Plumping down on the spotted shroom, she tossed her load to the side. “Adventuring is hard work”, she sighed. It had been at least twenty minutes since she set out on her quest, and she really needed a PB&J. “Oh no, I forgot to pack a knife. I guess I can use my fingers.” She twisted the cap off and spread a glop on the bread.
Sniff, sniff. She heard the thing before she saw it. What was it? It looked like a mole almost, but it stood upright. And it could speak! “Gives us the bread.” It demanded of her. “Gives it to us now.” It swayed forward and back, in a drunken state, stubby arms grasped.
More amused than scared, she defied it. “No! You little vermin, get out of here and leave me alone.” She pursed her cherub face and added, “This is my samwich.”
“We makes you deal. Yes! We is so hungry. We makes you deal for sammich.” It reached into its fur, dug around, pulled it forth. “Here. Takes it. Magical flea!”
“No!” She reiterated. “I have no need for your bugs! You get going sir! I have been harrassed by you long enough mister.”
“Magical flea!” It shoved it in her face. The flea jumped. The mole-man swiped the sandwich and scurried off into the prickers.
“Why you!” She screamed, but it was too late. She could feel it crawling in her hair. “Ouch!” It bit her, she scratched. “Ow!” It bit again. She ran off, scratching to no avail.
Ten minutes of running. Ten minutes of scratching. Ten minutes of crying. She found herself in a clearing. A shimmering pool laid at its center. “Aha! I’ll wash you out damn flea!” She stripped naked and dove in. The water refreshed her, the bite marks calmed. “Ahh. That’s better.” “Ouch!” It bit her again!
She flailed about. Stubbed her toe on something sharp. “A sword!” She reached down and held it aloft. It gleamed, water poured down its edge. It kept pouring down its edge. Water continued to drip from the sword, not stopping. “A magical sword!” She tried to switch hands, to let go. She couldn’t. “A cursed magical sword. Oh you damn flea! What have you gotten me into?”
She crawled from the pool, already starting to recede into earth. The swords previous owner, what remained of it, lay at the bottom. Water started pooling around her feet. Her bare skin grew cold and wet. The corpse moved. It lurched at her, claws scratched her face.
“Ouch!” The flea bit deep. She stumbled back, just as it would have taken her head. “Not now flea!” The flea bit again, hard! She tried to scratch, but her hand was still trapped to the sword, unable to release. The sword struck home, cleaved the creature’s hand.
It howled. Fell back. Liquid pools for eyes stared at her. It crouched and lunged. The flea bit her side! She grasped at it, other arm thrust straight out, contorted in pain. The ghoul impaled itself, its guts flopped to the ground. It fell from her grasp. The creature didn’t stir.
Water continued to seep from the sword. A pool began to form around the corpse. She saw her prize. She wasted no time, snatched it from its neck. An amulet, blue as the ocean, shaped in a heart. She wandered off, weary of her adventure. “Ouch. Okay flea. You can stay.”
Copyright © 2019 Nathan Washor, All rights reserved