I could not sleep.
Not for lack of wine.
Not for lack of warmth or women or music echoing from distant halls.
Sleep simply would not come.
And I, the king of Persia, conqueror of provinces and patron of pleasure, found myself pacing in circles — defeated by silence.
What Keeps a King Awake?
It wasn’t guilt. Kings don’t lose sleep over laws they don’t remember signing.
It wasn’t fear. No enemy dares rise within shouting distance of my empire.
It was something smaller. Something I could not name.
Like a whisper buried too deep to hear — but too loud to ignore.
So I summoned the royal records.
If I could not sleep,
I might as well remember.
The Forgotten Name
They read to me — names, victories, appointments, tributes. The scroll droned on like a lullaby for the powerful.
And then… a name.
Mordecai.
A man who had exposed a plot to kill me — Bigthan and Teresh, two of my own guards.
I sat upright.
“What was done for this man?” I asked.
The servant hesitated.
“Nothing, Your Majesty.”
Nothing?
A man saves my life… and I did nothing?
I, who give robes for loyalty, rings for flattery, feasts for the flick of a fan — I did nothing for the man who kept my breath in my chest?
In that moment, I felt something rare.
Small.
Not just for the oversight… but for the realization that the empire I ruled could move without my notice.
That lives could be preserved or crushed by the turn of a page I hadn’t read.
And Then Came Haman
As dawn threatened the sky, I heard footsteps in the court.
“Haman is here,” a servant said.
Of course he is.
The man never sleeps — only waits. Always plotting his next elevation.
He entered, smiling.
He didn’t know what I knew.
He didn’t know the question forming in my mind.
“What should be done for the man the king delights to honor?”
I didn’t name the man.
And Haman, ever hungry, saw only himself.
The Irony That Slapped the Air
He listed honors: a royal robe, a crown, a horse — led by a noble through the square, proclaiming greatness.
And I, the king, said with a straight face:
“Go. Do this for Mordecai the Jew.”
The shift in Haman’s eyes — panic disguised as compliance — was the closest thing to satisfaction I’d felt in weeks.
He left, dragging dignity behind him.
And I sat back, realizing that I had just begun to pull the thread that might unravel the noose I let him tie.
