The Truth About My Insanity

The Truth About My Insanity

By Davis E. Lindsey

Since the time of my landing, I have been shouted at with accusations of murder and treason in the small town I was developed in, raised in, and most of all disciplined in. My own wrinkled “mother” sits in her throne of tattered wood and bones, nagging me all day. She divulges blasphemous stories to my town’s young of how I slaughter the elderly and wise. She tells of how I must be burnt at the stake and how I must be avoided. Her rumors spread like poison through the town. Soon word will reach the waxfull ear of the lean sheriff who will drag me into the farthest reaches of that terrible dungeon which lay in his office. That dungeon be rumored to be where the wildest and craziest lay, and the punishment not be the jail, but the deadly creatures inside who will do who knows what to you.

“Oy!” The dastardly woman shouts. “Look who it be! The slayer of great and rich! Get away children, before yer’ innards are hung on cothes line for the entirety of the town to see!”
The children scattered like rauthes bugs at a macra tree.
“Mother! Damn the cursed ground you walk upon! May you die at the hands of a cruel death!” I hissed. “Do you not see what your cursed influence has afflicted upon your dear old son?”
The old woman cackled, “I see it aye! I see what the children think of you! Soon their mothers will find out. You will become brandedthroughout the town! And before long, you disgusting disgrace, you will find yourself in exile from our town, or your head will be in exile from your body!” She cried, and cackled again.
And as my horrible old mother had foretold, word ofmy person had spread from the minds of the children and entered the ears of their fathers, or their mothers. In some cases, both. I became known as the “omen” and as the “king of death.” This madness was spreading so much; rumors began to grow on the madness, like a flower on a vine. And as I had predicted, word had reached the ears of the sherrif, which were thickly caked in dust and dirt, might I add.
*                                *                                  *

It was around Febnober 34th or so, my small town had a very bad sense of time, when I found myself at the swamp of Astrew (named of the great man himself, Henry Astrew) washing my cloth. This was, most likely, a bad idea on my part considering the fact that this swamps are not particularly suitable places for one to wash a cloth in.
“My oh my,” I said, “maybe insanity has taken a small toll on my blood.” The truth was, the notionthat I was going insane had been woven into my mind. After all the wordsbeing spread like a virus about the town, it had begun to go to my head. With no one to talk to, I spent countless hours in my hut talking to myself to avoid from the clutches of boredom.
I continued my washing in this murky water, full of debris. I saw multiple insects enjoying a bath in this water. The scarcity of food in my town was enough already, but after nobody would allow me to purchase food I began to starve. I took the insects as a blessing and enjoyed my first meal in days.
I was unaware I was being watched until I heard the rustling of reeds behind me.

“Who goes?” I called, my mouth half full of bugs.
No response.
“Is it Johnny! Have ye gone spying on me again! I told you before I’m not a lunatic boy! Show yourself!” I called.
A tall figure, about eight feet tall, stepped forth from the reeds.
“Ah,” I said “sheriff…”
“Hold your tongue! I’ve seen all I need to see!” He bellowed.
The combination of his voice and height put a scare into my mind, but I stood my ground and planted a grin upon my face.
“Oh have you? What have you ‘seen’ sheriff? A man eating bugs? I didn’t know that was against the law. Would you rather me die of the food shortage? If it pleases the town I suppose.”
“Hold your tongue.” The sheriff repeated.
“Why must you do this sheriff? Give me a reason other than the harmless act of eating bugs, well-”
“How long has it been since your horrid ear has picked up sound? Have you not heard me the two times I’ve said it? HOLD YOUR TONGUE,” the sheriffscreamed.
I was beginning to get frightened by everything about this man. He now had his spear drawn and it was pointed at me.
“Follow me, Elijah.” The sherrif said.
“My cloth–” I began.
“It matters not. Leave it.”

*                                 *                             *
-/\|~<*>Cold Grip<*>~|/\-

       I was leaning on the wall of the sheriff’s office.
“State your name, age, and occupation,” the sheriff said.
This was it. Should I lie to this man, I wondered, or give my real identity away. If only he had known who I actually was…
“Answer!” The sheriff bellowed.
“My name is Elijah Yearth. I am…” I began, and then stopped, thinking to myself“This is it? Should I lie?”
I would give my full answer, I thought,“let’s see what they think of it. Ha! I wonder how insane they will think of me.”
I stood heigher than I had been, slouched and angry, now tall and proud. A small fire of bravery began growing in my heart. All of the language of this land vanished from my head and fled through my nose. My fist began to clench and light began to gather around it.
“I am Elijah. I am four hundred and seven years old, and I am from a distant land. Not of this earth, as you might say. I have saved this universe twice, and yes, that includes you and everything as well.” I was going to say. But nay, better lie.
“Ahem.. . I am Elijah Yearth, my age is fifty two. And I am unemployed.” I said. It would have been so easy to just summon my sword and end this man… But best not to. I did not want to attract that much attention.
He grabbed my shoulder harshly. I felt all of his energy as he began to tug on my shirt. I thought it would rip, but it didn’t.
“The sheriff threw me in the wooden cell behind his desk. The wood was easy enough for my sword to cut through, but not my hands. I also remembered the words Thomas told me before our ship crashed.
“The swords may not work here.” He said, “be prepared.”
I thought to myself and decided to try it out, but only when the sheriff had left.


One response to “The Truth About My Insanity

  1. Pingback: October 2014 Full Issue | The Bolt·

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