John and Bill leaned against the wooden railings, watching the grand parade roll through the heart of their hometown. It was the annual harvest festival, a tradition that brought the entire town together in celebration. Floats adorned with vibrant flowers and intricate decorations lined the streets. The crowd cheered and clapped, but John and Bill’s focus was singular.
“There he is,” Bill said, pointing to a float in the distance.
John followed Bill’s gesture and saw their childhood friend, Cory Richards, standing tall and proud on a float. Cory’s float was different from the others; it was a grand tribute to intellect and scholarship. Books, chessboards, and trophies of academic excellence adorned the platform. Cory was the town’s celebrated “intellectual athlete,” a term that had become synonymous with his name. He had competed in and won numerous mind games, debates, and intellectual contests.
In an age where AI had taken over most tasks, leaving people reliant on technology for even the simplest of chores, true intellectual prowess had become a rare commodity. Few learned to read or write in depth anymore, preferring to let AI handle their intellectual needs. Cory, however, was one of the exceptional few who had chosen the path of mental rigor. He was a “mental athlete,” a title that garnered as much admiration and status as sports athletes of the past. In this new era, mental athletes like Cory were celebrated and held in high esteem, enjoying privileges and admiration from society.
As the float approached, John and Bill waved, and Cory, ever the gentleman, tipped his hat in acknowledgment. He had always been an enigma to them—a man who seemed to have it all. With his impeccable manners, sharp mind, and striking appearance, Cory Richards was admired by all. Yet, to John and Bill, he was still “King Richard,” the boy who had shared countless childhood adventures with them.
“Remember that time we built that treehouse behind your place, John?” Bill mused, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips.
“How could I forget?” John replied. “King Richard had the blueprint for it all drawn up. We wouldn’t have had a clue without him.”
As the float continued its journey down the main street, John and Bill’s thoughts wandered back to their shared childhood. Growing up, the trio had been inseparable. They spent their days exploring the woods, creating elaborate stories, and engaging in fierce competitions of wit and strategy. King Richard had always been the leader, his intelligence and creativity guiding their every endeavor.
“Do you remember how he got that nickname?” Bill chuckled. “We started calling him ‘King Richard’ because of his love for medieval history. But man, did he hate it when we called him ‘King Dick’ instead.”
John laughed, nodding in agreement. “He used to get so riled up! But it’s hard to keep a straight face when you’re 10 and someone’s called King Dick.”
Their laughter subsided, replaced by a quiet nostalgia. “Do you ever wonder if he’s happy?” Bill asked, his voice tinged with concern.
John frowned. “Sometimes I do. It’s hard to tell with King Richard. He’s always so composed, so in control.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the crowd’s cheers growing louder. Cory’s float had reached the center of town, and the mayor was delivering a speech in his honor. John and Bill watched as Cory accepted the accolades with grace, his smile never faltering.
“He’s a man everyone admires,” John said, more to himself than to Bill.
Bill looked back at Cory, who was now waving to the crowd. “He’s the epitome of success and charm. But you think that’s really our King Richard? The guy who used to lead our wildest escapades in the woods? Sometimes I wonder if he’s still that same person, or if he’s lost himself in all this admiration and expectation.”
John shrugged. “I hope not. But sometimes, it’s the ones who seem the happiest who are hiding the most pain.”
The festival continued, but John and Bill couldn’t shake the unease that had settled over them. They decided to pay King Richard a visit that evening, hoping to reconnect and perhaps offer some support, if needed.
As the sun set, they arrived at Cory’s stately home. The door was slightly ajar, and they exchanged worried glances before stepping inside. The house was eerily quiet, and a sense of foreboding hung in the air.
“King Richard?” John called out, his voice echoing through the empty halls.
They found him in his study, slumped over his desk. Papers were scattered around him, and an empty bottle lay on the floor. The sight struck them like a physical blow.
Bill rushed forward, shaking Cory’s shoulder. “King Richard, wake up! Come on, man, wake up!”
But it was too late. The town’s golden boy, the brilliant mind that had inspired and amazed so many, had taken his own life. The news spread quickly, and the town was plunged into shock and mourning.
At the funeral, John and Bill stood side by side, staring at the coffin that held their friend. The echoes of childhood laughter and adventures felt like a lifetime ago. The world had lost a great mind, but to them, they had lost a piece of their own history.
As they walked away from the gravesite, Bill spoke softly. “Some lives end too soon.”
John nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I just wish we could have seen it coming. Maybe we could have helped.”
Bill placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He knew we were here for him. Sometimes, there’s only so much you can do.”
The sun set on the town, casting long shadows over the streets that had once echoed with the laughter and dreams of three friends. John and Bill walked on in silence, carrying with them the memory of Cory Richards—the boy who had once led them on grand adventures and the man who had left them too soon.
