Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter 3 written by Novelist, Daton L. Fluker


The Long Winter

Written by Author

Daton L Fluker

Flemish Translation done by

Kenyo Wells

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Fearful of his own fate, our juvenile Lord is unaware of the consequences for his kingdom’s future. The events that have taken place in the last few years could botch anyone’s thoughts except for a Lord.

Anything a Lord does is supposed to be done for the gracious hands of Trilyonois. Trilyonois is the name of their Creator, and like our Creator Trilyonois is the only creator, however, for a few mystifications.

“Ignorance to the touch… Light and pain with a darken soul want hurt so much. As I wish that this was love. I would fall under the enemies’ blades and die of Trilyonois’s touch. Before I surrender, I shall fall with a million cuts.”

A prayer soldiers utter before they walk onto any battlefield. They’ll give their lives.

Like in Trilyonois Kingdom–similar to the Kingdom of Heaven–a person will be at peace. Wars subsist for him and her. He or she will be with loving friends and family members for the rest of their eternal lives. If he or she cowers away from any battle for their spirit, they’ll have to serve Lord Spolylosys in the Black Kingdom doing continuous battles with other Dark Lords.

Everyone has to become a soldier. They must kill at least one hundred men before he or she dies to reach the Kingdom of Trilyonois. Women who decide to become mothers will only follow the path which her husband precedes. Her husband must kill 100 men for her, and 100 men for every child they produce.

No matter how you prune the edges, there will still be wars after death. A warrior must do battle in Lord Spolylosys’s black kingdom, or serve his or her Lord by amassing large body counts on Minaera.

Town Hall is an empty unfurnished room except for one person sitting alone staring into the darkness. Lord Matchbox doesn’t convey to any particular moments. Conversely, he gleams into a speculation of what happened during the blizzard. The royal families resting place is in one of the far corners of the room. The covers are rosy-red made of the finest silks and satins.

The old Lord and Lord Matchbox’s mother were forced to sleep with the commoners. Everyone in Town Hall–during the blizzard–witness madness in the front room, which could cause anyone to ratter into insaneness.

The doors are closed and the indifferent temperatures char icicles through the king’s ice bitten veins. The covers are filthy with the dirty immoral acts of his father.

Lord Matchbox shivers, not because of the coldness, he shivers from the lunacy he saw in its walls. The void invites him to a lanky slumber. He topples down into his chair avoiding from sleeping over there. He closes his eyes.


Clear buoyant hours-of-darkness sooth the broken-hearts of the Camelot People. They move toward a shooting star falling in the east. This part of Minaera has not revolved in the sun’s direction yet.

A light far off on the other side of the planet guides the travelers through this treacherous darkness. Their destination point is about 500,000 miles away.

The crowds carry their injured family members and soldiers. They held defense against an increasing opponent who follows them throughout a monotonous pass in a nearby valley.

A broke-off arrow sticks out of an Archer’s eye socket. It plunges through the eye socket reaching from out of the back of his head. He didn’t want anyone to pull it out; somebody broke it off at its heel. The archer coughs up blood begging his brother, who helps carry him.


“I can’t take this anymore. Trilyonois will accept me in his kingdom if you take my life brother. This is the worst pain I can ever feel. I need you to kill me. I can’t do this by myself.”

His voice weakens. Warm blood splatters out every time he speaks. His wife carries him from his other side with their baby son sacked across her back. His brother replies,


“You can’t ask me to do this relentless deed. Please fight it brother. It shall get better.”

The archer throws up his guts trying to say what his wife is now yelling at his brother.


“He is your brother! Don’t be a coward! Kill him now! He shouldn’t suffer like this!”

They break formation. The Camelot citizens walk forward not stopping to help except for one horse trotting out from behind the formation. The archer sits down while his brother and wife linger over him. His baby son cries. Many babies cry from out of the multitude of people moving toward the checkpoint.

Prince Matchbox witnesses the whole thing. He is the man on the horse. The respiration from his horse changes to a smoky-bleached-gray. Reaching forward, he unbuckles the sword from his belt handing it to them.


“Take my sword! Minaera is our planet, and Trilyonois will accept this. (yelling) Take my sword! It’s a sad day for all of us, but our army has won the battle.”

He directs his attention to the archer.


“You’ll make it to the city of light brother. I promise you sir; you haven’t lost your life in vein.”

Tears peal from the Archer’s brother’s eyes as he walks over to the prince retrieving the prince’s weapon.

The Archer lies on the ground bracing his head in his wife’s lap. Pulling his hand behind her, she allows him to touch his son for the last time.


“I love you. I always have, since we were children. Touch him. Touch your son. There is so much more we need to do together. We had such a good time all these years. Please, I can’t see you suffer anymore.”

She screams at his brother.


“What are you waiting for? Do it now!”

His brother’s face changes to a psychopathic impression. Adrenaline races through his stomach. Fear butterflies throughout his conked out body. He raises the sword. Water rolls down his face as he stares into the last scriptures of his brothers living eyes.

The handle of the sword is cold, and his fingers are frozen. He screams,



He falls to the ground stabbing the prince’s sword through his brother’s chest.

What Should Be Done About this Attack?

Duke Johnstown, Duke Flasksen, Duke Belgran, Duke Lebelton, Duke Norchin, and Lord Matchbox the First, Prince Matchbox’s father pose around the table inside Town Hall. They discuss the surprise attack on the villagers.

It’s dark inside. Succinct moonlight bores into Town Hall’s open windows.

When the Camelot population made it to the checkpoint, nothing was standing except for Town Hall. They rebuild from the only resources and tools they have.

The enlisted men take their weapons digging out holes to use the dirt to construct mud cottages. Even the archers use the heads of their arrows to pick into the pit of the soil.

A younger version of the Mayor walks around with his magnificent loud voice. He screams at the soldiers,


“Get those lumbers moving over there in stacks… Dig faster. The quicker we move, the faster we can get some sleep and defend against the appending army.”

His voice is loud enough that the people in Town Hall can clearly hear everything he is saying. Lord Matchbox the first orders one of the servants.


“Close that window. My head throbs because of the sound of his voice.”

Prince Matchbox sits at the table doing this year’s tax policies. The taxes have to be lowered to one percent. There’s no gold flowing through the city. The civilians are not paying their taxes on time.

If Prince Matchbox knew what was going to take place in the next few months then he would tear those papers up right now.

The Lord discusses the current issues with the Dukes.


“The people need a new source of encouragement. We should send our army to defend the attacking force in the valley. What does my staff suggest?”

Lord Matchbox the First sits back and listens to their dispute. He is an old man, and he and his wife are deeply ill. His decision-making is clouded by his ailment. Tucked under the royal bed sheets, the queen lies in the corner of the room.


“Sir, if you don’t mind me insisting, this would be a terrible mistake. We don’t have that much food, and we need the rest of our resources for the long winter. If we portion this with the army, we shall-surly starve to death.”


“He is right my Lord. What’ll we do if we run out of sustenance?”


“Are you all mad? What’ll happen if 3,000 enemy archers come from out of the woods? We already lost a lot of civilians to this minor attack. Can’t you see the Lord is right to defend our people?”


“Excluding the circumstances, what will we eat? I love war just like everyone else, but what if we run out of things to consume? What is that we should feast on? We will surely starve if we go on with this wreak vengeance battle. Can’t we just consider that we lost and leave it at that?”


“How I see this, is that, Lord Matchbox is right. Furthermore, the argument about not having enough sustenance to feast on is merely something to be careful with. Equally important, if we don’t give the army sufficient food then they can’t have a successful assault. No matter how we go about this, it’s still a decision only Lord Matchbox can decide.”



“This is lunacy! No matter what decision is made, we’ll be killing those who are in misfortune! It’s a poison to the enthusiasm that our feathered nation has to occur.”


“It’s true Lord Matchbox. Please lead your homeland. Whatever you decide, we’ll standby the verdict one hundred percent.”

Lord Matchbox the 1st leans toward the table.


“I have decided.” (Coughing)


“Split half of the resources with our army and send them to battle. We can rebuild another army if we make it to another sunrise.”

The Dukes stand and shout,


“All hail Lord Matchbox! We’ll defend our honor in his name and the borders of Camelot!”


“Please sit down men. We’ll eat before we give the word to the army.”

He turns and stares at Prince Matchbox.


“My son, please go outside and make a progress report. Once you’re finished, come back and eat with us. We’ll study everything later.”

Prince Matchbox stands up and slams his paperwork on the table and replies in a mocking tone.


“Yes my Lord!”

Everyone laughs and chats. The noise drowns out through the walls.

He opens the door and walks outside.

Outside Town Hall

The people who are in good condition assemble new sleeping quarters for the village. The children help pack mud and melted ice.

The architects build a cottage, and the village chiefs create a place where they can cook food.

The individuals responsible for melting the ice use tinier pots to liquidize it. The warm water packages the mud. Boiling next to the incomplete hill, a big pot of broth feeds everyone in the village.

What makes Prince Matchbox query, is the dead laying in the middle of everything, and sick and hurt soldiers bathing in pain. Some of the living and dead soldiers have missing body parts.

He doesn’t want to go back into Town Hall. Too many problems going on outside and selfishness isn’t one of the Prince’s virtues. He couldn’t sleep at night knowing most of the villager’s lost love ones in the battle.

Mystified about his father’s decision to go to war, Prince Matchbox holds his position on the subject. He doesn’t want his illogical reasoning getting the best of him.

Too many sick and hurt people expand around the city. If the legends are right, the summer is not going to be at this checkpoint until three to five more years.

Prince Matchbox walks over to the working townspeople. He helps them with their chores. One of the hurt soldiers recognizes Prince Matchbox. He yells-out,


“Sir, please don’t! Let me take your place!”

Wrapped up with some old clothes, the soldier gash wound on his thigh bleeds out. He tries to stand up but it has been split wide open.


“Stay there. I want to do this.”

The wounded soldiers yell out,


“All hail Prince Matchbox!”

The other soldiers shout showing their appreciation.

I Can’t Love you because I’m a Prince

A year has passed. The Army hasn’t made it back yet. Prince Matchbox and one of the servants, not in her quarters, are too cautious not to bring their activities to the attention of Lord Matchbox’s father.

The labor for the day is completed. The villagers stand in a circle around a partial finished cottage. They pray for more food. Resources are running out.

Everyone knows about the prince’s and the young lady’s love for each other, except for the royal family. Making out on the out skirts of town, Prince Matchbox and Elaine are wrapped up in a blanket lying in the snow. Let’s face the facts, there really isn’t that many young single women in the population.

Elaine is young, slender, and has long red hair. She admires the prince’s masculinity. Their body heat keeps them comfortable, nevertheless, not enough for their bodies to stay balmy. The snow constantly falls.

Her breast feels soft, and his hard body pierces her heart. She goes under the cover and kisses on the mammillae pecks on his chest.

Her warm breath exhausts every nerve under his skin. He holds her, and she can feel him penetrating inside her. She screams out,


“Oh Prince Matchbox. That’s wonderful, don’t stop!”


“You’re so beautiful Elaine. I’m glad you came with me tonight!”

Her hair is so long. It’s it feels funny rubbing against his chest.


(putting her finger on his lips)

“Shush. Don’t say anything. Baby, it’s wonderful this way.”

Taking her finger off his lip, Elaine shoves her tongue deep into his mouth reaching for the back of his tonsils.

He grabs her young bottom. She rubs it on him. They are not just making-out. They make passionate love through the cold strict darkness.

Inside Town Hall before the Giant Blizzard

A riot disperses outside. A crowd of hungry people are angry because Lord Matchbox won’t do anything about their starving nation.

Famished from the weeks of vigorous malnutrition, it causes everyone to experience empty-bellies. Snow falls on everything. Family members died from starvation.

Lord Matchbox, Prince Matchbox, Queen Matchbox, and five other servants are trapped inside Town Hall. They have nailed boards to the doors; the people outside want to get to its core.

Duke Johnstown, Duke Flasksen, Duke Belgran, Duke Lebelton, and Duke Norchin are leading the crowd. They yell at the doors.


“We voted with the people and everyone has decided that we don’t want to stay under your rule anymore. You’re purely not a good leader to follow.”


“The men and women, including their children who are loyal to you, will be used as a source of sustenance. We elected a vote not to scorch you out. We want you to starve to death like you’re starving your own countrymen!”


“We hired a Passing Tory from the Kingdom of Anthropophagus. Look out to the Hill Duke Matchbox!”

Lord Matchbox glances out of the window. The people are fighting. Everyone inside Town Hall–the Queen, Lord Matchbox the First, Prince Matchbox and the five servants in the room–witness madness happening outside the window.

Prince Matchbox holds Elaine close to him. He needs the comfort. Elaine and him cry because of the people who are brought to the front.

They have no morals. The room is cold, so they have an excuse to cuddle. However, servants and royalty are forbidden to mix.

The people who are on the hill are the family members of the archer. The archer, who Prince Matchbox witnessed die by the hands of his brother. His brother’s wife and his two year old nephew hands are tied up.

The mother stares at the blacken window as if she knows they are staring back. It’s difficult to see anyone’s face because of the nightshade.

The Passing Tory holds the two-year old boy over hot boiling water high above the his head. The mother tries to pull away from the ropes holding her in place but nothing she could do. He throws the boy in the white-hot water. Prince Matchbox screams,


“No. You son of a bitch, you should die. I’ll kill you.”

Lord Matchbox the first says to the servants in the room,


“Hold him!”

Trying to run out of the door, they hold him back. If he was successful in escaping, he would have been captured by the mob outside.

Soon as the boy hit the scalding-water his uncle and mother were gutted alive by the two swordsmen outside. The Dukes of the village did nothing to stop it. They were as much a part of these murders as the rest of the villagers.

Would Anyone Volunteer or Do I Have to Choose?

The royal family and the servants establishes around the room staring at each other. One-month has passed and the royal family and the servants have witnessed the killing of four families.

Losing their manners, everyone in the room is hungry. The sovereignty cuddles up with the common wealth during the cold nights. Prince Matchbox and Elaine stand on the opposite side of the room. The Lord and the Queen sit at the front of the table.

Everybody stomachs have turned inside-out. Having mixed feelings about each other, one of the servants walks over to the Lord and hands him something.

Prince Matchbox doesn’t get it, and he’s too hungry to care. Lord Matchbox the First hides the item in his long sleeve.

After hours of bewilderment the Lord speaks,


“We’re not going to get anywhere like this. We have to decide.”

Everybody in the room seems to know what he’s talking about except for Elaine and Prince Matchbox. The other servants didn’t let her stay in their circle after running out of food a month ago.

The cupboards are empty, the servants are restless, and no more regulations are between the two groups.


“We should have fun with this. Why should we spoil this good time with doing nothing? Since we can’t draw straws then we’ll need a volunteer, or shall I choose?”

It’s hard to see because of the dim lighting from candles burning around the room. Barely perceiving each other’s actions, Elaine wants to impress his father because she believes that she could gain his trust. She blurts out.


“I volunteer Sir.”

At first, no one knew who spoke because her voice is so unearthly elegant. Only one commonly fair lady is in the room. She says something to confirm their amazement.


“It is I. What would you like me to do my Lord?”

Prince Matchbox is concerned because he knows his father’s sneaky intentions.



The prince holds her back.


“What is the meaning of this father? What are you asking her to do exactly?”


“Its entertainment my son, please don’t spoil the foolery. Now let her go so she can take her position.”

Allowing her to engage in his father’s happenings, she goes over to the lord and curtsy to him and then the Queen.


“My Lord.”

She pauses for a second.


“What would you like me to do my Lord?”

No doubt in her mind that he is a kind man. However, his son thinks differently of him because of his father’s cheerfulness. The prince knows his father’s ministrations, but not his true attentions.


“My dear, please, lay on the table.”

Without any dispute, she proceeds to lie on the table. The wood freezes to her back, but she recommence lying there trying her best to please the Lord. The Queen spreads Elaine’s red hair out.


“You’re so beautiful. Now dear, stay still.”

The Lord’s face shifts from sugary to impractical in less than a second, saying to the other servants.


“Grab him!”

They run toward the Prince holding him into place. However, even if he would have broken free, he would have been too late.

His father lifts his arm and drops the knife toward her neck slicing it open. Three of the servants hold the prince in place, while the remaining one helps his father undress her.



“Father!!! What have you done?”


“It’s for the best. We’re starving to death. It comes down to survival of the fittest my son. Nothing we could do about it now. The deed is done. She volunteered for it.”


“You son of a bitch! You killed her!”

Prince Matchbox breaks free and goes to his father. A frail old man sits in front of him. No matter how much he wants revenge for this. He knows deep down in his gut that his father is right.

What else can they eat? Except for the rotten roaches on the floor, no bugs are in the corridors because it is too cold for them to multiply.

Prince Matchbox gets on the table hugging and kissing on Elaine’s dying body while they disrobe her.


“Give me the knife!”

Two of the servants get some wooden dishes from out of the cupboard in a miniature galley.

His father hands him the knife. Right before the Prince stabs the knife deep into Elaine’s chest, he says to her.


“I’ll always love you.”

Closing her eyes, he guts her open and sticks his hands inside of her open chest cavity. Her flesh flaps over as he cuts for her heart. Her blood drains under the table.

He pulls her heart out. It’s still beating. Picking up one of the wooden bowls the servants have placed around the table, he puts her heart into it. He sits at the table and commences to eat it raw.

Everybody goes in, sticking their hands into her open chest filling their dishes with her organs.


Finding himself curled up on the floor with his body wrapped around the foot of his thrown, Lord Matchbox wakes up out of a nightmarish sleep. He doesn’t want to get up, but he doesn’t want to go back to sleep either. He lays there with his eyes open.

A Brand New Arising, Playing with Daddy

The new Duke helps workers cultivate the frozen ground in the area where the farm will be. When the spring comes the ice will melt; tilling the soil is suitable for this type of weather.

The sun comes out installing an evening shadow. It’s the most beastly thing omitted in this type of weather. Oh, what fairness it holds within its beams.

Making snowballs, the Duke’s daughter packs some snow in her palms. While the workers are not paying-attention, she rises up and stalks her father and the rest of them.

They are hard at work as she tracks them from a few meters away from her hiding-spot. She holds a snowball aiming it toward a worker. Throwing it at her father, she picks up more snow. Everybody laughs at her except for her father; he’s upset. He yells,


“Ice Princess. Come here!”

Running after her, the Duke is too fast. He catches her and throws her to the soft ground. He tosses some snow in her face.

Asking for his mother the whole night, her younger brother sleeps alone. He doesn’t understand where his mother went.

Her father tickles his snow princess and says,


“You love snow my Ice Princess? Do you adore it now?”


“I’m sorry dad. Ha, Ha, Ha! Ok, Ok! You win!”

He gives her a big hug lying in the snow next to her.


“When will the summer come? I want to see how trees look in the light. Will they change colors daddy?”


“Yes my little Ice Princess, the trees will be green, and we won’t have to eat that much meat. Fruit will be on them, and this garden will turn into a large farm with many different types of edible plants. Since you’re a real Princess now, I’ll make sure you get the finest silk clothing that money can buy. You and your brother can go to school in a neighboring Kingdom.”


“I wish mother was here. I don’t ever want to leave you daddy, I’ll take care of you and my brother. That’s what mother would’ve wanted.”


“Aw, Princess. We’ll always be together. Just think of it like a vacation. You’ll be back soon as you know it. We could travel together during the winter with the people of the newly built Camelot.”

He sits up.


“I have to get back to work. Let’s talk later about this during dinner. See you later my Ice Princess.”

He stands picking up his sword. The Snow Princess watches her father chip away at the solid earth.

She knows he’s happy and full of new dreams. She tucks her head between her legs having mixed feelings about her father’s happiness, attesting the fact that he was a witness to her mother’s murder. Tears pour out of her eyes.

She softly says,


“Mommy. I’ll always love you. I miss you. Good bye.”

Standing up, the Ice Princess lifts her head up and wipes her eyes clean. She walks toward some swords on the ground picking one up.

Going toward her father, she helps him with the field. Streaming down her tear-ducts, she wipes more tears. The Duke understands his daughter’s feelings. He smiles at her and she smiles back.

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