Dimpellumpzki
For all my friends, family, and fans, a twisted fairytale that will hopefully leave you grateful for your circumstances, as imperfect as they may be. Enjoy!
Dimpellumpzki
By Richelle E. Goodrich
An old mankin ran a finger alongside his nose, staring at its crooked reflection off the still surface of a black pond. This misshapen snout happened to be his most notable feature—all dimpled, extended, and swollen as it was—and the mirror image at his knees did nothing but augment the fact, magnifying his nostrils to twice their actual size. But everything about this little man was deformed, frightfully blemished and warped. And though the pond reflected this truth about his outward appearance, it failed to reveal that his inner character could be described in the same way.
The mankin leaned in closer to the water, very nearly dipping the tip of his snout in the pond while his beady eyes scrunched to see what lived beneath the glassy surface. Searching for a raw fish dinner within reach, his eyes began to focus on shadows roaming the darker depths. Just then a gust of wind twirled past, placing a single red leaf upon his reflection. The gentle swells that formed around the leaf distorted the mankin’s misshapen image, altering traits already grotesquely warped. He growled at his ugliness before turning away. But it wasn’t detest of his own person that made him turn and rise. No, it was his nose. Or rather, what his nose had detected in the breeze.
For you see, this shrewd character possessed a rare gift inside his sizeable nostrils. He could sniff out nearly any trail he longed to follow, being particularly keen on detecting one scent above all others. It wasn’t spicy or sugary or citrus smells that lured him. Nor was it the ambrosia incense of fame and money. And it certainly wasn’t the sweaty stench of hard work and labor that attracted this measly character. No, it was something potent and ripe with a subtle, unsavory flavor.
The little mankin inclined his head, closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and breathed in deeply. A sly grin crept across his face as he identified the cold whiff of utter desperation. As quickly as his bowed legs could swing each hairy foot forward, he hobbled away from the pond in pursuit of a hopeless soul.
Sunset had stained the western sky in fiery colors about the time the mankin approached a one-level farmhouse set close to the edge of a small town. He ignored the well-lit dwelling and scuttled inside a wooden barn large enough to act as a landmark for villagers. The structure stood naked, without paint or stain, just a box of raw timber planks nailed together yet artfully assembled to attract the eye. Inside, dusk grew dimmer while space seemed to expand—an odd illusion for confining oneself within four walls—most likely owing to an arched ceiling and an openness uncustomary for regular buildings.
There was no need to follow his nose any longer, for the sound of muted weeping took over as his guide, beckoning him forward to a high stack of straw bales along the furthest wall. Circumventing this pile brought all eight of his fuzzy toes smack dab before the balled-up form of a young lady who had withered to the ground. She was bent over her knees, sobbing, with both hands covering her face. So upset by whatever travailed her, the frail creature didn’t notice she was no longer alone. Not until a gnarled hand patted her shoulder did she jump, startled, and scurry onto her backside against a prickly wall of straw. Her eyes rounded into the shape of coins as she gasped. It was a miracle that her natural reaction hadn’t been a high-pitched scream. Perhaps she would have screamed had the darkness not masked the mankin’s repulsiveness. He didn’t wait for her to think to do so, however.
“Good evening, deary. I couldn’t help but overhear your heartrending sounds of sorrow. May I ask, why? Why are you crying so bitterly?”
The young lady’s sad face contorted into an even sadder expression at the knowledge that sympathy might very well be standing over her.
“Oh! I am in a dreadful mess!” she exclaimed. “My father is behaving like a monster! A tyrant! An unfeeling ogre! He’s bent on destroying my life and bashing any hope that I might ever find true happiness!”
“I see. And how is it that he’s treated you so awfully?”
The poor darling wiped at her swollen eyes, unable to keep from sniveling as she explained. “He’s forcing me to marry a man I don’t know, someone I don’t love, to better his own estate! He won’t listen when I tell him my heart belongs to another, to my true love. My father hates me! He must, because he doesn’t care about my happiness at all!”
The little man rubbed at his stubbly chin. “Hmmm. And when is this wedding to take place?”
A sound of sheer despair squeaked from the girl’s throat before she bawled, “In two weeks!” Once again her hands hid her face as a flow of misery soaked her cheeks. Over the ruckus of her weeping, a possibility of hope was extended.
“I can help you……if you want my help, that is.”
Her hands fell, unveiling two wide, bleary eyes for a second time. “You can?”
The squatty stranger nodded. “Oh yes. And I will agree to do so, if that is what you want.”
“Oh I do, I do!” she exclaimed assuredly. “But how? How will you stop my father? He’s a stubborn man, a tyrant! He won’t listen…”
A hairy hand, knotted at each joint, lifted to halt any concerns. “Don’t worry about how, deary. What you should be asking is….how much?”
“How much?” She repeated the question without understanding. When the little man explained, her face wilted again, not hopeless as before, but nearly.
“Ah, yes, how much is correct. What will you give me to stop your father from forcing your tender heart into a loveless marriage? My generosity must bear a cost or there’d be no value in what you gain from it. There’d be no second thought for me, the tiny, humble mankin who came to save you. Is it right for a desperate soul to expect redemption for nothing? No. No, no. So, tell me, child, what will you give me in exchange for my services?”
The young lady slanted her brows, looking as if she might cry again. “I don’t know. I have nothing to give.”
“Not so,” the tempter disagreed. There was a sparkle in his eyes and a grin that told her he already had a wager in mind.
“What is it that you want?” she asked.
Standing as tall and straight as his decrepit form would allow, he voiced his terms. “I want your wedding ring. The one your true love will offer when he asks your hand in marriage. This tiny trinket in exchange for preventing your being wed to a stranger.”
She agreed without hesitation, eager to live out the events that the mankin had painted in her head with words.
“I promise I will give you the ring.”
“Then it is done.”
With that verbal agreement he hobbled away, no further sounds of sorrowing at his back.
Read the rest of the story here...http://regoodrichnews.blogspot.com/20...
Dimpellumpzki
By Richelle E. Goodrich
An old mankin ran a finger alongside his nose, staring at its crooked reflection off the still surface of a black pond. This misshapen snout happened to be his most notable feature—all dimpled, extended, and swollen as it was—and the mirror image at his knees did nothing but augment the fact, magnifying his nostrils to twice their actual size. But everything about this little man was deformed, frightfully blemished and warped. And though the pond reflected this truth about his outward appearance, it failed to reveal that his inner character could be described in the same way.
The mankin leaned in closer to the water, very nearly dipping the tip of his snout in the pond while his beady eyes scrunched to see what lived beneath the glassy surface. Searching for a raw fish dinner within reach, his eyes began to focus on shadows roaming the darker depths. Just then a gust of wind twirled past, placing a single red leaf upon his reflection. The gentle swells that formed around the leaf distorted the mankin’s misshapen image, altering traits already grotesquely warped. He growled at his ugliness before turning away. But it wasn’t detest of his own person that made him turn and rise. No, it was his nose. Or rather, what his nose had detected in the breeze.
For you see, this shrewd character possessed a rare gift inside his sizeable nostrils. He could sniff out nearly any trail he longed to follow, being particularly keen on detecting one scent above all others. It wasn’t spicy or sugary or citrus smells that lured him. Nor was it the ambrosia incense of fame and money. And it certainly wasn’t the sweaty stench of hard work and labor that attracted this measly character. No, it was something potent and ripe with a subtle, unsavory flavor.
The little mankin inclined his head, closed his eyes, lifted his chin, and breathed in deeply. A sly grin crept across his face as he identified the cold whiff of utter desperation. As quickly as his bowed legs could swing each hairy foot forward, he hobbled away from the pond in pursuit of a hopeless soul.
Sunset had stained the western sky in fiery colors about the time the mankin approached a one-level farmhouse set close to the edge of a small town. He ignored the well-lit dwelling and scuttled inside a wooden barn large enough to act as a landmark for villagers. The structure stood naked, without paint or stain, just a box of raw timber planks nailed together yet artfully assembled to attract the eye. Inside, dusk grew dimmer while space seemed to expand—an odd illusion for confining oneself within four walls—most likely owing to an arched ceiling and an openness uncustomary for regular buildings.
There was no need to follow his nose any longer, for the sound of muted weeping took over as his guide, beckoning him forward to a high stack of straw bales along the furthest wall. Circumventing this pile brought all eight of his fuzzy toes smack dab before the balled-up form of a young lady who had withered to the ground. She was bent over her knees, sobbing, with both hands covering her face. So upset by whatever travailed her, the frail creature didn’t notice she was no longer alone. Not until a gnarled hand patted her shoulder did she jump, startled, and scurry onto her backside against a prickly wall of straw. Her eyes rounded into the shape of coins as she gasped. It was a miracle that her natural reaction hadn’t been a high-pitched scream. Perhaps she would have screamed had the darkness not masked the mankin’s repulsiveness. He didn’t wait for her to think to do so, however.
“Good evening, deary. I couldn’t help but overhear your heartrending sounds of sorrow. May I ask, why? Why are you crying so bitterly?”
The young lady’s sad face contorted into an even sadder expression at the knowledge that sympathy might very well be standing over her.
“Oh! I am in a dreadful mess!” she exclaimed. “My father is behaving like a monster! A tyrant! An unfeeling ogre! He’s bent on destroying my life and bashing any hope that I might ever find true happiness!”
“I see. And how is it that he’s treated you so awfully?”
The poor darling wiped at her swollen eyes, unable to keep from sniveling as she explained. “He’s forcing me to marry a man I don’t know, someone I don’t love, to better his own estate! He won’t listen when I tell him my heart belongs to another, to my true love. My father hates me! He must, because he doesn’t care about my happiness at all!”
The little man rubbed at his stubbly chin. “Hmmm. And when is this wedding to take place?”
A sound of sheer despair squeaked from the girl’s throat before she bawled, “In two weeks!” Once again her hands hid her face as a flow of misery soaked her cheeks. Over the ruckus of her weeping, a possibility of hope was extended.
“I can help you……if you want my help, that is.”
Her hands fell, unveiling two wide, bleary eyes for a second time. “You can?”
The squatty stranger nodded. “Oh yes. And I will agree to do so, if that is what you want.”
“Oh I do, I do!” she exclaimed assuredly. “But how? How will you stop my father? He’s a stubborn man, a tyrant! He won’t listen…”
A hairy hand, knotted at each joint, lifted to halt any concerns. “Don’t worry about how, deary. What you should be asking is….how much?”
“How much?” She repeated the question without understanding. When the little man explained, her face wilted again, not hopeless as before, but nearly.
“Ah, yes, how much is correct. What will you give me to stop your father from forcing your tender heart into a loveless marriage? My generosity must bear a cost or there’d be no value in what you gain from it. There’d be no second thought for me, the tiny, humble mankin who came to save you. Is it right for a desperate soul to expect redemption for nothing? No. No, no. So, tell me, child, what will you give me in exchange for my services?”
The young lady slanted her brows, looking as if she might cry again. “I don’t know. I have nothing to give.”
“Not so,” the tempter disagreed. There was a sparkle in his eyes and a grin that told her he already had a wager in mind.
“What is it that you want?” she asked.
Standing as tall and straight as his decrepit form would allow, he voiced his terms. “I want your wedding ring. The one your true love will offer when he asks your hand in marriage. This tiny trinket in exchange for preventing your being wed to a stranger.”
She agreed without hesitation, eager to live out the events that the mankin had painted in her head with words.
“I promise I will give you the ring.”
“Then it is done.”
With that verbal agreement he hobbled away, no further sounds of sorrowing at his back.
Read the rest of the story here...http://regoodrichnews.blogspot.com/20...
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