by my bed, I put on my hat, and follow the screams that woke me up.
The sound leads me to a hut on the outskirts of the encampment. A hut that most of the soldiers avoid altogether.
Of course, I have no doubt what manner of creature these shrieks belong to, as this sound has become commonplace to me in the past few weeks.
Sure enough, I find a Goblin in the hut. Tied to a post. His skin overgrown with boils and buds. The tips of the flowers drip with pus.
“What’s wrong with you?” I say.
The Goblin strains against his ropes, and I can hear his boils popping.
Then he says, “I’ll swallow you whole, you fucking grub!”
After wincing, I say, “How long have they kept you here?”
He screeches in pain again.
I survey the room, and see two blankets scattered with clay canisters and jars. Mortars and pestles. Beyond the blankets, there’s an athanor.
“I’ll drink every last drop of you!” the Goblin says.
Turning my head, I see myself tied to the post. I’m pleading for mercy.
“You’ll kill me if I let you go,” I say. Whisper.
And the Goblin says, “I’ll devour you, and shit you onto your mother’s fucking face!”
Someone touches my shoulder, and I’m sure another Goblin’s come to finish me off. Finally.
“Forgive me,” General Torrent says. “I’m the one to blame for disrupting your nightworld, as I’ve consistently failed in finding a gag that Number Twelve can’t bite through.”
“I’ll butcher you and all your family,” the Goblin says.
“That’s far from polite, Number Twelve.”
The Goblin stares at the ground.
“What’s wrong with his skin?” I say.
“He’s ill,” the General says.
“I thought Goblins couldn’t get sick.”
“That is the common presumption, yes. But I never did hold much value to such sensational beliefs. Life is too fragile a thing to be so indomitable.”
“Did you do this to him?”
“Physically, yes. I gave him this disease. However, if you’re looking for the responsible party, you’ll have to look at this tragedy in a more systemic light. The Goblins themselves…”
The General keeps talking, I’m sure, but I’m back in the Farm again. Coughing up blood.
I return to the hut when General Torrent pats my back.
And he says, “I understand your disgust. And I wish war didn’t beget the need for horrible acts. In the end, all we can hope for is a quick resolution.”
“Yeah,” I say.
The General smiles. “Now if you’ll excuse the interruption, I must ensure that our prisoner doesn’t starve to death.”
I watch the general as he removes an arm from one of the larger jars.
Of course, it’s common knowledge that Goblins eat other Goblins, but not like this. There’s always ceremony involved. Intimacy.
As he chews, the Goblin’s eyes seep with tears.
And the General says, “I give myself few allowances when it comes to pride, but I do deem myself excellent judge of character. And I have no doubts that you, Escapist, will soon become one of our finest soldiers. Suffice it to say, I’m pleased you decided to stay with us.”
“Thank you,” I say, as the arm bone snaps. “Sir.”
*
After the training session, I brew a pot of root tea and try not to think about home. And like usual, I fail.
Swan sips from his cup, and says, “I can taste your misery.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say.
The soldier shakes his head. “No need for apologies. I only wonder if there’s something I can do to lift your spirits.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
“Well. If you ever need a friend, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Swan drinks for a while, then readjusts his already straight hat. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but you could use some good news.” He leans forward a little. “General says he’s not a Gnome who lets himself hope for the best, but due to recent developments, he believes the tide of the war will soon change. Very soon. He doesn’t want the whole Army to know, so
The sound leads me to a hut on the outskirts of the encampment. A hut that most of the soldiers avoid altogether.
Of course, I have no doubt what manner of creature these shrieks belong to, as this sound has become commonplace to me in the past few weeks.
Sure enough, I find a Goblin in the hut. Tied to a post. His skin overgrown with boils and buds. The tips of the flowers drip with pus.
“What’s wrong with you?” I say.
The Goblin strains against his ropes, and I can hear his boils popping.
Then he says, “I’ll swallow you whole, you fucking grub!”
After wincing, I say, “How long have they kept you here?”
He screeches in pain again.
I survey the room, and see two blankets scattered with clay canisters and jars. Mortars and pestles. Beyond the blankets, there’s an athanor.
“I’ll drink every last drop of you!” the Goblin says.
Turning my head, I see myself tied to the post. I’m pleading for mercy.
“You’ll kill me if I let you go,” I say. Whisper.
And the Goblin says, “I’ll devour you, and shit you onto your mother’s fucking face!”
Someone touches my shoulder, and I’m sure another Goblin’s come to finish me off. Finally.
“Forgive me,” General Torrent says. “I’m the one to blame for disrupting your nightworld, as I’ve consistently failed in finding a gag that Number Twelve can’t bite through.”
“I’ll butcher you and all your family,” the Goblin says.
“That’s far from polite, Number Twelve.”
The Goblin stares at the ground.
“What’s wrong with his skin?” I say.
“He’s ill,” the General says.
“I thought Goblins couldn’t get sick.”
“That is the common presumption, yes. But I never did hold much value to such sensational beliefs. Life is too fragile a thing to be so indomitable.”
“Did you do this to him?”
“Physically, yes. I gave him this disease. However, if you’re looking for the responsible party, you’ll have to look at this tragedy in a more systemic light. The Goblins themselves…”
The General keeps talking, I’m sure, but I’m back in the Farm again. Coughing up blood.
I return to the hut when General Torrent pats my back.
And he says, “I understand your disgust. And I wish war didn’t beget the need for horrible acts. In the end, all we can hope for is a quick resolution.”
“Yeah,” I say.
The General smiles. “Now if you’ll excuse the interruption, I must ensure that our prisoner doesn’t starve to death.”
I watch the general as he removes an arm from one of the larger jars.
Of course, it’s common knowledge that Goblins eat other Goblins, but not like this. There’s always ceremony involved. Intimacy.
As he chews, the Goblin’s eyes seep with tears.
And the General says, “I give myself few allowances when it comes to pride, but I do deem myself excellent judge of character. And I have no doubts that you, Escapist, will soon become one of our finest soldiers. Suffice it to say, I’m pleased you decided to stay with us.”
“Thank you,” I say, as the arm bone snaps. “Sir.”
*
After the training session, I brew a pot of root tea and try not to think about home. And like usual, I fail.
Swan sips from his cup, and says, “I can taste your misery.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say.
The soldier shakes his head. “No need for apologies. I only wonder if there’s something I can do to lift your spirits.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
“Well. If you ever need a friend, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Swan drinks for a while, then readjusts his already straight hat. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but you could use some good news.” He leans forward a little. “General says he’s not a Gnome who lets himself hope for the best, but due to recent developments, he believes the tide of the war will soon change. Very soon. He doesn’t want the whole Army to know, so
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