Beautiful Tales for the Disenchanted: King Hamster

I’m introducing a storytelling element to my podcast Big Squid called Beautiful Tales for the Disenchanted. It is an idea that I have been working on for a while and was inspired by my love of disparate styles of storytelling. With the help of producer Shaun Allen, we plan on telling stories under this banner in an anthology-styled format that recalls my love of TV shows like The Twilight Zone and the late 80s Vertigo comic Wasteland. There’s a brand new podcast being released this week (June 9th) with a story called “Squeak”. In the meantime I thought you might like to read the first story “King Hamster” and if you’d like to listen to the podcast, you can find it here. Long term readers of this site might remember a version of this from my previous website, but this version takes the original idea and turns it into something new. I hope you enjoy this. I have big plans for Beautiful Tales…but those plans can wait for another day…

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There is a place just for you.

A place that embraces the promise of a warm spring night.

And a reminder to hurry home on a cool autumn evening.

It is a place that exist above and below.

Where the surreal and the sublime dance cheek-to-cheek.

This is a place just for you.

To sit back and enjoy

Beautiful Tales for the Disenchanted.

Tonight’s story is called “King Hamster”.

“God has forsaken us!” declared King Hamster. 

He placed his hand upon his forehead and ran his fingers over the creases forged by years of consternation.  He pulled his robes across his shoulders and noticed for the first time that the fabric had faded from a rich aubergine to a watery lilac.  The King sighed.  He couldn’t even look at his clothes without being totally bummed out.  He looked over at his Minister of Finances, his best friend Jimmy de Weasel and watched as he pulled a lavender scented handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at the corners of his mouth where dry spittle collected like flecks of porridge in an unwashed bowl and then casually let the handkerchief drop to the floor.  A fat rat wobbled over, grabbed the handkerchief and dragged it back to whichever part of the castle it lived in.  The King sighed again.  The kingdom has no money and there’s his Minister discarding handkerchiefs like a 7-year-old forgets the tissue it holds in its hand.  Jimmy had always been a tedious asshat especially when it came to money matters, but there was nobody else around to chat with so what could he do?  The King wondered whereabouts the fat rat lived in the castle.  That’s one rodent he’d be more than happy to hang out with.  At least the fat rat might let him have a little pat. 

“My Lord, whatever do you mean?” said Jimmy. 

The King sighed yet again.  All he did of late was sigh.  In some quarters he was now referred to as the King of Sighs and when he discovered this gossip, it only made him sigh even more.  It was difficult to describe his worries to people without sounding insane.  In fact this line of thinking had begun with an errant thought that popped into his head one night when he found himself in the kitchen sipping on a warm mug of homemade hot chocolate. His wife had kicked him out of bed yet again after his chainsaw snoring had shaken the foundations of the Royal Palace.  Once they had made passionate love in that very bed, three times a day, six days a week with Sundays off for their group yoga sessions.  Now the only passion that stirred their sheets was when the Queen would wake him from a dead sleep with a knife to his throat and the option of moving to the royal lounge or being stabbed to death so she could finally enjoy a peaceful night’s slumber.  Each time the King would choose the royal lounge and sulkily stumble out of the bedroom.  In his darker moments he wondered what his wife would do if he replied, “I’ll take the knife please”.  There was a distinct possibility she wouldn’t hesitate to plunge the knife deep into his heart but on the plus side, he’d finally get to enjoy his own eternal nigh nighs. 

On this particular evening the King couldn’t find any comfort on the royal lounge and instead found himself in the kitchen trapped with his thoughts as the dark of night pushed down around him.  The hot chocolate was super tasty but did little to take his mind off his worries about the kingdom.  The crops no longer flourished.  Repairs to the castle were never followed through.  The Viking raids came and went without any retaliation from the royal army.  His wife hated him.  His children saw him as a buffoon.  King Hamster wondered what he had done to offend God and begged him to explain what he could do better to regain His favour. 

It was at this precise moment that he noticed the hole in his soul, the gap in his heart, the nausea in his stomach. He couldn’t for the life of him feel God’s presence at all.  How long had it been this way?  Had he been so self-involved that he’d failed to hear God’s declaration he was leaving?  Being the King meant that he had many duties, it was easy to lose sight of a little thing here, a bigger thing there.  Yet this wasn’t a small or big thing.  This was something else.  This was God.  The Big Cheese.  That White-Bearded Dude in the Sky.  King Hamster thought about his life, his kingdom, his prospects and with an overwhelming existential dread came to the conclusion that God had indeed buggered off or maybe even worse, had dropped dead.  He said nothing to anyone for days, weeks, months believing his blasphemous and pretty depressing conclusions were better hidden away, deep down inside his gut right next to his ulcer and continuously bubbling reflux.

“Forget what I said Jimmy,” said the King.  “It was just a moment of doubt.  Come, walk with your King.”

They stepped carefully down the crumbling stairs of the palace and made their way outside.   The King stroked his long, red beard and watched in despair as the hair came loose and floated away in the breeze.   Jimmy failed to notice as he was too busy picking a winner from each nostril and casually flicking his winnings into the air.  The King shook his head and thought YUCK in size 18 Helvetica font.  The two men walked in silence toward the front gate where the two portly guards eventually noticed the King and stumbled to a standing position.  The King couldn’t tell if they were drunk or depressed or both.  He waved them off and both guards immediately returned to their original positions looking like discarded, stringless marionettes. 

“My Lord, I know something troubles you,” said Jimmy.  “I can hear it in your raspy breath.  I can see it in your disintegrating posture.  I can smell it on your decaying lips.  What troubles you my liege?  Is the Hamster Kingdom in trouble?”

The King nodded.  He went to speak, stopped himself and instead attempted to open the royal gates.  With considerable effort he loosened the bolts and pushed at the wrought iron, his feet slipping in the dirt as they refused to budge.  The King looked at Jimmy and raised his eyebrows.  It took a moment for Jimmy to understand what the King was getting at but once the penny eventually dropped, he took his side by the King and helped him push open the gates.  Dust blew up and engulfed them as they made a gap that they could just slip through.  The King pushed his way through first and felt his robes catch on the gate.  He sighed as he looked at the ripped hole and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.  Everything was an effort or as his seventeen-year-old daughter would say, “This is bullshit, Dad.”  It was indeed, bullshit.

Jimmy stood alongside the King and together they surveyed the state of the town that lived outside the castle walls.  Most of the buildings were in a state of disrepair.  The fountain barely held itself together, cracks reaching from the bottom all the way to the top, the water long evaporated.  Over to the side, the bakery that once provided the yummiest of smells and the most delicious of treats was abandoned; overrun with weeds and bird shit.  On one of the walls someone had spray painted, “Hamster sux” but spelt Hamster with a double M.

“I don’t know what offends me more,” said the King.  “That they hate me or they don’t know how to spell.”

Jimmy nodded.  In truth he had no idea what the King was talking about.  Didn’t everyone spell “sucks” s-u-x?  They stood in silence as they watched a massive tumbleweed roll past them, carried by the breeze without a care in the world.  Then another one blew past them followed by a third.  Tumbleweeds.  They were everywhere, taunting the King with their easy going approach to life.  If reincarnation was a thing, the King hoped he would return as a tumbleweed.  He’d love nothing more than to hitch a ride with the wind and embrace those invisible zephyrs to somewhere less complicated. 

“Do you remember the good old days?” the King asked as he kicked at the dirt. 

“Do you mean the Stone Age or the Bronze Age, sire?”

“I mean all of them!  Stone, Bronze, Iron, Copper…what magnificent times,” the King said.  “We were progressing so beautifully, winning wars abroad, opening up trading routes with those crazy Viking fellows.  Our taverns were constantly full and expanding.  We were building new homes every day and the land grew and prospered. While other kingdoms took centuries to build themselves up, we were celebrating great achievements week after week.  In those days I truly believed the sky was the limit.”

“I remember those times well,” said Jimmy. 

“Beautiful, glorious days,” continued the King.  “And it felt like God was always here, always looking down upon us, aiding us in our endeavours to grow and expand.  Now it feels like God has disappeared…gone without a trace.”

“Gone?” said Jimmy.  “What do you mean God is gone?”

The King moved his head to from one side to the other, his spine cracking so loudly it sounded like a child setting off a round of fire crackers.  Everything ached.  His back was a mess.  His neck was constantly stiff.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an erection.  And he hated that he had to stretch before he could wipe his bum after dropping a Royal poo.  What a disaster.  No wonder the Queen didn’t want to sleep with him anymore.  He didn’t want to have sex with himself, why would anyone else?

“It makes no sense to me Jimmy but there is an absence in the kingdom and an absence in my heart,” said the King.  “I used to feel God in every aspect of life but now there is nothing but an existential void that eats away at my soul like a fat rat chewing on a delicious and overpriced cheese.”

Jimmy nodded with a blank look in his eyes.  He had no idea what the King was talking about so he casually picked up a smooth rock and threw it across the ground.  He watched disappointingly as it plonked in the middle of the street, a small ball of dust rising and dissipating within seconds.  Then Jimmy remembered he used to skip rocks across the royal pond, not along gravel.  He shook his head.  Mother would be so disappointed that he’d grown up to be such a gormless idiot.

“Maybe we did something to anger God,” said Jimmy.

“Or maybe God is dead?”

“Blasphemy!” said Jimmy.

“Well, what would you prefer?” countered the King.  “That God is dead or we did something so wrong, so ugly that the Creator decided to abandon us?”

Jimmy thought for a moment.

“Nah, you’re right.  It’s heaps better if he’s dead.”

They looked back at the castle just in time to see one of the turrets collapse inwards like an under cooked cake.  The townspeople looked up for a moment and then returned to their chores.  Nobody cared.  Nobody had any passion to even gossip.  Even The King couldn’t find it within himself to be angry.  He just felt so tired in general.  He looked at Jimmy who was waiting for him to react.  What could he do?  He gave a royal shrug and they continued walking.

“We are constantly raided by barbarians and thieves,” he said.  “The army are useless and uninspired.  Nobody comes to polish our monuments anymore.”

Jimmy giggled and the King shot him a look.

“That’s not a euphemism, Jimmy.  Get your mind out of the gutter,” the King said before continuing.  “I lay awake at night, haunted by the void, rocked by the sudden realisation that life is meaningless now that we live in a godless world.  Our achievements were for naught.  All those victories on the battlefield were ultimately hollow.”

“Oh my King,” said Jimmy.  “This is some really depressing shit.”

The King nodded.

“I know.  Soon we will be gone and forgotten.  We have nobody to turn to, nobody to help us on our way.  As the hippies in the northern quadrant say:  What a bummer, man.”

“I’m so sorry, my Lord,” said Jimmy the Weasel

“So am I,” replied the King.  “So am I.”

They watched as another tumbleweed blew between them, oblivious to their distress.

Later that afternoon, Harry Morrison threw his arms up in the air.  His lilac shirt contrasted sharply with his beige pants.  He ran his hands over his bald head, down over his face and finished by stroking his long ginger beard.  He looked down at his hands and placed them under the desk so he could wipe away the loose strands of hair.  He returned his attention back to the computer screen and sighed. 

“Fuck me…” said Harry.

His co-worker and best friend James Weasley looked over the partition. 

“What’s wrong?  Has the café sent you the wrong lunch again?”

The café had sent Harry the wrong lunch again but their inability to get his order correct after all these years was an aspect of his life he was now resigned to.  If anything he had come to enjoy the lucky dip aspect of his lunch time order.  No, this was something else.  Harry cursed himself for cursing so loudly that James of all people would want to know what was wrong.  He guessed he had to answer now.  Just replying “Nothing” wasn’t going to cut it.

“Remember when I got super addicted to that Battling Castle game?” said Harry while pointing to the screen.  James stood up from his desk and came around the corner to look at Harry’s computer, a tissue in hand and a rock solid snot clinging to the surface.  Harry stifled a mild gag reflex and instinctively moved to one side.  James read the email while scrunching the tissue and firing it into a bin across the office.  It bounced off the edge and landed on the floor but James didn’t notice.  He was too busy looking down at Harry, shaking his head in disappointment.   

“This the game you ended up spending $1,700 on?” James said.  “Didn’t you delete it from your phone?”

“I did,” said Harry.  “But they keep sending me emails reminding me that the kingdom is in disarray and here are some incentives to come back.  Look, I know it’s a stupid game…”

“That you spent over $1,700 on,” reminded James.

“…right.  Yes.  I know,” said Harry mildly annoyed.  James was constantly bringing up how much money he invested in the game.  A little quip here.  A fleeting comment there.  A drive-by heckle whenever he least expected it.  And every time James brought it to Harry’s attention, he was instantly reminded that this was why he was now sleeping on the fold-out lounge at home. Between his addiction to this game and incessant snoring, his wife Prue had finally snapped.  Harry hoped he would be allowed back in the bedroom soon but deep down in his soul he doubted it.  For starters Harry was certain Prue had been out dating other men.  Who could blame her?  It’s not like Harry was much of a catch these days.  He was constantly passed over for job promotions.  This meant that his income was still essentially the same as it was 13-years ago.  Their house was in urgent need of repairs that cost a small fortune but he also had his children to think about with their school fees and all the different sports they were involved in.  The world just kept getting more and more expensive and he was having trouble keeping afloat.  His wife brought in considerably more money but insisted that their split was an equal 50/50.  This was fine when they were both young go-getters full of potential and hope.  Unfortunately for Harry he never fulfilled his potential while Prue went from strength-to-strength, leaving him to trail in her dust as she grew in financial wealth and physical health. 

Harry couldn’t ask for some financial aid though because as soon as he mentioned money Prue would just point out that magic number of coin he’d spent on this game. He couldn’t even work out how she’d found out about his little addiction.  He’d only told James and they barely looked at one another when he’d visit their home.  Harry still couldn’t work out how it had happened.  It was just $2 here.  Another $5 there.  A little $3.99 there.  It all seemed so small, so unimportant right up until that moment he checked his credit card and saw that hideous deficit staring back at him. 

“Anyway,” said Harry. “I forget all about the game and then I get these emails reminding me that the kingdom is in trouble and it sends me offers to try and get me to start playing again.”

James looked at Harry. 

“The game you spent $1,700 on?”

“Yes, fuck, why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Because as your friend I want to remind you and advise you to no longer put money into that game,” said James.  “I’m trying to look out for you.  You know the shitstorm that Prue will rain down on you if she knows you’re back playing that game.”

Harry sighed.

“I know, I know.  But I spent a lot of time in that world…” said Harry trailing off, uncertain where to go next.  What was there to say?  How could he confess that at least in the world of King Hamster he had agency.  He was important.  He was helping an empire rise to be a major player in a world-wide league and he did it very quickly too.  The game gave him that hit he wasn’t receiving in the real world and Harry hated being away from his kingdom for any length of time.  In fact he’d spent so many work hours sitting in the toilet cubicle building up the kingdom that his boss had taken him aside to have a quiet word with him.  Harry was so mortified at the truth of the situation he panicked and declared that he was suffering from Crohn’s Disease.  It was the quickest thinking Harry had pulled off in years but while it helped him avoid any trouble, it created a new issue when it turned out his boss’ brother did actually suffer from Crohn’s.  Now Harry had to accept and endure all the Crohn’s related emails his boss continuously sent thinking he was helping out.  Thank goodness his wife didn’t know about any of this.   Harry would be in even more trouble and he couldn’t cope with any more emasculation in his life.

“Maaaaaate,” said James.  Harry had no idea how long he’d been silently staring at the screen.  “It’s a fucking game.”

Harry nodded. He remained silent for a moment and breathed in the fragrance that James was wearing.  Harry had no idea what it was called but it tickled his nose and it took all of his strength to avoid sneezing.  It was definitely cheap and abrasive, not unlike James.

“Ok, ok, I’m deleting the email…and blocking them as well.”

“I think it’s for the best,” said James as he sat back down on his side of the partition.  Neither man spoke for the rest of the day or even looked beyond their screens.  When it came to the end of the shift, Harry said goodnight and left James at his desk still seemingly deep in his work.  He looked at his friend and wondered why he would want to spend one extra second at work that could have been spent anywhere else.

That night Harry pretended to be asleep when his wife returned home late from another ball-busting day at the office.  He never complained because the one time he brought it up, Prue had slammed her drink on the table and declared someone has to bring in some decent money into this household.  She tiptoed through his makeshift bedroom, went to the bathroom and then went to bed.  A few hours later Harry found himself taking a brown syrupy piss and looked at Prue’s dress discarded on the bathroom tiles.  He picked up the dress to place it in the wash basket and the fragrance around the collar tickled his nose so violently this time he couldn’t stifle his need to sneeze.  He recognised the scent but felt so defeated he refused to acknowledge in his conscious mind where he recognised that particularly abrasive after shave. 

Harry returned to the lounge room and looked out at the street.  It was dark and cold.  The street lights illuminated the trees swaying in the night breeze.  He looked to the stars and wondered why this was happening to him.  What had he done wrong?  Why was his life so challenging but also unimportant?  He just wanted to be in love with his wife, raise his children in a caring manner, be successful enough at work and be happy with his lot in life.  Was that too much to ask?  Had God forsaken him the same way he had forsaken the Hamster Kingdom?  Harry wondered what the King thought down there.  He wished he could let them know that it wasn’t that he no longer loved them, he just couldn’t afford to stay in touch. 

Harry laughed at his stupidity.  He was overthinking a dumb game that wasn’t alive in any way.  And then Harry wondered if he was just a small part of someone’s video game too.  Is that what was happening?  Was he just an avatar for a lonely arsehole desperately attempting to find their place in their universe?  Was God taking a shit in a cubicle somewhere while making serious life decisions for Harry? He thought about all the stress he had endured in recent years and then decided if his God was indeed making him suffer for his entertainment then God could go fuck himself.  At the very least, he hoped his God was racking up a crazy credit card bill while playing him.

Harry sighed and returned to his bed on the fold out lounge, pulling the sheets up over his shoulders to give him some protection from the lonely world.  If he’d stayed at the window just a little longer, he would have seen the tumbleweeds bouncing down his street, carried away by the gentlest of breezes.

Copyright Justin Hamilton 2022