Wednesday, January 29, 2014


By James R Waggoner

     “A’Har!” he barked as his head popped up out of the hole and saw the little girl. The steel helm squeezed his head tight, and made what little of his face she could see, puffy and pink. The rest of his head was a mass of matted brown, wild with dirt and debris.
     Startled when she heard the sound, Kimie stared back in disbelief at the weird looking man as he clambered out of the hole. Her father always spoke of the dwarves, how they were fierce and scary, how they were known as Rockeaters by all the other races. He stood up with a worn looking ax, all squat and blocky.
     To her young mind, he looked more like a beggar than a scary warrior.
     Behind her, the creek bubbled and ran over rocks and small stones. This was her preferred place to be alone, for the turquoise and black dotted rocks were her favorite to collect, and this was the only place she knew of that they were still readily available. Her father had always warned her to stop collecting the rocks of color, “The Rockeaters might just come and find you for your incessant collecting”
     Whenever she wandered off and got lost in the woods, she could easily find some pile of stone that produced another gem. Just before the dwarf popped up and scared her, she had dug up a handful of the turquoise rocks and dropped them into her purse.
     “A’Har!” barked the dwarf again. Suddenly, her fathers warning made her begin to worry.
     “He…hello,” Kimie said nervously.
     “Baroo!” croaked the dwarf.
     The young girls heart began to pound and her only thought was to flee. Her fathers voice gonged in her head, ‘ The Rockeaters will come for you if you keep taking their stones!’
     “I’m sorry, Mister Dwarf! Please don’t hurt me!” she begged.
     The dwarf glared back at her for a moment, “Baroo! Nar Doro!” His large nose flared red as he spoke, and he put his hand on his side.
     Kimie stood and shook from head to toe. All she could think of was the horrible things the tales said of the dwarves. Not only were they eaters of stone and dirt, but they drank the blood of their enemies, and cooked their heads as a delicacy, and used entrails to string their harps.
     Terrified, Kimie took a step back. The dwarf scratched at his beard and leaned on the handle of his ax. He pointed a squat, thick finger at her, “Nar doro barmoon!”
     Her purse abruptly felt as if she was carrying a boulder. She fumbled with the tie as she watched the dwarf; her fingers felt as if they were blocks of ice. Kimie kept looking at the dwarf, then to the purse attached to her small belt. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her mouth went dry.
     Taking a step forward, “Baroo? Nad roola?” said the Dwarf.
     Remembering the tiny dagger that her father had made her just weeks ago, Kimie began to pat her body in a frantic search. She found it in another pocket inside her tunic. She plucked it out and held it awkwardly in a half threat, half not sure what to do with it stance. The dwarf scratched at his beard again.
     As if her father was standing right next to her, she heard him speak, ‘Give him back his stones, Kimie!’
     Taking the knife, she slit through the leather strings and grabbed the purse. With all her strength, she heaved the purse at the dwarf and fled back towards the village with a horrible scream. The trees licked at her face, scratching her porcelain, young skin. Kimie didn’t care; she wanted to be as far from the dwarf as possible, as soon as possible.
     Opening at his feet, the purse spilled its contents. The Dwarf watched her run screaming until she rounded a massive, gnarly oak, and then picked up the rocks. He left a few of the blue-green stones in his hand as he watched her fade away. When at last he heard no blaring scream, or snapping of branches, he popped them into his mouth and walked towards the nearest maple tree. Crunching away, the dwarf lifted his tunic and took a long, relieving piss.
     Letting out a sigh of relief, he walked back towards the hole and stopped at the edge. With a last look around,“A’Har!” barked the dwarf, and dropped into the hole.

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My love of fantasy and all things sarcastic helped develop this story. Being the same size and relative shape as a dwarf, I am compelled to help the world better understand them.


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