"Blink´s Story" by Kelsey M. Graham

Blink hummed a shred of an old tune, the words of which were long forgotten. As he traipsed toward home, his thoughts were chiefly concerned with what his beloved wife, Evi, had made for supper. He paused for a moment at an old stone gate, all that was left, perhaps, of some great stone fortress in days long past, its makers now dust. It now lead to nowhere, accompanied only by two ancient statues to either side. It was for these that Blink had stopped, and he affectionately brushed fall leaves and dry bird leavings from the two monoliths’ laps and shoulders, which was as far as he could reach, despite his height.

Blink didn’t know who made them or even what they were- guardians, kings, derelict idols of equally forgotten gods- all such knowledge had long faded with their makers. Made featureless and indistinct by a thousand years of wind and rain, the two weathered sentinels stared with empty sockets through centuries of greatness and neglect, silent witnesses to joy and sorrow both, as the entirety of mortal life cycles passed between them.

He liked to think that some long-ago had commanded a great empire and had ordered the statues and gate built to create an eternal record of his greatness. Evi always said that he had his head stuck in the glorified past, and should stop thinking about long-dead ancestors and start thinking about Blink, who still needed to eat and sleep and provide for his family. Blink always replied that he would like to leave something of real importance- real, lasting value- to his two sons, Tassel and Shale, and his three little daughters, Thread, Doe, and Nut. Nut was hardly more than a baby, but she could already crawl everywhere, insisting on ‘helping’ her siblings, while really just frustrating them further.

Blink smiled, lost in his gold-tinged thoughts about his beloved family, when his stomach rumbles, reminding of the nearness of sunset. He had worked a long time in the fields that day, and was positively exhausted. Funny, how lately things were becoming harder to do, tools becoming heavier, the strain in his back when he bent down was greater than he remembered. He often felt stiff and sore on cold mornings. Perhaps he had better start bringing his sons with him, it was almost harvest time, after all…

He paid his final regards to the statues, and continued on his way. He could almost smell dinner cooking, whatever it was. He stopped suddenly and sneezed, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar smell. Had Evi burned the meal? No, it smelled wrong, harsh and greasy, almost like…

Without any conscious decision, Blink broke into a run. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong, and he could feel it with each beat of his heart, each ragged breath, as long dormant instincts whispered warnings in his ears.

He turned the last bend and beheld the flaming remnants of his family’s home. His wife lay dead upon the doorstep, his sons lay a little farther off, cut down as they tried to defend their family, axes meant for woodcutting in their untrained hands.

He heard coarse laughter and he turned to see a group of human soldiers, bearing the standard of one of their kings. Completely at ease amid the carnage, they talked and sniggered brashly as they cleaned the blood of his daughters from their swords.

Blink couldn’t move. He was paralyzed- crippled with shock, terror,-and, had he known it,-hatred, but all he could do was sink to his knees as his world came crashing down.

Nut stirred suddenly- “Da-Da-Daddy?” she whispered, looking straight at him- It hurts, Daddy, make it stop, Daddy, make it all better! How many times had he heard her say those words, looking trustingly to him to heal her newest scrape or cut. Little Nut, always insisting that she ‘was a big girl now’. But there was nothing, no Daddy, no magic, no power that could ever make this better.

One of the soldiers saw the movement and carelessly swung his battleaxe, splitting the toddler’s skull like a melon. He spat on the little corpse. “Filthy orc spawn.” He caught sight of Blink and grinned, hefting the bloodstained axe. He walked up to the kneeling orc. “What, not going to try to run away?” he asked, smirking. When Blink made no move to respond, the man grabbed a hank of his hair, forcing his head up. “Not going to attack?” He asked, almost quizzically. He frowned when he saw a glimmering in the other’s eyes. The orc wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the burning orc nest, and he was- Silliness. Orcs can’t cry. Something stirred in him, a vague feeling of horror and- guilt? But it passed, leaving only his duty and fear-driven rationality. Shrugging away any lingering doubts, he brought the axe down again.

The man didn’t even bother to watch what had been Blink hit the ground. He had already turned to his men, giving the signal to move out. Turning back to Blink, he contemptuously cleaned the axe on the ork’s tunic. “Throw the corpses in the building- let’s cleanse this orkish taint from these lands.”