The Little Woodtail, D.H. Bridgegate [best ebook reader for pc .txt] 📗

newspapers. I pouted but refused to cry any longer. I would become the laughingstock of Zbaka, and if I was already such of Zbaka, I would become the laughingstock of Muunzaka.

“What's wrong with you?” said a voice that I immediately recognized. It was my friend Ya'akatarria, who's mouth was far fouler and ruder than my own. He was older than I was, by a year or so, and I looked forward to becoming his age; I could then curse and swear as much as I wanted, or so I thought.
“Nothing.” I replied but gave a glance at Mr. Tasmajarru's window that answered his query.
“Oh, I see. The boss gave you a talkin' to, didn't he?” I refused to reply. “Don't worry. He's all talk and no show. Even if he wanted to get rid of you he wouldn't; he's too much of a sissy.”

His words began to comfort me, but he quickly got onto the subject of his horns. Now Ya'akatarria was a raasakouron, short little creatures whose pride and honor has much to do with its horns and everyday, since the second I first met him, he had been showing me his nonexistent horns that grew on either side of his head.

“My mom says they are growing as fast as hers used to.” he said, touching the tip of his right horn which was as soft as, I'm sure, my tail-feathers. To be truthful, however, I suppose his horns were as about as large as my interest...which wasn't very large. I tried to be as kind as I could be, seeing how he did comfort me in my despair.

“I guess they're growing; they still look small to me.” I suppose I shouldn't have said that because his face turned a bright red and transformed into an angry look of pride.

“They're not small! At least I have horns, and don't cry when someone disagrees with me. You're just a big, fat crybaby!”

How dare he! I wanted to yell every swear word at him when he said that, calling me a crybaby. But somehow, I couldn't come up with words, and by the time I did as much as stick my tongue out he was gone. I angered three people that day: Sa'sakatuia who was displeased with my rude behavior. Mr. Tasmajarru who didn't quite like my thoughts, and Ya'akatarria. I wasn't trying to upset Ya'akatarria but you never call a raasakouron's horns small.

I kicked the stack that I sat upon and as it slide a few yards, I furiously snatched it up. I had a feeling that Mr. Tasmajarru might have been looking so I took another glance out his window. He was and my body froze. The man gave me an annoyed look that said, “Take that those papers and go. Now.” I wasted no time, picked up the stack, this time gently, and was off to Green Square.

***

Green Square was quieter that morning, which was unusual since most of the markets and little shops that were jumbled together in the city were located on the square. I was actually disappointed fewer people were out, that meant it would be harder to sell. I was determined however, to get at least four papers sold. Maybe Mr. Tasmajarru would go easy on me like that silly boy Ya'akatarria once said. Proudly, I unwrapped the bundle and read the headlines that would be the most interesting to shout at the top of my lungs. Amazing Bug Climbs Dome of Zbaka? Boring. Girls, Time to Get Ready For Coldness? Definitely not. Rain Approaching Zbaka? Oh, come on. For days, and days, and even more days headlines had revolved around nothing but the war in Zaskaadad and properly so. The war in the west was on everyone's mind; about how Hassastok, the empire of the demons, could rise victorious over Zaskaadad, about how it could spread and about the possibility of Zbaka becoming an Imperial city. So how was I to announce such uninteresting headlines as the ones I was given? Well, I tried to.

“Extra! Extra! Read all about the amazing bug of Zbaka, and his wondrous adventure atop the Dome!” I couldn't believe I was trying to sell a newspaper with bugs as my headline. No matter how hard I tried or how loud I yelled not a soul would look my way. Who in their right mind would read an article about a bug when a war is going on? Realizing this, I tried another headline, this time running up, down and around the square so I was sure to be seen. “Be on the lookout for rain, folks! We're expecting great showers here in Zbaka and cooler weather. Read all about the forecast here!” I shouted some of the forecast: cloudy tomorrow, rainy the next day and the day after. All of this shouting and yelling was completely and entirely useless, for only one person merely even shot me a glance. I had only one major headline left, and it for the girls.

I hated girls. They were annoying, yucky, stupid. Mother did not count because she was Mother, and I excused Sa'sakatuia because she cared for me. No other girl would receive such a waive. It had been quite well known, too, that a certain boy named Pa'saarrith disliked girls. “Oh, dear,” some women would say, “it's Pa'saarrith, the mean little woodtail.” But now I had to swallow all of this, every ounce of pride. I had to tell myself that it wasn't about girls but the sake of my work. So, boldly, bravely, ignoring the blush upon my cheeks, I shouted the headline.

“Coldness is on the way, girls! Time for warmer, fashionable clothing at grand prices! Lovely dresses, coats and more! Read it all he-”

If one told me that all of the women and of the girls in world were all at the Green Square, laughing and giggling at my shouts, I wouldn't have been surprised. It certainly seemed like such, for what look liked an entire army of females were laughing and chuckling in an almost malicious tone. “Oh, that is so cute.” some said. “Well, well, well, if it isn't little Pa'saarrith? The rude little woodtail.” another teased and soon my face was as red and angry as Ya'akatarria's had been. I hadn't notice the offering of candy one chuckling woman had tried to give me or the few amongst the suddenly crowed streets that asked, “What's so funny?” I ran and ran and ran further until my little legs couldn't run or walk another step.

This is why I hated girls, because they teased me. This is why I hated Zbaka, because it hated me. I hated all of those women in those silly red scarfs. Red scarfs. Then I thought of something: red scarfs, red scarfs, red scarfs. Maybe it wasn't girls I hated, though I wasn't particularly fond of them. Or maybe it wasn't the city of Zbaka I hated, no. Maybe, instead, it was the Muunzakans I hated, the wearers of the red scarfs. My mother told me horror tales of the many things this horrible race had done to Zarrakadarians and even other races, and now, after today, I began to believe them. I believed every story and every tale she had told me. Mother was right, they were demons. They laughed like demons, talked with a demonic voice and found pleasuring in teasing a poor little boy like myself. Mr. Ra'zakanare was Muunzakan, and he always yelled and shouted and cursed at me when I was late. La'hassadru was Muunzakan and she found it humorous that I almost lost my job. Ya'akatarria was Muunzakan, and he became angry when I tried to be kind, like a short-tempered demon would. I thought of all this, hidden in a little alley away from all the giggling fools at Green Square. I thought of Mr. Tasmajarru, who never raised his voice, save for that one time and even then he never even dreamed of hitting me or hurting me when I was disrespectful. But that was because he was Zarrakadarian, he didn't have to. He wasn't a demon. He was a kind man. Only a filthy Muunzakan would do such an awful thing. And from that moment on, on that humid, cruel morning I vowed never to speak to a demon again. I wanted now to be my strong mother.
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Publication Date: 01-23-2013

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