A Final Piece of Art

            “I have nothing left—not a single drop of creativity left in my blood.” The Prince fell to his knees and began hyperventilating.

            A puff of smoke. A burst of flames. A man with a lion’s mane appeared.

            “Jim, is that you?”

            “It is me, the Lizard King.”

            “I thought you were dead?”

            “Thank you.”

            “Thank you?” The Prince was confused.

            “My greatest piece of art.” The Lizard King ran his fingers through his long flowing hair.

            “You mean you faked your death?”

            “Sometimes the artist’s greatest piece of art is the disappearance of the art itself.”

            “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

            “Whatever I am saying is what you think I am saying, and whatever you think I am saying is what I am saying.”

            The Prince fell to his knees. “Are you saying that I have to die?”

            “Do doves cry?” The Lizard King replied.

            “But why?”

            “Not only is art legacy, but legacy is art.”

            “But what about the loneliness?”

            “Take someone with you. When I created my greatest piece of art back in ’71, I took my love Pam with me. Who do you want to take?”

            The Prince put his fingers together and thought for a moment. “How about that lady wrestler from the 90’s, the one named after that country in Asia?”

            “You’ve always been a sexual deviant, haven’t you?” The Lizard King grinned. “You better love her madly.”

            The Prince smiled back. “And while I’m at it, let’s include the mom from Everybody Loves Raymond. I’ve always liked her sense of sass.”

            “That makes sense,” the Lizard King added. “We always do go in threes.”