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Red Grimes
Originally written from March 2 – 13, 2026 to April 1 – 2, 2026, 12 days

Writing History of Red Grimes:
Chapter 1 to 5 =  March 2 to 13
Chapter 6 = March 13 to 15, April 1 - 2
Synopsis:
This story is highly experimental and deeply psychological on a structural and formal level because it is driven by a highly unreliable, manic internal monologue. It breaks the rules of narrative logic and pacing to put the reader directly inside the chaotic, traumatized mind of its protagonist.
Red Grimes hated it. The sounds. The world. The way it moved. It danced and corrupted him, and it was all to blame, but what a mess he was. What a mess it was even to be. To be a person. What did it mean? What did it mean?
Living in a house on a hill, goblins surrounded him everywhere he went. Whatever he did had to do with those foul creatures. And he could only keep managing, making something of the little he had and try to keep himself afloat, somewhere, somewhere that wasn’t endless hell. He had to find a way to make sense of this, get somewhere, find something, do something, make something. Whatever it was, it had to make sense. It had to.
Chapter 1 - Murderous Mudded Mind
Standing just shy of direct sunlight, the young man looked up, seeing a bunch of clouds. “What a joy is it to live in this world, where nothing exists save for the simplicity of a man, of a person, of a thing of itself, that thing which must become, which must be, which must exist, which must, which must, which must, which must!”
He left the window’s side, made his way to a table in the middle of the brown room, and gently sat down, keeping the cup in his hand level. “But perfect things don’t exist, so what we have is the existence of a person, of something toward whom no one can look, and whom only the murmuring of forests must welcome. That is the thing it is, and wherefrom we don’t know. All we know is that the sum of all things must eventually gather to a unit, to some block, to some essence of something, and then after that, nothing else.”
“What then, what then?” did the pondering man say. “What then, what then?
“Go again to the hinterlands, to the sum of all those who must come, to that weight of humanity which lies on its back, to that thing which is eventually restored to its proper place, that sum of all, that sum of all, from which the world is then recalibrated and put together in some chunked form, that thing which is, which must, which will become itself and in all things nothing else but whatever those things are in relation to it as a thing that is all it ever needs to be, and, then, in that, nothing. What a perfect conundrum of just a lame man walking, of just thoughts splaying themselves, of man putting himself apart and then trying to get something out of it, some splaying mind, some hoping conundrum, some bizarre thing, some byzantine operation of a spectrum of a person, of a sepulchre, of a statue, of thoughts first substantial and whole, then fragmented and distorted. Whither does this all lead? To what end? I don’t know. I can only attest to the simple things, and then to the sum of all things, which I can never hope to find, in the silence, in the small things, in the outweighable world which must be chunked, which must be defined according to its limits, blocks, boundaries, and definitions, without which consumption will overfill us all.
He returned his cup of coffee onto the table. “What is it that I am…” His mutter drowned in the silence of the brown room, into which diffused daylight shone via the jalousies before him, on his left side, and on his right. “Where am I…”
His feet padded across the wooden floor. The door screeched open. And his cough carried into the hallway. A figure of a man trudged forward. The door at the other end grew the closer he came. He clutched the knob and twisted it open. “What am I?” he whispered.
The sunlight shot into his eyes.
Rustling leaves swayed above him on his left and right side.
His bare feet travelled over the stone steps leading off the porch.
Grass tickled his ankles. Rock outcrops littered along the path leading away from the house.
He followed it. His sleeves and the hem of his purple shirt fluttered in the breeze.
The sky rumbled above.
“I must be quick and smooth, strong and gentle, damning and taut. Else I lose it…” His breaths grew restless.
The distance barely moved, even while the path twisted and turned down the side of the mountain on which the house was built.
The trees below grew taller and larger the lower he went. The sky grew farther and rumbled louder. The insects’ calls pierced his ears. The critters roaming the land scattered in his presence.
He huffed and licked his lips, which the lower breeze chapped quickly.
Sounds echo across the forest, both inanimate and animate.
After he drew in breath until his throat cramped, he plodded along the slope’s bottom while the edge of the lower forest covered the whole opposite side.
Screeches slammed across the forest.
He closed his eyes, then took out a pouch. He pressed it against his mouth, letting water wash his parched throat. As he drank, the quiver in his grip and the darting of his eyes calmed.
The sky inched along.
While his eyes lingered on the grass on his right, a green figure streaked toward a distant tree.
He jolted to his other foot, pivoted, and ran in the opposite direction, driving his elbows back with every stride.
The green blur darted from tree to tree, slamming into him directly. They both fell, but the monster had already drawn a dagger.
He unsheathed his sword, but the dagger had already sliced his neck, leaving a spurting wound. He clutched his throat to stem the flow, but the blood gushed through his fingers. The goblin pulled another dagger and plunged it into his head.
He went down like a rickety building. The blood drained from his poor body.
His eyes flickered, slowly drifting. The shimmer in them faded.
He woke up ten seconds later. The goblin still stood over him, but the holes in his head and neck, along with the daggers and his own sword, had disappeared. His blood had stopped flowing. He looked the goblin up and down; its palms were empty. It slowly backed away, its eyes wide.
He got up and ran to the goblin and punched it. He started beating it, one punch after another. The moment the goblin slurred a word out, he struck it in the face. With every bash, it squealed, growled, and gurgled. Soon, it screamed as it crawled on the ground. Eying its bare back, he coiled his legs and brought his whole weight down on its head, beating and stomping. By the time he staggered and wheezed to the side, the goblin’s face lay mangled.
For a moment, the world buzzed around him. His face twitched. His hands closed and opened, and his little nails barely pricked his dulled palms. His eyes darted. His throat grew parched. His breathing sped up, paused, then started again. A laugh squeezed out of him, then a chuckle, then a stifled groan, then a choking sound. He raised his hand and clutched forward.
The corpse oozed out.
“What must be, must be,” he coughed out. His throat stung as he slogged away from the corpse.
While walking, his eyes flickered.
“I am the epitome of all things,” he croaked. He tried to giggle. His face brushed against a bunch of leaves.
As the mud squelched and spread around his feet, the breeze chilled his mud-flecked ankles while his toes and the skin between them squished and dried, flattening the ground under his caking soles.
His belly beneath his billowing shirt froze in the building breeze.
The scent of blood wafted behind him. His red trickle sunk in ooze. Sweat slithered down the side of his face, tapping the ground below him every few steps. The heat crawled along his body, up to his patch-tingled feet. Sunbeams dappled everywhere, and skirting one meant sinking his feet into mud, and vice versa. His wrists itched against the prickling leaves whenever he held onto trunks and branches to steady himself.
The tears and beads of sweat mixed. His sweaty tiny hairs flopped across his forehead. One nostril caught a bead, and he rubbed it off immediately. Dirt from frequent touching gathered on the backs of his hands. They smeared onto his face every time he rubbed it.
“I am merely a person, I am merely a person, I am merely a person…” he mumbled under his breath along the way.
His body gradually loosened the longer he walked.
He stopped once the heaving of his chest settled.
Vivid, colorful images flashed across his eyes. The sounds and motions of the world went silent and taut.
He grew up ten miles deep in the earth, and in there, hundreds of other people lived bare lives. What went on happened in a blur of daily needs and rudimentary activities. What resources they got their hands on went straight to mouth. What hopes and dreams they had went straight to sleep. This world he used to live in never allowed him one moment to think otherwise. It was only in books that he could externalize himself and break what drudgery this world only had. It gave him light when things endlessly slowed things down to dimness. In those books, he found what it meant to be, and his desires found footing and his flesh an anchor. In philosophy, he devised himself. The concept of a self was born, and the idea of who he was took flight. Rarely could he articulate it however, since it took many long years to learn. By the time he found something of himself, he vanished.
And now, he was here, in this world. He managed to find that house on the mountain. Anything else he procured from the wilderness around him. And every time he died, he came only back to life moments later. When he would die he did not know, and each time he did revive, he would never get used to it, because he could never know if that was the final time. He made do, and what things he did sufficed only as much as his thoughts made do with them.
Killing that goblin was his fourth time killing. The previous three happened much faster, because he was the one attacking. He killed to keep his surroundings safe. With that freedom, he doubled down, not with traps or hunting, but with walking around and integrating the space around himself daily. It had been only 2 months, and the goblins had yet to group together to kill him. Any time now.
The crisp air brushing his face pulled him back.
Having crested a wind-worn hill, he stood still. Grasses slowly came to life, then flattened underfoot, and the world started moving again, darting around. The sounds returned in full force and echoed through the trees. The sky rolled back into motion and grumbled from above. The ground below spread moisture and dirt between the toes. His hair swept in the higher wind. He rubbed his fingers over the palm of the same hand. 
They were coming.
Along the path leading to him, goblins ran from tree to tree, carrying spears and daggers. They barked at each other, but had their eyes on him.
They climbed the slope. He lifted his arms.
Death had been too slow.
The sky thundered.
And a blast of lightning struck in the middle of the goblins, zapping them all into dust.
His jaw dropped.
A woman swaggered out of the forest on his right side. “What were you planning on doing? They came so close I was sure you were going to get yourself killed. Was that your plan?”
He stared at her, his arms still hanging.
The woman strode over to the bottom of the slope in front of him and looked up. “Not gonna talk? Okay then.” She turned, walked all the way back to the forest edge, and melted into the trees and bushes.
His arms ached.
He dropped them. His gaze remained where she last was.
“Huh?” he breathed.
For the next several months, he revisited this spot.
He would sit down for eight hours, and by the end of the day, he would return home.
He did this almost every day.
One day, while his gaze rested on the ground and his chin lay on his hand, a man on a horse-drawn wagon appeared down the path.
He shot to his feet. “Hello?” he yelled.
The man looked left and right before slowing to a halt. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m wondering that myself,” he muttered before speaking up. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jo Smithson!” He looked around again. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“I got lost! Terribly!”
“Okay! Do you want to come with me? I think I got lost too, so I’m heading back and trying the other road!”
“Yes, I wanna come! If that’s alright with you!”
“Okay then! Come here!”
He climbed down and crept to the wagon, riding it at the back. 
“What’s your name?” the man said.
“Red Grime.”
“Interesting. What do you do?”
“Do? Like, read?”
“So you’re a scribe, eh?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay!”
The two went on their way.
The city gates welcomed them both.
He got down and looked around.
The city sparkled and rumbled with people, wagons, and beasts of burden.
“Where are we?”
“New City.”
“What’s here?”
“Lots of things. You got people, clothes, armor, weapons, and a bunch of other things too, like me and the people I know. But you don’t have to worry about that. You’re going somewhere, aren’t you?”
“Somewhere?”
“I just get this feeling like you know where you’re going.”
“Know where I’m going? Uh. Well, I do have an inkling.”
“Really? Well, I had a feeling.” He noticed the guard looking at them. “Welp. Anyway, I’m off. It was nice knowing you. If you want to find me again, just stand here again around this time. I always come out through this gate.”
“Okay.” He stepped to the side of the road out of the way of a moving wagon twice his height.
“Well, see ya. Stay safe!” The figure and his wagon went on until they were nowhere to be seen.
He stayed there for a few minutes, then went the way Jo left. Wherever Jo was, it had to be the answer.
The world shouted in the form of droves of people through which he had to force his way.
By the time he got to a clearer area, sweat drenched him. The people in the thick crowds behind him scurried about.
The path away from the gate into the city led into a dense stone jungle. The sky massed with squarish heights. The ground dusted, gravelled, and smeared feet.
He ran along.
Eyes fell on him.
His figure blurred while everyone else edged along.
His shirt got a tear when it grazed the nail protruding slightly from a wagon’s wood frame.
“What are you doing?”
The figure behind the voice stood on his right side.
He stopped and looked at her.
The black-robed woman looked him up and down, arms crossed before raising one hand. “It’s him!”
Another woman came, slowing to a walk before stopping in front of him. She smiled and looked at him the same way. “Purple and yellow,” she said. “You’re right.” He squinted. She looked different: bright red clothes, ponytail, and glasses. But no doubt it was her.
It was the one who killed the goblins.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m Red Grimes!” He extended his hand.
The woman shook the dirty thing using two fingers. 
She glanced behind herself. The other woman who first spoke to him looked up at her, brows raised. The goblin killer squeezed out a smile at her. The other woman nodded immediately and hurried to his side, grabbing his wrist. “Come with us. We’re not asking.”
“Huh?” he said.
She dragged him away, and the goblin killer went too.
They brought him in front of an apartment. “What are we doing here?” he said.
“You need a place to stay right?”
He kept silent.
The two went inside and left him out in front.
He looked left and right.
Two men were creeping up from the right.
He knocked on the door many times, and the two men shouted.
He opened, closed, and locked it. He turned around.
The hallway was empty, but there were two closed doors. The hall led further inside around a corner.
He looked behind him again. The shadows of the two men hung behind the door.
He looked forward and took one step at a time.
By the time he was right before the corner, one of the two doors opened. The woman with the goblin killer peeked out and waved him over. “Come here.”
He stood there for several seconds.
“There’s food.”
He walked around the corner and looked at the end of the hallway. There was a third door.
Then he went in front of the room where the woman was. The goblin killer was also there. Her glasses and three plates filled with rice and chicken lay on the table.
He peeked inside and looked left and right before taking a step inside.
When he sat down, the goblin killer burped. “Eat,” she said.
He stifled a cough and grabbed the two utensils. Once he got to eating, the two women looked in the direction of the door.
He froze, facing the plate.
A man stood there, staring at him.
“Hello?” the man said.
“Hello,” Red tried. “I-I’m Red Grimes.”
“Okay. Call me Sam.” The man gave him a friendly smile. He turned to the goblin killer and raised his brows.
The goblin killer beamed at him.
The man’s shoulders fell, and he frowned lightly. 
He went away, back in the direction of the main door. The door that ended up opening and closing was the second door in the hall, beside the main door.
The food in front of him slowly went away.
Soon, he ate all of his, coming last.
He breathed slowly, looked on, and held back a groan. He leaned back into his chair, but kept upright.
Meanwhile, the goblin killer had both feet drawn on her chair. The other woman leaned her head into her hand, lolling to one side, one leg lying over the other.
In the two women’s free hands were books with strange symbols serving as text.
Both women got up at the same time and headed outside. “We’re heading to the guild, wanna come?”
He followed them. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, so what the heck.
Later, at the guild, the clank of scored, dented armor filled the hall as adventurers thronged the floor. They clustered in front of a large board crammed with papers, some torn and flapping, others cockled and red-stamped. As the crowd thinned, the two women reached the front, pointed at the papers, and plucked a sheet. The parchment read: “SLAY 5 GOBLINS INFESTING NORR HILL. 10 BRONZE COINS REWARD.”
Red looked behind him. More people were coming.
The two women turned down the side and took to the counter, where the clerk gave a polite smile and said, “How can I help you?”
“This,” said the goblin killer, patting the paper on the table.
The man nodded and took it away, handing them a smaller piece of paper. It read, “Quest active: Kill 5 Goblins Around Norr Hill. Reward: 10 Bronze Coins. Time Limit: 1 day, 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 57 seconds.” The time was going down. Each time it did, blue sparkled from it.
Upon their exit, the world outside shifted. Darkness covered the horizon, and clouds hurried along. A boy scurrying past tripped and dropped the bag he was holding. The loaves inside scattered across the ground.
He broke from the two women’s side and helped the boy get his loaves before the wagon rolled over and crushed them. He patted the shoulder of the boy, who then thanked him and left.
The loaves had to be dirty.
With him rushing closely behind, the two women went over to a terminal sidewalk where parked wagons formed a queue, and the three got on top of the wagon waiting in front. After counting the coins they gave him, the driver nodded as he started moving.
Upon exiting the city gate, they entered the deep forest. The road was filled with floating orbs of light that passed through matter. People in armor stalked around, gauntlets and swords crusty with blood. Tents and watchtowers popped up on either side of the road every half hour. The route stretched as far as the strip of open sky above it.
A man crept up from the bushes. “Sir, please help me. I got lost and I’m trying to get back home. Can you bring me back? I don’t have any money, but if you help me, I’ll thank you.”
The wagon driver kept his eyes on the road, and the three shook their heads. The stranger left.
As the trees thinned and the path gave way to a large field surrounded by forests rolling in the distance except on the opposite side where the route resumed, their eyes gradually darted around. On the right side of the field, a rock hill stood, and it bore a door-shaped entrance. Torches lined its walls, leading deep inside.
The three got down, and the driver turned his wagon, bid farewell, and left.
The forests never got any brighter or darker. The entrance flickered the same way.
The sky was clear blue, and yellow rays expanded across the landscape.
Patches of grass and dirt spread across the field.
Heat crept over his shoulders and stung the side of his face. He wiped a bead of sweat on his forehead. Wet hair bent over his eyes, and he pushed them aside.
The gloom inside the forests lay under its white, sun-pressed tops. Their leaves swayed and glittered.
The pitted, scarred rock swelled as the three approached.
The entrance spread across their vision.
Weeds littered just outside it. Rough dirt trailed a short distance inside before rock chips took over.
The sky rays ended a few steps in. The depths loomed ahead.
Shoes clacked from the gloom. The green ankles led to knee-length pants, a spear, bare arms, and an uneven, oversized chestplate. The bald head displayed a few stands of gray hair; several follicles dangled from the ears. Dark patches spotted the skin.
The eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” The voice carried a faint whistle, like part of the air from speaking went through a hole in crooked teeth.
The face and short figure of a goblin lay across from them.
A profanity escaped under Red’s breath.
A lightning struck the top of the hill. Ms. Goblin Killer’s dear weapon was useless in a corridor.
He turned, fled, and shouted, “Get out!”
The two women ran backward while facing the goblin.
The goblin stood there, squinting, its arms remaining on its sides. “Anything wrong?”
The goblin killer thrust her hand again, but the lightning only chipped the hill. Some dust and fragments fell beside them.
The goblin sighed. “Look, if you’re here and if you have nothing to say, I’m going back. But if you think you’re getting inside without my permission, be warned. I won’t hold back.” He turned and strolled back into the dark.
The goblin killer wiped the sweat from her cheek and upper lip. “Lure it out,” she whispered, darting a look at the other woman.
The other woman nodded and advanced while slapping her palms together. The claps resounded all the way inside.
The goblin cocked a gaze at her, brows knitting. “What are you doing?” The voice squeezed through clenched teeth.
The woman kept clapping, going on for several minutes. Her aching hands became more unrhythmic as time went on, but the sound rang in the ears.
The goblin snapped and charged at her.
She backed off immediately and ran to the goblin killer’s side. Red looked elsewhere. The black of the forest edge stayed flat.
The goblin stopped in front of the grass. “Can you stop making that noise?” It huffed through its nose.
The goblin killer rubbed her brow. The other woman looked back and forth, between her and the goblin.
The goblin’s shoulders slowly relaxed. “If you’re not going to say anything, I’m going. But please don’t make that noise. I would rather not have to deal with anything today. So please, stop.” He walked back.
The goblin killer raised her head and rubbed her face, letting out a suppressed groan.
Red took in a breath, then jittered it out.
The other woman looked down, one corner of her lips twisting up. Her brows drew inward. Her head swayed around weightily. A sigh forced its way through the nose.
Red’s lips pressed. 
He had to kill it. Somehow. He had to do it. He had to do it now.
Now. Now. Now. Now. Now.
The goblin kept walking. How far? How long?
The goblin walked, walked, walked, walked, walked, walked.
He pried his eyes wide and bore holes at it.
Die. Die. Die. Die.
The goblin was close to disappearing. He had to get it. Come get it. Come get it. 
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He bolted in the direction of the goblin.
The goblin turned. Red ran the whole way.
The spear thrust. He skirted it, grabbed its head, and smashed it on the ground. A hot stream of creamy red erupted from its scalp, and red trickled down its lips from biting its tongue. He ran his foot against its face. More blood poured out from loosened teeth. He punched the side of its neck and used a rock on the ground to force blood out of it. The drip soaked the dust.
The goblin yelped and screamed. Its howls thundered across the passage leading outside, where the sky crawled forward. The beating and squelches resounded in the women’s faces. The dark blurred the motions. The shadowy blood blotched it.
The edges of the entrance were nicked and scratched. Their surface prickled the women’s palms.
The sky drifted along, then apart as clouds divided and diffused. The weeds thrashed in the breeze.
A man walked out of the cave.
The women stood on his left.
His hair rippled.
His toes wriggled over the dirt.
The silence followed them home.
The man stood while the women left his side.
The sky surrounded by building tops spread everywhere.
He walked outside of the city. He headed in the direction of his house. The scent of coffee wafted in his mind. The blood on his hands caked.
The house sat on top of the hill.
He climbed to it.
He went inside and shut the door.
A scream tore through his throat, then crashed out the windows.  
The boughs covering the vista swept in an afternoon gust.
After scratching the tears off his face, he stiffened his jaw and shoulders. The gust blew into his body. A grin rolled his cheeks up. A curl coiled over his right eye.
“I have always been a person of my own being.”
His gaze shot to the goblin blood coating his palm.
The spear still lay on that cave floor.
… 
Two days later, back in the cave, a figure went through the entrance.
He swung his arms forward, swaggering inside. Daylight stayed behind.
The sky’s only vestige was the striking white of the exit from all the way inside.
When he rounded the corner, one foot brushed against something soft. He bent down and touched it: fabric. He looked ahead, where the cloth snaked farther inside.
The trail stopped before the entryway of a doorless room. Inside, rumpled clothes and crooked pots littered the floor. Amid the clutter, two halves of a familiar spear lay broken.
On the bed on his left, another man sat.
He turned and fled the scene, running around the bend. He made his way through the whole corridor.
Outside, he kept running.
The black behind him shrunk the farther he went.
The expansive sky snapped into a strip when he got back on the path leading back to New City.
The strip wept orange and dribbled reds and purples. These colors crept down the boughs, staining greens. Pitch black seeped over the horizon.
Dirt churned with every stride.
His figure was a speck on the forest world.
He heaved, hurled, and huffed. The sky dazzled ahead as well as behind. The world hissed and tossed in the flurries. The moment slowed and bent. He launched himself forward again and again as he ran.
The speck of the city shook in his vision.
The sky bled into his eyes. They ached against the current.
The sky drizzled.
The moisture squished and dust sprinkled underfoot.
The city gate bulked over him as he struggled forward.
Where was he?
What was he?
A group of people in dark green robes stopped beside him. Bags covered their backs, and buns topped their heads.
“Excuse me?” said a voice.
Red panted for a moment. “What is it?” He tried a smile.
“Do you need some water? Sorry if I’m bothering you.”
“I have one.” He took out his pouch and drank. “But thank you for asking.”
They acknowledged him, bid farewell, then went on their way.
The man back in Norr Hill flashed in his head. That was just an ordinary man: why was he so scared?
After one more look at the thrumming city gate, he turned and walked back to his house on the hill. 
As soon as he got back inside and sat down, his legs relaxed, and he slumped over them. The sigh left his worn face.
On the left side of the room sat a chest. He opened it and heaved out a giant sword. As he swung it, the weight and momentum dragged him along.
His expression settled.
The next day, he went outside and hurried downhill, dragging the sword along.
At the bottom, he slogged around. Every now and then, he pounded through the trees, letting the sword skid along all the while.
A goblin crept behind him and raised a dagger toward his back. It coiled its legs, ready to leap away as soon as the steel sank in. But he turned, pinned its foot with a heavy stomp, and swung his sword backward, striking the goblin’s head with the flat of the blade. While the goblin staggered, he repositioned and slashed it with the edge. Blood poured, and its body hit the earth with a series of dull thuds, slithering down the slope.
Gasping and wheezing, he fell on his knees. The sword slipped from his stinging hands and slammed into the ground.
He staggered up, reeling.
He plodded back to the house, leaving the sword behind. He kept his strained hands and arms raised, empty, and apart the whole time to let them heal.
A week later, he brought the sword home.
“I am the weight of all that has come,” he muttered once he steadied it against the wall.
Chapter 2 - Disgusting Bat
A bat landed on a doorstep. “What’s this doing in the middle of nowhere?”
The door swung open. A man stood inside, arms on his sides.
The two stared for a moment.
“What are you?” the man huffed, skewing his mouth.
The bat chuckled. “How ‘bout you? How’s your day?”
“A talking bat.”
“A talking human! So, did it come with the door? Or…”
“What?”
“The house! I mean, no way something like this was built here just like that. Unless it was moved here. I mean, why’d you need a door in the middle of nowhere anyway? It’s not like the door is bolted or anything. So what gives?”
“Huh? I don’t know myself. So, why can you talk?”
“Why can you talk?”
“I can talk because I can talk.”
“There’s your answer.”
“Look, if you’re not going to tell me, cool. But please, don’t bother me. And no, bats don’t talk. Unless there’s something special about you. Is that the case here? What kind of bat are you?”
“Why’re you even asking this? Humans can talk, so why can’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but still, wouldn’t humans and human-looking things be the only ones capable of speech?”
“Really? Is that your bias?”
“I mean, it makes sense… I think.”
“It almost does! Yeah. Good one!”
“You know what, forget it. What are you doing here?”
“What do you think? Hello!”
“Hello? So, what? Is the answer being this? Is this what you wanted? Look I don’t get any visitors, but if you’re going to be at least nice, then I won’t do what I did to the others.”
“So, you’re wondering if I am ‘to be killed’?”
“Close. No, actually, you got it exactly. So, what are you doing here?”
“Doing? Well, we’re having this chat, aren’t we? Isn’t that enough?”
“That’s what I’m wondering. Is it just this? Or is there anything else?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who’s asking?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. So what are you doing?”
“Look, I’m not in the mood for your mind games. I don’t want to waste my time. If you have something, just say it. If not, then I’m shutting this door and sitting down.”
“Sitting down is time well spent.”
“Yeah, it is. How about you? What do you do?”
“I like flying, if you didn’t know. Just that I’m not doing that right now. Standing on this porch as you can see. How about you?”
“I said already. I sit down. That’s what I do. And kill goblins. Are you a goblin?”
“No. A bat isn’t a type of goblin, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Are you kidding me right now? Can you just tell me what you’re planning to do?”
“Nothing. If what we’re doing doesn’t count.”
“Well, it does. You’re wasting my time.”
“But you’re so close.” 
“Whatever you’re planning, just do it quick.”
“You almost just got it. Hint: it has to do with speaking.”
“Can you shut for a second?”
“Okay, he’s mad now.”
“You serious? Of course I’m annoyed. You’re bothering me.”
“Well, we’re all here for different reasons—”
“I’m closing this door and going back inside. If you have anything. If there’s anything you have in mind, go knock on the door.”
The bat knocked on the door frame several times in front of him. “There. I do have a lot of things in mind. I can think, you know.”
“You motherfucker.”
“So, what’s been bothering you lately?”
“Ha-ha.”
“Okay.”
The two stood there.
After half a minute, he shut the door.
After several minutes, his muffled voice sounded from behind the door. “Can you leave? Please?”
“Well, ain’t that something. Wanna come out?”
The door opened again. “When are you gonna leave? I don’t want to do anything too rash.”
“I don’t know. Are you actually talking to me?”
“What?”
“You know, a real talk.”
“What are you even on? Didn’t you just say—you know what? I’m not playing your games. The fact I’m responding to this…”
He closed the door again. “Fuck you!”
“Fuck me, yeah. I’ve heard words like that when they come, but I’ve heard good things too. Isn’t that something?”
“Fuck you…”
“Well!” It shrugged.
“Fuck you…”
“Ha-ha.”
“Fuck you…”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You know…”
“What?”
“I hate you. I hate all of you.”
“All of me? Who’s ‘all of you’?”
“All of it. All of it! Shit! Shit, fuck, shit, fuck! I hate the fact! The fact that this! All this! Fuck, shit, fuck, shit! I HATE IT! I HATE IT ALL! This world. All of it! Fuck it all! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! And most of fucking all, fuck you!”
“Mm-hmm.” The bat warmly smiled.
Tears dribbled down the man’s crumpled face. “I live in a world. So full of things. And I can’t. I can’t motherfucking… I can’t fuckin’… FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUCCCK!”
“Yeah.” The bat slowly nodded.
“I miss the feeling. Did I even have it? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m here, and that’s all I am. All I am. All I am.”
He looked up. “I just wish… that I could feel something… Other than this. This hatred in my heart. This rage. The desire to be. To be! To live! To be alive! Motherfuckers! Fuckers get in my fucking way! They fucking! Fucking pieces of shit! I hate them all!!! I hate them all!!! I will kill them all. All of them.”
“Right.” The bat nodded.
“You know? You’re part of it! The world that I hate. The world I want to kill. I will become. Become everything. That’s my destiny. That’s my purpose. You? None. None, you little loser. You lazy little disgusting horrid little ucky little piece of shittt! NOTHING ABOUT YOU STICKS. You stick to nothing! You have no nothing, nothing, nothing. You’re a waste! A FUCKING WASTE! You loser! You LOSERRRR! You deserve to be mutilated and destroyed and fucked again and again and again and again!”
The bat sighed. “Look. I’m here. But there’s only so much I can do. So I’m leaving.” It flew away.
The man stared where the bat was just standing, one corner of his lips twisted up.
He ran inside and barrelled back out, a giant sword sliding and clattering behind him.
The bat flew higher.
“Shit, shit, shit!” the man growled. His stomping and distorted howls echoed downhill.
… 
The chair’s legs scraped against the sweet wood.
He yawned, covering his mouth. “I think to myself that at some point, there was. And from that, nothing else. But yes, where am I now in all the things I was? I don’t know. All I know… is that I’m here.”
He rose to his feet and padded out to the porch, where light rain sprinkled dirt and washed over rocks, then streamed down drops. The rain shaped earth dimples out of the mud as it watered them. Lush branches shimmered and sprang, jetting drips into these puddles. In their reflections, the sky shone in glitters of sunlight falling through holes in the hoary blanket of clouds.
Mud bridges stitched puddles together. Clouds loomed over peaks.
He stood in the middle of the world turning and working.
The sigh left his mouth and entered the air. The breeze waved and swelled around it.
Hands clasped slick railing. Drops bent down roofs and slid down posts. Sky glimmered into the dimness inside, cutting between slats.
Beads dewed rough palms. Clothes layered over skin dampened, then flattened.
Eyes shone. In them reflected dots and flickers, hoary drizzles and swaying greens.
“It’s lost,” whispered.
A goblin stood in the middle of the rain, right there, in front of his house. “Are you the one?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re the one who killed my brothers, aren’t you? You’re the only one here who could have done it!”
“Well… Come on. Show me.”
The goblin scrambled to him with a dagger.
He slammed the goblin’s dominant arm and hauled him over his back before throwing him down, then stomped it on the head. Screams split up its throat. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I have a lot of things on my mind right now. So, please don’t disrupt my time.” It went on wailing and screeching. “So, please…” He ripped out a panting groan as he rammed into it with his soiled feet.
He did it again.
Again.
Again.
The sound cut across the hill.
Until it went limp. Its right eye glowed briefly beneath a bead. 
Its body littered the ground.
After huffing against the circulating breeze for a while, he trudged back inside, throwing the door shut. 
On the armrest, the coffee cup still rested. He snatched it and guzzled it. The cool liquid settled in his stomach.
How long must he endure this? The sky dazzled ahead, behind, above, and everywhere he looked.
“It’s you.” His gaze twisted up, distant.
The next day, he ate bread. Crumbling in his mouth, it broke down thickly and melted on his lips. The paste fell inside, fattening his stomach.
If it was just this, it would be enough, but the world asked questions, and it did so menacingly.
A sword might cut down a goblin, but did it think for itself? Did it wonder what it meant? No. It did only as asked, or as it did as steel cutting away flesh. And yet, there was a question in that. Where did it all go? At what point did it all mean something? At what point did the world eventually collapse to a something? To something definable? Where did it all begin and where stopped? 
The world crawled along.
The sky dissipated, then came back, then went away again—always in flux.
If he could cut a goblin down, could he fly? And what in flying would he be? A bird? Free? Free and bird were not the same thing. Flying didn’t equate to freedom. Cutting a goblin down left a corpse, but did it leave a soul? At what point would cutting away become more than just flesh and blood? At what point would it stop demonstrating? Friction with steel and flesh answered itself, beyond which what more could be said or performed physically? There had to be a point where it all realized and went away. 
What was he to begin with?
Who could he be?
He sat down. To what end?
To what now?
To what where?
If he thought it all meaningless, would it go away? The sky rippled just the same. The ground displaced on every stride. The distance trickled by, as if the infinity of dots never found a place to settle.
He was, and he would be. And by that measure, only the thing answered itself, and nothing more. The sky ended the same way—in continuation. And in continuing, itself. It was continuance itself.
So he killed. So he sat. So he ate. So he went. Not a question could find its way into him, except in continuation, except in idle thinking, except in sitting down. And in movement? In movement. In every stride? Every stride. In the flux? The flux.
A smile on someone’s face faded just the same and went right up again, with the turned-up corners and the crinkles.
Minutes later, he went out of the house and set off for the city. There, he took a quest at the board and confirmed the details with the clerk. It read, “SLAY 5 GOBLINS INFESTING SINGLET CAVE. 10 BRONZE COINS REWARD.”
Chapter 3 - Flower
In the middle of a damp, moldy cave, the goblin Ronticulag crouched, looking up while rummaging inside his bag. “Where’d they go?” Beside him, Cule rubbed the back of his green hand against his muck-smeared gemstone.
“Hmm?” Cule stopped to glance. “Danny? They went already, you didn’t see?”
“Yeah, I had a feeling. Why’d they leave their stuff though? Isn’t that like their… ‘gambit’?”
“Well, they said they didn’t need it. For this one.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
The two goblins strolled through a series of corridors and archways. They soon found themselves among a hundred goblins shuffling through a wide, high-ceilinged space. Canopied stalls sat every ten paces. Wide planks bridged gaps in the floor, and timber patches covered holes and smoothed over jags. Pots, clothes, and foodstuffs cluttered the walls. For males, red cloth wrapped around the palm; females, blue.
The two went up to a green-flagged stall.
“Where’s Mr. Camwell?” Cule tapped the awning.
“Shook out of his wits.” The vendor turned, glancing at the gemstone then grinning to himself. “He got beaten again at meni.”
“Heh.” Ronticulag snapped his finger with a fake sigh. “He said he’d beat Armington.”
“Well, that went well.” The vendor smirked.
“Surely.” Cule snickered.
The two waved and went on their way. 
The sunlight later hit their feet. But most of it fell in shadow. A human stood over them, a short distance away, having just turned the corner.
The goblins, frozen, jerked away and started running.
The man huffed rapidly before charging them.
A thick shadow hurtled.
Blood splattered.
Cries ripped out.
The moment flew by.
The goblins’ faces lay, red-streaked.
Dropping his giant sword, the man stared down, touching around their bodies. He took out a shiny trinket—just polished—and pocketed it.
“I live in a world, and I must be.” His voice fell mute in their dead ears. “So I must. So I am.”
He walked away out of the cave.
The flowers stirred, and the birds chirped along.
“I have never been anything more than a person. That’s all I’ve ever been.” His voice drifted, and his gaze lifted to the distance. The sky overspread his vision.
A bead of blood cooled on his arm. He released his canine tooth from his lower lip.
“I am alive, I am free. I truly be!” His voice carried to the trees. His face crumpled briefly several times, as if about to cry, but it never did.
His figure went farther and farther away, disappearing into a speck inside the sky-smothering forest.
The greens smeared his vision. The sky twisted and swelled. The ground shook. The hands itched. The eyes stung. The throat clogged. The arms stretched. The weeds pricked his face. The dirt wore his skin down.
He jerked and twisted. He screamed and coughed. He slammed and swung.
A smile spread across his face.
He baltered home.
“I’ve always been a person,” he said.
“Yeah?” he answered himself. 
“Yeah.”
“I wonder.”
“What?”
“What’s it like?”
“Like?”
“To be?”
“To be?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.”
“Dunno.”
He got home before dinnertime.
He remembered that at one point, he was.
There was a time he saw anyone, and in their face, he saw the world. And even now, it was still there. But something on his eyes blinded them.
Who was he?
“I want to help others,” said someone he knew from the past, carrying his face, but younger. “I just want to do the right thing.” Tears dribbled down that face.
Who was that person?
His hands bled blood belonging to others.
“I am…” He suppressed what he was going to say. A monster.
A smile forced its way into his face. He smothered his cheeks with his palm to stifle it. “I can do whatever I want,” something muttered out of him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.
His face relaxed. He lay down on the floor.
Night clouds scudded above his house.
“Hey,” he said.
“Yeah?” he answered himself.
“How’s your day?”
“Fine, fine. How about you?”
“Good as well.”
“Anything happening lately?”
“Well… nothing much. But I guess that’s just life. Things happen, but most of it is just wake up, work, sleep, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah…”
“How about you?”
“I’ve been…” Killing goblins. I enjoy it too. I enjoy it a lot. It gives me something. The sense that I am. There’s a genuine joy I feel. It’s exciting.
“Well, you don’t have to say it. I know you’re secretive about it.”
“Yeah… Sorry. I usually don’t say anything in these conversations.”
“It’s fine. Just tell me when you feel like it, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll be going now.”
“Yeah.”
“Ba-bye! See you next week!”
“B-bye.” He smiled briefly. 
The next day, he folded his sun-dried clothes and piled them along the wall. In the kitchen, he turned on the faucet, and a stream of water spilled into the sink. He scrubbed a plate and placed it in the rack as balmy sunlight filtered through the window above, warming him. Stacks of bronze, silver, and gold coins rested on the table, where he sat jotting down calculations of the distances between his hilltop house and several landmarks: Singlet Cave, New City, Norr Hill, and the road running past it.
Right as he drew a curve, his jaw slackened. He got up, put on shoes, and breezed out the door.
A goblin stood in front of him.
“Seriously? Are the numbers increasing ‘round here? I’m not in the mood right now. Go.”
It stared.
“Before I kill you. Go.”
It looked left and right.
“Okay, if you’re not leaving.” He walked past it.
It turned and watched him go down the hill.
“Don’t you dare mess anything up there!” he shouted.
It glanced back at the house.
It sat down on the ground, facing the view from the hilltop.
Two days later, he got back home. The goblin still sat there. “Waiting for something?” he said.
It shook its head.
“Well, whatever you’re waiting for, it ain’t coming. Now… Are you hungry? Wanna eat something? Let me give you something to go.”
It nodded.
He handed it his bread. “Too much for you? Too little?”
The goblin shook its head twice.
“Okay… So… what gives? Tree got your tongue?”
The goblin softly muttered, “No.”
“Oh, you can talk. Well, if you can understand me and you can talk, why not go talk your way out of here? I’m not in the mood to be dealing with outsiders right now, especially gobs, hear me?”
It nodded, but it stayed and kept eating.
“Yo… You can’t be doing this, alright? So… why not take a gander at the world below? There’s so much to see.”
It smiled warmly at him.
He wrinkled his nose, grimacing.
“Why’re you here?”
The goblin shrugged. “Nice.”
“‘Nice’? What’s nice?”
It pointed forward, then at the house, then at the mountain peak to the right, then at him.
He squinted and rubbed his eyelids. “Okay, let’s get things straight. You’re a goblin, and you want to go here of all places? Don’t you know what that means? I’ve killed goblins like you. Tons. Well, a hefty amount. Not more than ten, but more than five already. So, if you want to die, be my guest.”
It shook its head.
“Well… you’re making things difficult for me, and hard is hard, you know?”
It stood up and hurried away.
He blinked. “Huh? Well, okay, see ya, never.”
He got up and sighed as he went inside. A flower lay on the table. He stopped, staring.
“What the fuck…” he groaned.
He took the flower and held it in his palm. After putting it back, he adjusted it to look exactly as it had before.
“Fuck…” he whispered.
How many goblins did he have to kill?
Until that flower meant nothing to him?
He clasped his chest, the flower in front of him.
Just as he was about to relax, his ears tingled. 
Below the hill, the air swelled with the squeals and bickering of goblins. He went outside and looked down, watching small green shapes scuttle past every thicket in all directions and narrowly avoid each other. Leafy branches bent and whipped back, grass matted, dirt flew, and trunks took cuts.
Then he saw it, in the distance: a black, armored figure charged through a glade. After it ran a stream of goblins.
The goblins in the thickets rustled toward it.
They dissolved into the trees the farther they went.
The trees around the hill loomed again.
He went back inside to sleep.
The sky dazzled, then clouded, then drizzled, then cleared, then shone again.
How long?
While walking and looking down the hill, his eyes rose and went distant. “Totalitum,” he muttered. “I must be.” He laughed under his breath.
A goblin soon stood in front of him.
He had gone all the way and found one. “Hello.”
It turned and fled.
He dashed forward and seized its whole head in one hand. “Do you know not what I am? The person of persons? The harbinger of harbingers?”
The goblin panted and squealed, wrenching itself out of his grip.
He clutched it by the shoulder again, then dragged it toward him. Its blade clattered to the ground; he kicked the weapon away and punched the goblin in the face. “Do you know what and who I am?” he shouted. “I am harbinger!”
The goblin kept shaking and hitting him. In an instant, he grasped its throat and shoved it to the ground. The choking began, and its legs and arms kicked and thrashed. Stifled screams erupted as gags and wheezes. His face stretched into a grin as he pushed down harder and harder. The goblin’s face jerked, then froze as the life in its eyes faded.
“I… am.”
Moments later, he gripped his shirt and rubbed it against his chest, breathing stiffly. “What are you?”
“What the fuck are you!” he yelled.
Around him, the soaring trunks fanned out across the grass. Above, the wind glided through the leaves and then up and away.
Sweat dimmed his shirt, and his forehead and cheeks grew wet.
He bent his hand beside his head. “I was born, then I was born, then I was born, then I was born, then I was born, then I was born…”
He trudged all the way home, sat down to wipe his face with his sleeve and pant with the air blowing in and wafting the flower’s scent, then slept deeply. The sky rippled, bounced, and collided all the while.
By the time he woke up, his hair had curled into a nest.
He gradually got on his feet, sauntered along a table, and flumped into a chair. After smoothing out his yellow drawstring shorts’ left leg, he sat sideways, rested one leg over the other, and dangled his arm over the backrest.
After tapping the table several times, he peeled himself off the chair and traipsed out to the porch.
Flecks of goblin blood blew along his doorstep. He sidestepped it and strolled away from the house. When he reached the edge of the hill, he skirted along it and trotted down the slope, huffing at the bottom.
Never had he been anything else. That wordless sound that treaded past his ears, stopped, melted between the trees, then returned in that swelled billowing colossal form. It clogged his mouth and stretched his belly. It shattered the steady blurs in his vision and split lines till only a taut smile disturbed his usually empty face.
Hunger.
Every distilled essence of a unit—every goblin—eventually amounted to a killing. To a desire for flesh, for marring, for that thing that he was that he wasn’t, that thing that scoured the world for happenstances that thoroughly vivified his beatless heart.
“I am martyr, of self, of that essence which I am. Of that thing which I strive so hard to be. Fuck! That thing which I am. I must, I must! That thing. I can’t reach it. It’s fucked! That disgusting, utterly elusive fucker that doesn’t bend to my wishes, to my god-ordained will. From where will it all boil down? And from what manner of being will this expression of a face gain sentience—a soul?”
As he staggered around the grass, flowers wilted underfoot. The grating sounds of his stiff throat, chopped speech, and self-interrupting stammer drowned in the trees.
“How I am, how I’m not. By whatever measure I am judged. Whatever considerations are applied to me. However I am characterized and assessed and tossed and turned and sabotaged. What ultimately matters is that this raw defecating body thrashes and lumbers forward without getting caught up in shit that don’t matter! Because—shit!”
He was unbowed and, in all his forms, completely tormented out of a capacity to be.
Every time a goblin went his way, both his flesh and spirit vied for dominance, but he irked for something philosophizable, for meaning, because how could a person ever conduct themselves if they couldn’t even be said to have a solution to the plights of the mind that sought consciously always for matter to organize, to throw themselves in light rather than in the mere happenings of them?
If he killed a goblin, would he by that point have delivered himself and tossed himself forward regardless of physical advancement or emotional relief? Would he at that point have delivered himself toward that font of philosophical freedom? That source, idea, measure? That sure heart outside of a deteriorating, volatile psyche?
By this point, he merely folded and unfolded life again and again, turning it from one state to another, where either state bore no difference save for what his body could at best comprehend, which wasn’t anything at all.
Chapter 4 - Empty Hand
In the middle of a large cavern, stalagmites surrounded two goblins. The shorter one, Loopy rubbed its brow as it looked up at the crystals hanging from the ceiling. “What’s that?”
“Meno?” The second poked its chin.
“Yeah… probably.” Loopy scratched its brow.
“But where’s Randall?” The second turned around.
“Here!” called a voice from behind a corner. “I’ll be there, go do whatever you need to do!”
“Come on, man.” The taller one, Cornell, beckoned even if a wall separated them. “I told you already. There’s nothing here. Come here.”
The voice cracked. “No. If even one of you dies, I won’t forgive myself.”
“Death’s like overrated, man.” Loopy chuckled, patting Cornell’s shoulder.
The third goblin, Randall, went silent.
Cornell nodded quickly. “Plus, death’s in Atlas’ hands. We’ll be fine—” It choked briefly.
From the direction of Randall, a male human groaned as he rounded the corner, leaning against the archway. In his grip, a giant sword scraped along the blood-slick ground. Behind him, a goblin lay, its limbs twitching. Blood spilled from its mouth.
“The fuck,” Loopy muttered with heavy breaths.
“I thought you said this was empty!” Cornell’s throat tore.
“Randall!” Loopy’s face creased.
The human’s eyes flickered and went elsewhere, distant. He swallowed air and retched, covering his mouth, as sweat streamed down his face. The muffled sound of his mutters carried to the goblins: “I must be, I must be, I must be, I must be.”
Goblinhood.
The two fled.
His head cocked to them. Backs. Running. Abandoning—HIM!
A growl clawed through his throat.
He chased them.
The land filled with plenty.
“I love you guys, I really do.” He caressed their gashed cheeks, looking down on their corpses. “I sometimes wish I could bring you guys out, but not today.” He raised his head, staring far off. “Not today.” Whatever draft blew through the cave stank of mold, damp stone, musk and rot.
He got up and went outside. Masses of clouds hovered across the huge sky.
He looked on with a smile.
If there was anything else, it would be this. Just this. This was all he needed.
Whatever else was just another day.
He would bear the weight of existence.
One step at a time.
Where are you, James? blasted through his mind.
Where are you? screeched.
Hello? he yelled.
Hello? he screamed.
Hello… He shrunk into a speck in a whole wide world.
His rot-soaked hands trembled. “I must be, I must,” he whispered. “I must. I must.” Tears dripped. Whimpers exploded.
“I have always been a person. That’s all I’ve ever been. I promise. Nothing else, nothing else. I never did this. I never did. I only did this, because… something inspired me, put me through, made me see something I shouldn’t have. I ate the fruit. And it devoured all I was. Or something.
“If I did, if I went, if I tried, if I cried, what would I be? If the sounds stopped and it was only me in that house, who or what would I be? What at that point would I be? If I could even speak and I can now, what would I say? What would come running out of my mouth? Would I have the capacity to adjust the words and my own voice so that they sounded exactly as I needed them to? Would I see beyond this moment? Would I escape it? To be, to be, to be, oh to be. Oh to exist. Oh to find myself wanting and to fulfill it. What more, what less, what else. This life so well-lived and to what making? To what who-I-am? To what, to what, to what? Ha-ha.”
Sand marred the desert, so did the sky rip apart at the time of coming on and arriving. So did the person at the brink. So did the hands that gripped first uselessly, then totally.
He distended the goblin, defiled it, ravishing. Personhood at this level collapsed and took on separate forms, making its way in states too obscure to describe and too obnoxious to label. Whatever came of this combining always ended in Red Grimes, for he was the total man, the desirer of that making, of that who-I-am, of that simplest order.
“I have discarded my past ways, and I have made myself anew. In this way have I become all upon all, man upon man, soul upon soul. Whatever ariseth left is left to itself, and by that measure, the all in all.
“I speak from the tongue of harbinger.”
There I go.
Strolling around a tree, Red propped his chin on his fist as he leaned his head against the trunk, and all over him, green ran up to the sky. “I saw to it that men shall die, and all shall be crept up in admiration, for I am king, and I have nothing left to see.”
He squashed his way along a dim, light-pricked stand flanked by a bosk of shrubs, ferns, and herbs. Leaves occupied the sky; the leftover blue crawled through the tangle where the sunlight faltered. Muck and slop splashed around his shoes, spattering his legs below the knee. Sweat needled along his temple before dropping like rain.
Boughs and branches hung over him. Bugs crept along their vine-brushed bark. A finch glided past; a warbler followed. 
When he stepped into a large hollow, pigs and deer had already run off. On the other end, he stopped.
Past a vine, in an open space, a trail of smoke curled away. Below it, the hum of a man in lush, loose clothes drifted to Red. The figure entered a lodge with a chimney, letting the door hang open.
Inside, arms bent over backrests and rested along the table. Hair swept necks and skimmed shoulders. Hands lifted and dangled as they gestured. Eyes relaxed and grew wide. Mouths murmured and mumbled, sometimes shooting open. Dresses rolled and cascaded. Hems flitted and sleeves stirred with movement. Fingers pointed and rippled over each other, twirling around sudden gestures and sharp turns in expression. Voices went slow and graceful, then fast and wild, then jagged and repetitive. Words opened with flourishes, stretched when building up, then loose when lips curved up. The three women spoke while the man shuffled around the thick bags cramping the floor. Copses cloyed their world.
Among the copses, where birds banked around the congestions, barren flowers matured. Even nature’s skylights stopped on the top.
At the balmy-sweet doorway, a worn hand unfurled from the coolness, beckoning Red. Sweat straightened his hair and weighed down the few curls that still held; mud crusted his shoes and clumped his leg hairs. What little of him stood shrunk under their gaze.
A palm dirtied with bits of fern and sticks lifted from him, answering for him. “Hello,” his mouth let out.
Red glanced around. The way behind him stretched into pitch-black.
“Are you okay?” stabbed into him.
Red stood higher. The sky grazed his eyes. The steady thrum of voices seized him. The procession of smiles thronged him.
“Hi!”
“Welcome!”
“How are you!”
His throat itched; he coughed. “I’m fine, yes.” A chuckle blew through him. 
Hands from inside carried a chair outside, where they sat him down and patted his shoulders. He creased his mouth up in the direction of a sky of mouths, eyes, and noses.
Branches protruded and snaked around overhead. The sky eroded.
Bread and water offered on palms smothered him.
He shook the first empty hand and pulled himself up. 
“What’s your name?” said the one holding his hand.
“Red Grimes.”
“I’m Lora. Lora Shannel if you’re the type.”
“No, just call me Red.”
“Alright, Red.”
“Shannel?”
“Try Lora.”
“Lora?”
“Suits you.”
“Where’s this place?”
“Where my type lives. Willing to sweat for it?”
“I’m sweating now.”
“You will do a lot more later.”
“Later?”
“If you’re staying here for a while, we’ll have you do chores of course.”
“Right… I’m not staying here. I was just curious.”
“Okay, where do you live?”
“Far. House. Not exactly the type of place I’d sweat in. But it works.”
“Oh? Are you not from here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your clothes. And you don’t sweat at home? Do you have gilded windows?”
“No. And it’s on a hill, so I still do sweat, just not inside.”
“Right. By the way, you hungry?”
“Hungry?” He touched his stomach. “Yeah, but I have nothing.”
“Don’t worry.” She took bread from someone and transferred it over to him. “Like that? If not, you’re just going to have to go the whole way home. Is it far?”
“Not too far, but it’s a walk.” He took a bite out of the bread.
“Then, come with us. Wherever you’re going, we’re bound to pass it. It’s a long walk as well, but at least one where you aren’t sweating all by yourself.”
“Right.”
“Do you know what I’m talking about? We’re going on a hunt.”
“Hunt?”
“Yes, a lot of the forces around this area have changed for the better, so there’s now room for us to peek inside caves when goblins always had the upper hand of surprise and defense, you know what I mean?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“You get me? Anyway, whether or not you’re coming, it was nice to meet you, Red.” She shook his hand before he could offer it, and she set off with the others. He stood there, watching them leave.
By the time they went out of sight, after one more look at the lodge, he bolted after them. “Wait!”
When he joined them, Lora clapped once. “Hey! How are you? You feeling alright? If you’re really coming, you don’t have to do anything. But if you want, I can teach you a few sword tricks.”
“No, it’s fine. I can fight.”
“Really? Wanna show me?”
“Sure.” He stopped and gave a long blink. “Oh wait, I forgot my sword at the cave.”
“Oh? Cave? So you’re a fighter-fighter.”
“Yeah—kinda. Uh. I’ll follow you guys. Wait.” He sprinted again in the opposite direction, tracing his steps all the way back to the cave and bringing to where he last saw them.
Lora stood there, alone. “Cool sword! OK, let’s go! They might’ve already reached Norr Hill.”
“Norr Hill?”
“Yep, you know it?”
“Yeah. I… was there. Once.”
“Okay! So you know where we’re going then?”
“No.”
“It’s Hoffman Dungeon!”
“Hoffman? I don’t know that.”
“Okay then. Anyway, let’s get to sword-fighting. But first, let’s find our buddies.”
Once the two rejoined the other three, Lora showed him a sword swing. “Like that? Try one.”
He swung it heavily, slamming the ground with sheer gravity. “Uh. I usually can control this, but I guess I’m usually hitting something.”
“Try that tree!” She slashed it, leaving a gash.
“Ooh!” He ran and dragged the giant sword along the ground before lifting it and slamming the tree with the flat of the blade. “Damn…”
“Well, even if not too controlled, you got strength!”
“Yeah, hehe.”
“So what’s your”—she waved her hands—”element?”
“Element?”
“Yeah, people usually have elements. Are you used to tight spaces? Or do you like open spaces? Stuff like that. I prefer fighting where there’s lots of trees. I can navigate my way through them like a bat.”
“A bat.” His gaze shifted for a split second.
“Yup!”
“I guess I’d be used to just letting myself lose it, hehe. It’s a fighting thing.”
“Sort of like berserker then?”
“Yeah, some-something like that.”
“Then, you like front-lining?”
“Uh, yeah sure. I’ve never needed to be at the back anyway.”
“Oh, solo fighter. Don’t swing that sword at us, okay? I can catch most things, just not that with your level of strength.”
“Oh, oh, ok-ok.”
“Yeah. Okay. If you’re joining, Mike should probably explain how we’re going in.”
Mike went to his side, looking forward. “We’ll wait.”
“Wait?” Red said.
“30 minutes, at least!”
“Why? And why 30 minutes?”
“It’s how long I can bear waiting too long. But most importantly, how long the goblins take before they stop waiting. You know, sometimes, they delay going out when they hear a sound to catch us off guard, so 30 minutes is enough.”
“That’s enough? Wouldn’t it be like hours or something—”
“That’s how long I can take! Sorry.”
“Oh, okay. Well, 30 minutes is fine, I think.”
“But a berserker… Can you swing it high and level enough that it goes over heads that are ducking?”
“Uh? That’s not safe.”
“It isn’t. How about we just leave you to it? You’ll stay and wait until we call you up, how about that?”
“I thought I was… going to the front?” He side-eyed Lora.
“Well, let’s try it first,” Lora said.
Mike nodded, and Red stepped forward as the other four took their positions in front of him. 
“Like this?” Red glanced around, hands together.
“Hmm…” Mike rubbed his chin until it reddened. “What do you guys think?”
“I mean, if it works,” one of the two other women said.
“You wanna try?” the third woman said.
While the two women talked, Mike leaned over to Red. He pointed at the first. “Elise.” He pointed at the second. “Chloe.”
Red nodded.
Lora swirled from side to side, hands clasped with a distant look, mumbling to herself like a child. 
“I don’t know,” Red whispered.
Mike’s brows pricked up. “Hmm?”
“The layout of the cave we’re going to. And like, how the whole entrance looks.”
“Oh, well, that’s a factor.” He sneaked glances around him, especially behind. “We can use my super secret technique.”
“Huh?”
“We wait a little bit longer until you get a feel for the cave’s look.”
“That’s…”—he stifled a chuckle—”actually quite effective.”
“Well, you know me. Oh, wait you don’t. But you know me now.” He let his chin rise with a smirk, shooting a glance at him to check.
Red’s stifled laugh came out as a smile.
Mike nodded to himself after catching it. “Hmph.”
Past Mike’s shoulder, Elise and Chloe’s stares at Red came into focus. Red perked up. Mike stopped, tilted his head, and raised a brow.
“He should take it,” Elise said. The tattoo that ran along the back of her right hand and fingers unfolded toward him. When her words carried across the field, Lora stopped her strolling and sauntered all the way to them.
Chloe grasped her chin and shot blank glances around. “Have you guys checked? What is he?”
“Uh, not yet.” Lora furrowed her brows. “Actually, no, not ‘not yet.’ That would be impolite.”
Red’s face hardened. “Huh? What ‘not yet’? What’s ‘not yet’? And ‘take what’?”
Mike pressed his lips, went in front of him, and raised his palms. “Oh, sorry for being unclear. We’re talking about whether you can handle her runes. It’ll boost your strength a little, but you need to be in her line of sight at all times.”
Red’s jaw slackened. “And the checking?”
Mike made a can shape with his hands. “That’s your receptiveness to her runes. It’s a complicated thing, so you don’t need to do it. I wouldn’t do it if I were you. Too much hassle.”
Red’s voice softened. “Well, I’m not exactly in opposition, so… whatever you need me to do.” He craned his head to meet the women’s gaze. Behind Mike’s back, the woman shared nods.
A smile crept into Red’s face.
Chapter 5 - Dance
The shadow of a goblin crept up, swelling as it approached the corner.
The shade of a huge blade ran its way through it. Red splashed the wall.
“What is done, is done.” As Red stood still over the scum, his voice tore through his chest and dissipated under his breath. He stifled a toothy grin and covered his mouth. Behind him, four people swung their arms as they maundered around the corpse, passing their shadows over it. One even threw her arms up and swung herself all the way around mid-stride, squelching half a head.
Their blades grazed stone, leaving white streaks. The corridor crowded and thundered in their descent.
“How’s the runes doing?”
“Don’t feel anything.”
“They’re working then!”
They pounded their boots forward, kicking through debris and stomping on bone. Broken pieces of armor clanged into each other, some slamming into the walls and crashing to the ground, others bouncing along the corridor then scraping to a stop. Thin bones of goblin arms shattered, sending shards flying.
Heat and the odor of rotten eggs floated through, soaking faces with sweat and wrinkling noses. Faraway rumbles from deep underground vibrated chips on the ground. The snickers, guffaws, and inhales of the four drowned them out.
Elsewhere, a goggled goblin peeked out of a wooden cover, opening it few several seconds to peer into the darkness below. At the bottom stood five fair-skinned human figures in the middle of a vast chasm. Around them, passengers smothered golems, wagons, and flying carpets.
“What’s this place?” Red was about to sit down on a carpet when Lora stopped him. His purple and yellow outfit stood out against Lora’s brown.
“Don’t.” She smiled before glaring at the man who was just beckoning him to sit.
The man dragged away and clenched his teeth.
The other three approached a dark-skinned man, who just sent someone away. Behind him, a golem nodded off.
“Man, you really have to give me the schedule,” the man said, sighing. “I hate having to waste free money like this.”
“You signed,” Mike said. A smile plastered his face.
The man pointed when Red and Lora came. “Who’s that?”
“Red Grimes.”
The five began climbing the golem.
“What happened? Someone die?”
“I still see four of us, so no.”
“What’s he do?”
“What you do? Yap?”
The golem yawned and stretched to its feet. By the time it moved, its five passengers had already lain down and shut their eyes. 
It trudged through the chasm, reaching one of hundreds of labeled exits. Each sported a portal teeming with swirling colors—a swamp, a stony hill, the inside of a tower, the depths of a cavern, the core of a dying dungeon, layers of deep earth, the flames of a raging city, a valley swarming with beasts three times the size and three hundred times the weight of the average human.
The portal they chose led them through a covered entrance that opened into a huge city.
Where the sunlight first hit, statues about a hundred feet tall rose from the hills, some hazy and peeking over, others stretching up the sky.
Hands and fingers fiddled around and inside buttoned bag pockets, taking items out and slipping others inside before closing them.
Water from loose pouches washed down their throats, drawing big, soft sighs.
Bag-covered backs trod the cobbled descent, joining a swelling crowd at the city gate. Once a guard gave the signal, droves poured out. On the side of the road, another crowd watched them leave, then jostled inside.
An olive-skinned woman with a satchel-cinched waist approached the five. Her wheaten clothes layered tightly over each other like armor. A red gemstone lens adorned her right eye below her furrowed brow. Her smile tucked into her cheeks. “Summer’s barely come, and a patchel’s on my doorstep. What’s the catch?”
“A patchel?” Mike swayed his sweat-dried hand. “No, no, this isn’t one of your ‘patchels.’ He’s Red, and he’s Grimes. The word around is that he’s one of us now, what do you think about that?”
“Nothing that can’t be checked at my office.” She turned to Lora, rough hands falling on her waist. “Where’s my sand-watch?”
Lora rubbed her warm neck. “Haven’t gone around to it, but one of the merchants said it’d go down to 500 by the fourth of Tremedon. So I’m banking on that.”
“What’s his?” The woman pointed at Red and Elise.
Elise gave a sun-baked smile. “Well, too well, I fear. Ten goblins in ten minutes. And that’s not even accounting for density.”
“Better than…?” the woman mouthed and twitched her crisp brows.
Elise nodded, drawing a squealing “hey!” from Chloe.
“Eat first?” The woman pointed between them, settling on Red. “You want? It’s sisig.”
Red held her gaze for several seconds before looking left and right.
“Sisig?” She twitched her brows. “You know?”
The others looked at him.
He shook his hand. “No, I haven’t eaten it before.”
“It tastes good, you want? It’s pork. You like that?”
“Uhh…” He pressed his lips. “Sure!” he tried.
Smirking, Mike clasped his shoulder. “I’ll show you how to eat it. You use your mouth.”
“Huh?” Red furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, looking at Lora.
She rubbed his shoulder. “It’s okay, Red. We’ll be with you when they carry your body.”
He jerked his head around. “Huh!”
The two burst laughing.
He dropped his shoulders, hunching a little. The two helped him forward as the group started walking, crossing streets, and threading through crowds.
They entered a small office and sat down on six chairs. The olive-skinned woman planted herself at the desk. Her eyes rolled around the room, and her fingers tapped the edge of the armrest. 
Once the door shut and it was only their rustling bags, legs, and shoes, she smiled. “Okay!” She bent down from her seat and took out a bag containing packed food. “Here.” She stood up and handed them to the five, leaving one for herself.
After they finished eating, Lora handed Red an orb. “Hold this,” she gently said with a soft expression, looking at the orb.
Red put his hands on it, and it glowed. “What’s this?”
Her gaze lingered on her own reflection in the orb. “Just wait.”
The orb turned a dim red.
Red stared at her, brows tense.
Lora smiled distantly. “Well, fits your name. You’re a berserker indeed.”
“Is that good?” Red looked at Mike, whose lips were pressed, and choked out a chuckle.
The olive-skinned woman swiveled from side to side in her chair. “No, that’s just your class. The brightness, however, it leaves much to be desired.”
Red’s smile strained between a toothy grin and a grimace. “Oh. Well, I guess I’m still learning.”
She rubbed her chin like she was trying to start a fire. “But how did you kill ten goblins? I don’t get it.”
Red caught the bead of sweat on his forehead before it streamed down. “Beginner’s luck maybe?”
“Well, no matter, we’ll find out eventually.” She started to the door but stopped midway. “I’m Helen by the way. Welcome, Red Grimes. I won’t be the one managing you though.” She left.
The group followed her out.
On the streets, in the daylight, beams scorched them.
They went down through the entrance of a stifling mine, where sweaty workers lined the walls.
Several stopped to glance, but most kept hacking at the wall.
They went down another corridor, and once they reached its bottom, it opened into a cavern.
They stopped. Their dry throats itched.
Dozens of human bodies—some guards, but mostly miners—littered the floor. A goblin sat atop the largest, fixing its gaze on them, growling and huffing through its nose. It got up and crept backward, dragging its mace along, before disappearing behind a boulder into a passage.
Helen clicked her fingers twice. “Try spreading outward from that direction. Keep it wide. But slowly, because if there are goblins hiding behind those pillars, they’ll eat us up.” She turned. “Red, wanna stay in front?”
Lora and Mike shared looks. Red held his breath, then said, “Okay.”
“Also, check the pillars.”
He nodded.
From the bag the group carried with them, they took out a flail for Mike, a spear for Lora, and a make-do sword for Red. 
Elise and Chloe palmed the backs of their hands, stirring blue-glowing flurries. They mimicked an archer’s undrawn motion, holding two fists side-by-side. Every few seconds, their fingers shimmered blue.
“Start,” Helen huffed. She stuck to her raised fists, but without the shimmer.
Lora and Mike moved right beside Red, and Helen crept around the boulder from the other direction while keeping a distance.
The goblin darted from the passage, charged right at Helen’s face, and struck her, sending her flying. She slammed into the wall and collapsed to the ground.
Lora and Mike ran to her and dragged her out of the cavern into the corridor leading to the surface.
Elise and Chloe shot shimmering bolts at it like archers.
The goblin ran back into its passage. The boulders and walls absorbed the bolts.
Red walked backward, staying in front of the two mages.
Once they surfaced, they brought Helen straight to the infirmary. 
She lay on a bed, eyes shut, while the group stood outside in the shade, drinking water.
“How many have you seen do that?” Elise scratched her head.
“None.” Mike rubbed his face. He sighed heavily. The others shook their heads.
He started pacing around. “It beat Helen. But yeah, the fact it went for her, then ran straight back. It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Red rubbed his lower lip with a distant gaze.
“I’m not surprised,” he stated. “I’ve seen different goblins. Weird ones. Strange ones. I wonder if I know a friend or sibling of it.”
They slowly turned their heads toward him.
“What?” Mike breathed.
He glanced behind him, inching out of the way of a passerby. “No… I have previous experience, remember? I fought in caves. I killed goblins. I’m not surprised.”
Mike raised his brows. “But goblins don’t do this.”
Red nodded. “They… did for me. Eventually… they did.”
Mike shrugged. “I’ve never seen one do it.”
Red’s eyes remained wide. “I guess that could happen.”
Mike squinted. “Where did you see goblins do that?”
Red relaxed his jaw, slightly grimacing. “I spent a lot of time with them. Fighting them.”
Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Still, this is… weird.”
Red gave slow nods. “Yeah, it’s… weird… But to explain, I remember seeing one give me a flower. Crazy, right?”
Mike snapped to look at him. “What?” He clenched his jaw.
“You know goblins?” Elise stepped forward, eyes boring through him.
Lora opened her mouth, but closed it instantly.
“I killed goblins. I just saw one give me flowers, okay? I killed them. You saw me!”
Lora stood between Elise and Red. “Red, sorry, can you leave us just for now? I don’t think we can really help you right now.”
He froze, quivering. “‘Help’? Is that what this was?”
Lora stammered, “No, I mean.”
He swiveled around and strode away through the passersby and sunlit gaps in the shade, smoldering. His body cooled with dried sweat.
As he returned home through the forest outside the city, drizzles prickled the back of his dry, hairy hand. With time, they moistened it. Then, dribbles dampened it. By the time streams ran along his forearm, his clothes darkened. And when it poured, his face blurred in the drenching rain.
“What did it mean?
“To feel?”
“To laugh?
“To cry?
“With you guys?
“Even if just for a moment.
“I thought…
“I thought it would last just a little bit longer.”
He disappeared through the door.
He shut it.
His house sat on the hill.
He covered his face, sniffling, tears pouring, as he dragged a goblin corpse outside.
He stomped its head once.
Then he did it again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The stomps resounded down the hill.
“I…” He looked up, smiling brokenly. “I…”
He clutched his face. “I’m…”
He reached out to the skies.
“I’ve…”
He hyperventilated.
“I’m…” His face crumpled for a split-second. “A sound…” he croaked.
“I make my way downtown.”
He cackled until his throat went dry and choked before crashing his whole weight down on the goblin’s head with his foot, sending pieces flying.
He broke into dance, bouncing left and right.
His raised arms bopped in front of him.
The skies swirled above him.
He kicked forward, then swirled all the way around, snapping his arms out, then continued dancing.
Chapter 6 - Murr-murr
What a person you are!
He slammed his head against the wall.
“Feelings, firth, filthy. Fucker.”
He sobbed, then mid-way switched to laughter. “I have both the arms and legs of a person.” He stood up. “Wow.”
He put his hands against the wall. “Die, fucker, die!”
Clutching his face, he retched. “Mercen. Turten. Ka-ka, ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka. Osum. Dandyn. Yum… eh…”
An idea pulled him back. He rubbed his chin. The numbers of goblins in this world varied, but if he could get an approximate and sort them into groups—types, locations, and perhaps grade levels—he might be able to manage them more effectively and integrate more harmoniously into adventurer society. He sat at the table and jotted down parameters and possible variables and concerns. “Goblin species? How many? And how do they cooperate or live? Habitats? Mixed groups? Cospecific?” Damn. He needed to brush up on his studies.
A giant sword could kill a goblin, but studying their ecological patterns with better maps and information about where they live and their home ranges would sharpen the impact of his murderous rampages. But the sheer elimination of goblins meant nothing without profit or social value. So he had to prioritize that why as well. He wrote it down: “Maximizing integration with adventurer society requires addressing its gaps, needs, and wants. Are goblins imminent or manageable? Which goblins build toward integration? Are there any other threats or needs that don’t require goblins?” Isolation and wasting time on irrelevant non-threats and non-needs would be his downfall.
He tapped his lower lip. 
The flower stared him in the face.
His eyes went distant; his vision blurred.
“My flesh is hungry, and it demands after its requisite nutrients, but what could a person be but the little things and from them the whole of a human being. So I am, so I thunder.”
He rubbed his lips like he was trying to break them off. “No, no, I need something workable, need something… workable… What would it be?
“A goblin. What kind of unit is it? How would I quantify it? Determine it? Make of it? Come on, come on, come on, come on. Dogs don’t bark unless their body is telling them. Those goblins. What do they do, they do… I don’t know. Something—something! Something ‘bout them. Have to-have to, have to, have… to…” He looked up and around. “Where is it? Something ‘bout the sound. Grrr, grr, grrr. Come on, come on. Shishi-shishi-shishi. Damn! Okay… Okay… Just… focus. I need aims, aims. Aims.” He mimicked an archer shooting. “I need something to work with. Gather. Something prickable, tangible, definable, something to keep my head straight, come on, come on, come on-come on-come on-come-on. Shit…balls… Something ain’t clicking. Click! Click now! Come on! Fuck… fuck… 
“Determiners. What are determiners? What could gather? What gathers, accumulates, determines, making ways, determines. Something to work with. Something tangible. I need a plan. A goal. Units, units, goblins. What are goblins? How to work with them? To define them? To determine them? Along buildings, structures, terrain, and different types of surfaces. Things to keep track of, to move along a sphere. Burr, burr, burrr. Come on, come on.” He tapped his temple several times. “Murr, murr, murr. Gotta… gotta… gotta… What is it?” He looked at the sky through the window. “I need substance. How to kill? What determine-y? No. I don’t know. Hmm…
He sat down for a while, rubbing his chin.
“If I killed exactly 50 goblins, would I output a subject? Something? A binding contract? Like a force that ends? Something that determines, makes way, drive. I need a… com-com-com-com-com… com-plete… something, what is it, what is it, what is it? Ideal? Maybe.
“I need to kill to create, determine, make way, subject, subject, a thing of thing. Thing of thing, curr, curr, curr. I need to totalize under my aim. Shuhm, shuhm, shuhm… Damn it! Fuck! I need a way… to become. Ideal. Person. Mur-mur-mur-mur… I need… Hmm…”
He tapped the edge of the wooden table. The sound of the taps carried a bit before fading.
“Hurr, hurr, hurr…
“If I killed two goblins, would the line construct? Erect? I need a something of a something of a something. A born thing. The line—duhm, duhm, duhm! I need an all-encompassing hand.
“To… fleshily bring about my entirety. The sung… sound… burn, birthed, cahm, cahm, cahm. I will, I will… Hum…
“If I could kill ten goblins, fifty goblins, or a hundred, would I come upon a point?”
In his mind, he whirled his hands. 
His mind created ten goblins standing on an infinite white plane.
“What to make of these? Fellows of the faith? Cloth? Come on. What you guys got to say?
“If you guys give me something, I’ll give you something in return—a who under who I am. Like that?
“Damn, damn, okay, okay. I see. I need something more workable then. Right?
“If I kill the murderous fuck out of all of you, then… perhaps… summon… entirety?
“Hum… Hum… Hum…”
He raised his hands. He opened them, then closed them.
“What is it? You were saying?
“Did you know… there’s like a ton of things people have and do and when they do that and they’re done, nothing else exists, and it’s kinda this funny thing ha-ha. Hey, what’s going on, bruh? Damn, see, I told you! There’s like a hundred billion of them, and it never stops, and it’s like this funny-funny thing, come on man, come on. You know, you know! You know, you know! He-he-he. He-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he. He-he-he-he-he-he-he. He-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-he.
“I guess yeah. That’s like the sum. To sum it up, that’s what it is… it is… it is… You know?”
He stood up, went to the door, and trudged outside, leaving the hill, scuffing his foot through the top of the mud. “Where do graces appear? And in what forms? By what point is a person coherent? Considerate? Defined? Mastered? I don’t know.”
At the bottom of the hill dragged his feet beneath worn lids and dangling arms.
Goblins’ eyes glinted in the melting green, from which clean-wiped hands slithered out and extended wet, chipped daggers against the thrashing breeze. Boots spilled forward. Mud ooze stuck and splashed under their tramples, splattering their legs’ hardening hairs.
As they approached, he raised his trembling hand over his face, where eyes gathered darkly and the corner of a mouth struck upward. “I make my way down south,” wobbled from his mouth. “I live and die by a breath that never returns, forever lost to a world that never settles.”
By what manner goblins were eliminated mattered to him no longer. The only thing that had bearing was the how of the moment, in the way it swelled, distended, and disappeared. Beyond that, literally everything was a matter of course.
A goblin made its way to him, and his hands flowed through it. The sea waves crested before collapsing, and his heart stretched before tearing. “I was, then I became, then I never did anything. By the time I realized, I craved dissolution, the mechanics of an unliving.” Rupturing strikes washed his stiff face with red slurry, and his heart eventually slathered the ground, only to beat again ten seconds later. “Fuck. Mercy be, mercy be.” His breaths bore through his throat and out his mouth in thirsty gasps and airless wheezes.
By the point the figures swept away and his surroundings increasingly quieted, the world scraped forward dimly.
“If I could lift a hand, I would have done it a long time ago. But the mechanics of a body do not constitute living, nor does it describe any exaltation of a broader self, of an apotheosis. I wish to be, but of the question of how to accomplish it I am ignorant. I sit idly, and then for a long while, I ponder. By the end of it, I have nothing but the remains of thought. In these do my fragments circulate. If I massacred, what power would I bestow upon myself besides the moving of a dead soul?”
Beds of mud sank and seeped over his shoes under his heavy tread.
The pitting rain lashed his eyes. His long, narrow body keeled over in the damp.
The world clogged and jammed in the sloppy forest. Torrents poured into his mouth through tear-drizzled lips. His shouts strangled under blistering drops.
“The thing is that I’ve always been and in many ways than one, and in that sense am I total without anything else adding or subtracting. This is the ‘I am.’ This is me, unshackled from the flesh.”
He strode directly down into the forest, whipping his head around for food and meal. Whatever else spun out of the way, for his very presence repelled them. Pounding his feet along the soggy ground, he stamped his destiny on unfeeling grasses. Mud tore in the strikes of his unflinching toes. Leaves ripped and spread apart as he waged war upon the earth.
“Man over flesh, humanity over mud, ambition over the wills of sensation.”
A goblin leapt in his way. He struck it all the same. It fell to the mud, while he trudged along it, pushing his way, until he arrived back home, where he settled on his chair and processed the outcome of his actions, the will of his ways, and the world that he possessed. Simultaneously, his waterlogged hair dripped onto the dry, mud-scarred wooden floor, the pool growing and spreading in sharper spikes.
“I am the totality of myself, and whatever I demand done will be done. So I must, not out of a morality, but out of an expression of my fullness, of the fullness of my being, of who I am in the manner of I am as existent and total and actual. Even in my hunger, I eat not simply because I am hungry and feel desperate, but because I am. When I eat, I express the fullness of myself. The mud wears away everything that isn’t myself. And now, I am full.” He chewed the last part of his bread.
Whether he dealt with goblin or non-goblin, what mattered was that he was the rationality upon this world.
The world would bow to him! Only to him!
No, these thoughts were irrational. How could he be so full of himself? No, the “I am” did not need anyone to bow to him. He expressed himself fully as he was. How could be any “rationality upon the world,” which would imply he held dominion over the world, which didn’t make sense if the point was just to be.
But if a goblin came his way, if bread sat on the table in front of him, if he went on forest walks, unshackled from flesh and grandeur, he would certainly be.
“I am closer to God made flesh, then flesh made human. But I am not God, only that I am, unshackled.”
He rose abruptly from his chair, pushing it back a little. “I am the ‘I am’ and in all the worlds, I am! I am! I am!”
A howling, wheezing cackle blew out of him.
Meanwhile, a goblin started shouting right outside his house. “What a ma-fucker, that little thing! Little shit-stains upon the dry wall! Ma-fucker killed my brothers, my sisters, and everyone I fucking know-o-w-o-w! Fuck him! Fuck him and his life! Die to an absolutely utter death! To hell!”
It raised the longest blade it could muster. “I am wielding as much as can decapitate a million suns. So here be your doom!”
Red Grimes looked outside. “Huh?”
The goblin spun its blade, cleaving the portico’s columns, causing it to collapse. “Ma-fucker decided he wanted to live! Well, hell the fuck nah!”
It slammed the ground with the blunt of its sword. The ground cracked, but restored itself quickly. “Damn it! Damn it to fucking hell!” It slammed the ground again and again, but each time led only to its self-restoration. “This shitty bitty pitty little shit!”
Tears dripped from the goblin’s face and chin. “Damn it,” it whimpered even as it glared at him. It whirled, swinging its frame all the way around, cleaving the walls.
“The fuck, man!” Red took his blade and dragged it out to the porch. “Motherfucker!” he yelled when he saw the damage.
The goblin cackled. “You fucker think you can get away with it! You fucking…!” It laughed, cried, and shouted through clenched teeth.
Red strode up and felled it, shoving it aside as he gazed at the walls slowly putting themselves together. “Phew!”