His fortress was an old abandoned factory once used for bottling soda. The woods near the train tracks encompassed his kingdom, and the basement in his home he imagined as the dungeon, with his dad’s tool pegboard as the armory. The attic housed the tower guard that protected his courts, and he ruled the town square with truth and justice. Mostly, Nathaniel Hancock explored thick backwoods and creek beds near the baseball fields on the way home from school. He always felt the need to kill a few goblins and expand his kingdom after math class.

  One day he thrust his sword into the belly of a beast, and it fell at his feet breathless, lifeless — the roaring and gnashing of teeth silenced. The battle diminished, and one more intruder was laid waste before the might of the great throng. The king and his men returned home from the hunt after a long time patrolling the edge of his lands, and the applause of his subjects thundered for days.

  Over time, Nathaniel built an outpost using branches, connecting them with viny growths winding through the brush. He hid a few keys in a few trees and filled his fort with articles of rope, small hand tools, and his trusty sword. Large plastic bags were cut down the center and spread open to make a rain-proof roof.

  This was his secret fort. In fact, it was so secret that he kept it hidden from all his friends, even his closest friends; even Juli. He made a sign for the front using cardboard he found in the neighbor’s trash. It read:

  All who enter this forest know this: Nathaniel the Great rules from the creek to the baseball fields and beyond St. Peter’s Church to the train tracks. All who are caught trespassing will be sentenced to no less than one year in the dungeon.

  "That should keep away any trespassers," he told himself, dusting off his hands. He eased into his throne and held court like King Arthur did with his Knights of the Round Table.

  "Sire, we caught this person stealing some bread from the village bakery," his Captain of the Guard announced, outraged.

  "Send him to the dungeon, where his only friends will be the dirty, disgusting rats. That will teach him not to steal in my kingdom!"

  Nathaniel Hancock was the most beloved king in the history of his imaginary kingdom, but in the world of reality, he was the youngest in a family of five. His two older sisters kept his mom busy with dance, gymnastics, and cheerleading. He saw his dad even less, because he traveled throughout the week as a project engineer to the nearby states of New England, and to many countries across Europe for months at a time. And so, Nathaniel would often sneak away from his friends and roam the neighborhood, using his great imagination.

  Sometimes the lines of reality and imagination became blurry, like they did a month before he turned thirteen. Shortly after sending criminals to the dungeon, he heard the sound of branches breaking in the background until voices reached his ears. He quickly dropped low and scrambled into the thick blackberry bush that was woven together with poison ivy, thorns and thistles. Nathaniel held his breath tight while camouflaging himself with some of the vines.

  He watched as a pimply teenage boy came into view demanding, "Wreck it! Smash all of it!"

  The two other boys who were with him knocked over the side walls of his fort, uprooting the sign and tearing it in two. They took spray cans and painted vulgar sketches, throwing their soda bottles on the ground, breaking glass all around.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  They’re ruining everything!

  The leader looked down. "What’s this?"

  "Oh no! My new pen and sketchpad," Nathaniel whispered.

  "Hey — it looks like we have something to start our fire tonight…"

  Like heck you do! "That’s mine! I just got it from my PaPa. You’d better give it back!" Nathaniel commanded, springing to his feet, edging his way closer to the leader of the attackers.

  The boys paused and looked at each other like they knew something he didn’t. "So you’re the little twerp that built this fort?"

  "Yeah, I built it, what’s it to you?"

  The leader, who was tall and overly skinny, sneered, "Hey guys, we got a live one here. Be on your guard!"

  "Yeah, tell me," said another, "are we going to spend a night in the dungeon?"

  "Come on, guys, I was just foolin’ around. Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?"

  "No… let’s see how tough you are, seeing that you’re the king," the leader remarked.

  "All hail the king," the other teenager said as he bowed low to the ground.

  They advanced on him. Nathaniel looked to the right and left, trying to find the easiest way to run past them, but found himself steadily backing up. Before he could find a way out of his predicament, they grabbed him and shoved him against a tree. "No! No! No!" he yelled, kicking, punching, squirming. He fought as hard as he could until they overpowered him, smacking his head and laughing the whole time. They tied his wrists to a tree using his own rope. They mocked him and poked him in the side and chest with sticks, posing with his sword and taking pictures with their phones before throwing it to the ground.

  "Let me go! Let me go! Come on, game over, you win!" Nathaniel yelled, straining against the rope.

  The leader looked into Nathaniel’s eyes, smiling arrogantly while opening the pen box. "Check it out, a pretty nice pen. I think I’ll keep it."

  "Come on, that’s mine! My PaPa just sent it to me."

  "Nah, I think he sent it to me," the teenager said, laughing.

  "You come from a pretty stupid family."

  "Yeah, pretty stupid," said another.

  Tears welled up in Nathaniel’s eyes. "My PaPa is not stupid!"

  "Do you like fire, Nathaniel?" The other boy flipped through the sketchpad, "What’s this… a map? Is this a map of your kingdom? And look, a couple of warrior elves… Not bad. The boy has skills, I’ll give him that." He looked carefully and tried to pronounce one of the names: “L…U…-…A…R…-…U…S…” but it was already fading along with the elf below it and he couldn’t pronounce it anyway so it didn’t matter. "Let’s see if they can survive fire."

  He took a lighter out of his shirt pocket, torching the sketchpad before tossing it to the ground. He put the pen in his pocket, along with the lighter, while he watched the sketchpad go up in flames. "Looks like the pen’s mine now."

  "That’s mine, come on, that’s mine…!"

  One of the boys leaned in close, as Nathaniel recoiled at the smell of nacho chips and funk all over his breath. "This is for your own good, kid. You watch – this’ll toughen you up." Winking at the others, he turned away and they all walked off.

  "Give it back!" Nathaniel demanded. "Give it back and let me go!" His voice fell on deaf ears as the sun faded behind the trees.

  "You can’t leave me here! Hey, you can’t leave me here… hey… hey!"

  His shouts were in vain. Nathaniel heard the last few things they said to each other as they laughed and joked all the way out of sight.

  "Did you see the scared look in his eyes?"

  "Yeah, it looked like he was going to cry like a baby."

  "What a moron, calling himself King Nathaniel. Ha!"

  Meanwhile, the king stood tied to the tree unable to escape, holding back his tears even though he was overcome with emotion, mostly for having his pen stolen and his drawings burned up.

  When he pulled himself together after a long moment, he remembered he had a little knife in his back pocket. If I can only reach behind me and get it, I can escape. But it was no use, as he soon proved to himself. The boys tied him too tight, and he finally sagged back, depleted of strength, and began to shiver in the cold, dark forest. The sounds of owls and night birds and the rustling of the trees in the wind scared him half to death; he'd never been so deep into his kingdom this late.

  Does a king cry for help? What would King Nathaniel do right now? I'm going to die out here, I just know it. Oh my God, I hope there are no bobcats or coyotes… especially coyotes. Be brave, Nathaniel, be brave.