From the Dreaded One’s Desk: The Slough of Despair

“Um, Your Most Dreaded Evilness!” A minion poked its head around the edge of the Dreaded One’s evil lair.

“Go away I’m busy.” The Dreaded One was hard at work winning solitaire… or well, she thought she was winning, but suddenly it was looking suspiciously like losing. Letting out a huff of frustration, the Dreaded One tried to rearrange the cards.

“But this is significant.”

“I’m writing.” Or thinking about writing anyway, while… unwinding a little between sentences, right? It was close enough.

“Well, the minions have taken a poll, and we’ve decided to rename the castle as officially “The Slough of Despair.”

The Dreaded One looked over the top of the screen. The minion was squeezed between the empty bookcase, a stack of laundry on the floor, and some past lunch containers that probably smelled quite evil if opened. “Say what?” It was evil alright, as a name, but something… seemed amiss.

“Well, see we’re on the last clean fork.” The minion held it up, then quickly brushed a crumb off of it. “Erm, mostly clean fork. We’ve three minions in the bedroom in the sea of clothing, we’re not sure if it’s clean or dirty, and another six in the kitchen, never mind it’s the smallest room in the house. The minion who last walked in the upstairs bathroom fainted at the sight of the dirty toilet, and we have no idea what’s in the back bedroom… no one who has gone up there has ever returns. So, we’ve decided it’s appropriate.”

“I’m an artist.” The Dreaded One waved a hand. “I’m too busy being creative for housework.”

“That may be, but we’ve… well, we’re all quitting. You’ll have the Slough of Despair all to yourself from now on.”

“What!” The Dreaded One jumped up and immediately regretted it, forced to catch two dirty teapots before they smashed onto a pile of clothing, and let the laundry pile soak up the half-cup of tea from yesterday. Extra puzzle pieces showered down everywhere. “I am the Most Dreaded Evil one! I am above housework! Besides, I did dishes yesterday, and I swear I did laundry already last week. How can it be time to do it again?”

The minion slipped back around some grocery bags of un-put-away groceries. The Dreaded Author glared but didn’t dare spring forward in the clutter for fear of breaking something irreplaceable.

“Sorry Your Evilness. But we can only take so much.” The minion disappeared.

With a growl, the Dreaded Author looked around the room. Alright, so since the move things had gotten a little messy. But Slough of Despair? “I’m too evil to despair. Characters!” the Dreaded Author bellowed. “I’m hungry! Make me some dinner.”

A villainous face of a character peeked over the couch. “Not in my job description.”

The virtuous hero looked up broadly from polishing his sword. “I’m busing saving the world.”

“I’m a liberated woman,” the feisty girl character said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Cook it yourself!”

“I’ll do!” the clumsy side-kick offered, jumping up and knocking over the Dreaded Author’s prize handmade sculpture from college.

The Dreaded Author threw herself forward catching it. “No! Not you. You’ll break all my dishes. The rest of you, go cook now or your deaths will be long and torturous.”

“Oh good, I’ve been waiting for a fight.” The hero stood up waving his sword. “I’m so sick of you playing solitaire instead of writing my scenes. Let the battle begin!”

“That’s right, you’re going to have to make me,” the fiest girl said, drawing a knife.

“I bet I can make your death torturous first, or at least your words for the day,” the villain promised.

“Muahahahaha!” Minimizing the solitaire, the Dreaded Author wrote up a storm. Characters evaporated in a cloud of tortuous screams. Only about 2k in, the dreaded stomach interrupted.

Excuse me, it whined, knocking on the Dreaded Brain. I’m hungry.

Go away. I’m writing.

I’m starving!

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” Disgusted the Dreaded One got up, watching her step through, fine, what was looking very much like a Slough of Despair, through the livingroom and dinning room to reach the Pit of Eternal Filth—the kitchen. Eyeing stacks of encrusted dishes, the Dreaded Author eased open the fridge, sniffed the packed rows of… things in various stages of decay and shut it. It looked like “housework” was going to be on the menu.

“Noooooooooo!”

They say, if you stand on the borders of the Slough of Despair and listen hard, you can hear the cries of the Dreaded Author in the distance.