Category — Fiction

© Cathrene Gehue, 2001
Based on a character created by S. Nicklin.

A Retelling of a Gworcid legend by the Wizard Zequ, from his disertation “Sorceric Aberrations of the Ancient World” written in the year 36 AT.

Pipolytus be nimble
Pipolytus be quick
With a sword he doth prick
the feral mice and slathering tick
and turns to dust the Foulness thick.

Once upon a Gworcid Nation, Foulness was afoot… Hold on!

Once upon a Gworcid Nation, Foulness was a foot. It was born from the dark sorcery of necromancy, from the warped imaginings of the child Vajek, intending to keep company with the infant Emperor to be, until one day his toes led him astray. Away Foulness roamed, calloused heel to grungy toe (and sometimes grungy toe to calloused heel), when he chanced upon verdant Obscurian fields spotted with tiny purple lizards.

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I hate my body. It brings me down.

Please, don’t misunderstand me now. I’m not talking about how I look. Appearance has little bearing on my attitude, but not in the way you might think.

Generally I am well-groomed, but not necessarily fashionable. You might think, if you saw me, that I could lose a few pounds around the middle, or do something stylish with my hair, maybe even wear a little makeup. I’m telling you, no matter what I do or what I say or what I wear, none of it will make me feel any different. The way I see it, this body of mine just doesn’t do my mind any justice. It doesn’t reflect who I am on the inside.

I’m cerebral. Zada will attest to this. Zada’s my flat mate. She reads Tarot for a living. Don’t scoff now! It pays her university tuition (intuition?), which she attends part-time. She reads me all the time, in more ways than just Tarot. She tells me I’m a devout and adamant Aries, the astrological sign which rules the head, that astrological personality which is plagued with fevers and migraines. (This is true by the way!) Ask Zada and she’ll tell you I just brood. She says I get so wrapped up in my head that I often make myself sick. That’s the plight of an Aries, I guess.

Now where was I? Oh yeah! I hate my body. I can see how that could be misinterpreted. So let me explain the precedent for this particular statement.

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I didn’t want to be there that day. It was the tiredness…

Dreams from the night before stole away several hours of much needed rest. Such terrible dreams! Just one dream really, repeating itself over and over. Upon awakening this morning, I wondered if I should bother attending classes. Certain nothing could distract my mind from thoughts of them, I chose to go to afternoon class. The edginess of the dreams dulled when Bill Takiamata walked into the studio class and began his lecture. Suddenly, my decision to attend class seemed ill chosen. I didn’t want to be there.

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A small cemetery, cradled in the indifference of elevated highways and turnpikes, keeps still a family of tombs all resting in varying states of decay. A six-foot fence wraps around them like a stainless steel pall. Before a polished headstone stands a pale woman in a paler dress. She tilts her head to gaze at the name engraved there. She reads, Ig Natius.

“Hi, Iggie. It’s me, Una.” She waves at the stone with expectancy. She expects him to see her, but she cannot be certain.

“It took me only twenty minutes to get here today. Traffic is always light this early in the evening.” She lifts her tiny voice above the traffic’s din. “I can’t believe I’ve been coming here every day for nearly a year.”

Eleven months, fourteen days, but then who’s counting?

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