"Oof." Bog gasped as he landed against the wall with a heavy thud, the wind knocked out of him. He took a deep breath, trying to get his bearings before he chose how he'd proceed with the attack. He saw the outline of his opponent, knowing that he would be beaten soon if he didn't come up with a plan.
Be clever Bog. That's how you'll win.
Being smaller than the other goblins, the young Bog had to use brains over brawn. He'd never won against them before, but today could be the day. It had to be. He couldn't keep cowering in the corner as he waited for them to stop. His mother had always told him that he had to stand up for himself. If he let them push him around, he'd never win their acceptance.
But why do I need their acceptance?
He knew why he needed it.
Bog didn't resemble any of the other goblin children. He stood tall and gangly, over a head taller than the oldest of the goblins. He had tiny, dragonfly wings - something no other goblin possessed - and a tough exoskeleton that made him the perfect target for bullies' beatings. After all, it wasn't like he was easy to hurt, the exoskeleton kept him safe as he was tossed around the swamp. He was also ugly. Every goblin reminded him of that fact. Bog would never be handsome in the eyes of goblins. Too tall, too thin and far too strange looking.
"Ahh..." Bog moaned as he hit another tree stump, this time harder than the last. He was being swung around like a rag doll. He felt a sharp sting in his right wing, it's delicate membrane torn at the edges from a beating rougher than usual. That would take months to heal, if it healed at all. He already had holes torn into his wings that would leave a permanent reminder of his difference to everyone else.
"Are you going to fight back, or are you going to go crying to your mother?" The bully teased, knowing that normally this ended with Bog fighting away back to the palace. Believe it or not, Bog was actually the heir to the throne. His mother had allowed the throne to be guarded by the royal adviser Inkia until Bog was ready to take over. This was something Bog seriously doubted he'd ever be ready for. His mother had remained hopeful, reminding him that he carried royal blood in his veins.
Bog knew this couldn't be true. He'd seen his own blood many times and it didn't run blue. It was red. He was about as blue blooded as he was a goblin.
For a while Bog had wondered if he was adopted. It would explain why he looked nothing like his mother. His mother was certain that she'd carried him in her womb for 23 months, information she enjoyed embarrassing him with whenever she got the chance. Bog had never met his father, he'd died before Bog was born. Griselda told Bog that he looked just like his father. He had the same eyes and smile. It comforted Bog to know this, but at the same time, he couldn't understand how he could resemble his father yet still be called a goblin. Griselda would never answer this question, quickly changing the subject. It infuriated Bog.
It was that fury that helped him decide on his next move.
He knew that the bully was gearing up to swing at him again, he could see the brute's great arms lift up, ready to bring down another devastating blow. Acting quickly, Bog dived underneath the bully's arms, leaving him to tumble forward as Bog grabbed a nearby tree branch. He flew behind the bully, flicking the branch across his opponents back.
"OWWW!" The brute screamed, touching his back where it was now a nasty shade of red.
"Did that hurt?" Bog asked, feigning concern. "How about this?" He asked as he whipped him again. Bog couldn't stop himself laughing at the pain he was causing his tormentor. The bully cried out each time Bog hit him with the branch. When the bully finally slumped down onto the ground, sobbing from the pain, Bog leaned in close enough to murmur into his ear. "I suggest you go running to your mummy before I really hurt you." He hit the bully one more time, enjoying the satisfying slap the branch made when it came into contact with the brute's skin. He decided he liked the branch, keeping hold of it as he shoved off from the ground.
I did it. I really did it.
Bog had never felt so elated before. His wings buzzed, unable to contain the excitement within his body. He'd actually stood up for himself and proved he was just as much a goblin as everyone else. It was incredible. He tried not to think about how much he'd enjoyed hurting the bully. Or how he'd loved being in such control over someone else. No, he decided he'd just been happy to finally stop someone that had been hurting him for so long. He flew to the palace, landing just outside, not ready to go in to see his mother or Inkia yet. They'd only start harping on about his royal responsibilities. Bog was just about trying to pass as a goblin, let alone taking the helm as king.
He ran his hands over the long piece of branch that he'd used as a weapon. He quite liked holding it, it made him feel protected and powerful. He tossed it between his hands, then turned quickly to swing it against a tree, hitting it hard to make a delightful cracking noise. The branch was undamaged. It was strong. Far stronger than Bog would ever be. Bog nodded to himself, deciding he'd keep the branch. It brought him so much luck already. He walked into the palace, heading straight to his room so he could hide his new weapon. He stashed it under his bed, pulling his moss blanket slightly over the side to cover the branch. It was lying next to a box of his father's possessions, the only clue he had to who his dad had been.
"BOG!" Griselda called out. Bog sighed. He never got five minutes to himself. "BOG! I know you are here. The mushrooms told me. Get here now." She called again. "Coming!" Bog shouted back, checking that the staff was well hidden before leaving his room. "What do you want, mother?" He asked as he walked into the throne room, stopping just in front of the old throne.
Inkia sat on the throne. He was an old goblin, a long , grey bristly beard protruded from under his lips, covering his chest and stopping just below his knees. Like almost all goblins, he did not wear clothing, revealing war torn green flesh. Inkia had fought in many battles. His brute strength and superior skills of war had ensured that he never lost. He had a deep scar across his right eye, which was still pink and blistering, even years after the wound had been inflicted. The knife that had cut him had been infused with poison dart frog mucus. Goblins could not heal or remove that kind of poison, so it just stayed embedded in Inkia's skin, festering away at his flesh. Inkia had once told Bog that his eye had almost been pulled out of it's socket, he'd been lucky to walk away with just the scar as proof. Bog had always been frightened of Inkia, the war hero had a deep voice and short temper. Bog did his best to avoid him.
"You are late. Dinner is over." Inkia commented, sounding almost bored. "How are you ever going to be a King when you can't even get home for dinner on time?" He questioned, shaking his head.
"Sorry, I lost track of the time." Bog shrugged. Inkia sighed loudly.
"Bog, we've just announced the plans for your upcoming birthday to the court. I was hoping you'd be here for that." Giselda was obviously disappointed in her son. Bog tried not to look at his mother, biting his lip. He didn't care about disappointing Inkia, but he really didn't like disappointing his mother. "I know, mother. I'm sorry. I got caught up again." He said quietly, knowing his mother would understand his meaning. Bog and Griselda had been careful to keep the fact that Bog was being pushed around by the other children from Inkia. Bog was already such a failure in Inkia's eyes. Being bullied would just be the icing on the cake. Bog sagged a little, hanging his head in shame. Griselda walked over to her son, tip-toeing up to pat his shoulder.
"It's okay, Bog. No harm done." She said softly. "The servants left a plate of food for you in the kitchen. Go and get something to eat." She added, patting his arm one more time before letting him go. "Okay. Thank you." Bog replied, moving to walk out of the hall.
As he left, he heard Inkia mutter "Useless" under his breath.
Bog closed his eyes for a minute once he'd closed the hall doors behind him, leaning heavily against them.
He was useless. He began to quietly sing to himself as he made his lonely trek to the kitchen.
Useless - Depeche Mode
[The beat is slow, with a simple guitar riff]
Well it's about time
It's beginning to hurt
Time you made up your mind
Just what is it all worth
All my useless advice
All my hanging around
All your cutting down to size
All my bringing you down
Bog ran hand over his scaly head, his dragging his feet as he twitched his wings, feeling the sting of the injury they'd sustained earlier. He flinched, turning his head to assess the damage. Now the adrenaline had worn off, his wing really was beginning to hurt. He shook his head, trying to ignore the pain. There was no way he was visiting the healer again, that information would only be passed onto Inkia.
Watch the clock on the wall
Feel the slowing of time
Hear a voice in the hall
Echoing in my mind
Bog passed an old grandfather clock, one that his father had left behind. It was tall and made of a dark wood, part of that wood had chipped away over time. He stopped for a moment to gaze at it, his reflection staring back at him on the glass window of the clock face. The clock had never worked, it remained stuck at one o'clock. Bog's mother had always said it stopped working the minute his father had died. Bog didn't believe her. He wondered how often his father had looked at this clock. Had he really seen the same reflection? Bog continued his lonely wander to the kitchen.
All your stupid ideals
Got your head in the clouds
You should see how it feels
With your feet on the ground
Here I stand the accused
With your fist in my face
Feeling tired and bruised
With the bitterest taste
Bog walked down the steps to the servants quarters, which led on to the kitchen. He'd often taken this route, having been late home for dinner more than a few times.
All my useless advice
All my hanging around
All your cutting down to size
All my bringing you down
All your stupid ideals
Got your head in the clouds
You should see how it feels
With your feet on the ground.
The final note ends as Bog sits down at the table. A servant serves his food and leaves. Bog is alone. As he always would be.