Hideous

  • He was hideous, and he was alone. Orcs were never beautiful creatures, but this one, in particular, was especially vile. His features were indescribable. As a child, his tusks were pulled out, and his face was distorted, leaving it Gargoylian and sneering. The mask he work never came off.

     

    One morning, he went to the marketplace. Every one of his steps left a greasy spot on the cold, smooth cobblestones. His head was down. It was like a raincloud shadowed him everywhere he went. 

     

    He just needed to get some food, otherwise he’d die. Cowards are afraid of death. But he was still afraid of people.

     

    The Orc walked up to the vendor. “I’ll have 3 of each.” He pointed to carrots, cabbages, and tomatoes. The transaction was painless.

     

    “Have a nice morning,” said the vendor. The vendor was better than him as a person, the Orc thought. 

     

    “You, too.” He slinked off, back to his hole. The vendor wiped the grease off of the coins.

     

    He literally lived in a hole, with sticks pushed in the ground as walls. The hole was dug up with a strong stick many moons ago, and he lived in it. That was the extent of his life skills, digging holes with a stick. Financially, he survived off of an inheritance. And it was a dwindling inheritance. 

     

    The Orc got up and set off for his daily walk. He had gone on this walk so many times, the grass had all withered. 

     

    But there was nothing else for him to do. The path was a loop, so when he finished, he was back in the hole. It was maddening, every day was the same. He squeezed his skull and rolled around in the dirt, wanting to yell out, but fearing he might be heard. After the crisis, there was nothing else to do, so he went along the trail again. 

     

    “Is this all there is to life? What is the point? What is this?”

     

    “I am unwhole. My tusks were taken from me as a child. I am an abomination.”

     

    “Somebody help me.”

     

    “Somebody kill me.”