanted to close her eyes and ears and so she did both and just laid there. Busarakham was capricious, she could vividly remember the second she was merry gifting Piyabutr to the world, and then there was Decha, it all modified.

She no longer wanted to gift Piyabutr to the world, she no longer wanted him at all.

Decha with heavy hands guided his new born son to the balcony that was flavored in gold, Decha wanted to lick the entrance. He lifted the new prince to the unpainted sky, he wanted to anger the heavens and the earth, he wanted the solar system to rip itself apart and commit suicide. He wanted the ocean to bleed dry, and wanted satan himself to ask for his forgiveness as he thought of himself as god.

He wanted Piyabutr to see the world that darkened and shed pines of flood because of his arrival, because of his throne. Decha wanted Piyabutr to anger, he wanted him to be "father's son". So he rose him higher, higher, and higher, closer, closer, and closer to the cosmos....

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And jumped to the yellow brick road with Piyabutr in his arms, they colored the floor, like Decha wished he could to the sky. And like that the rain stopped.