Hayman's struggle

Looking over his shoulder hoping to comfirm that no one was following, he couldn't help thinking that these alleyways and streets would make anyone a potential victim. He turned left into Slate Passage, shuddered, took another quick look over his shoulder before continuing to stumble forward while reminding himself that it's common to see men or women lying unconscious, stripped of their clothing and valuables along the passage. It wasn't always like this. But over the last five cycles Western Anta-Nathalia had become like every other part of the decaying city. As he quickened his steps his head started swivelling left and right looking for somewhere to hide, or dash into if anything should happen. After hearing about everything that happens in the passage he still didn't think it possible for him to be a victim. He had no coins, his clothes were so full of holes they weren't even worth using as rags and he had bare feet! He chuckled to himself as the reality of his situation sunk in, then breathed a sigh of relief. Shaking his head with disbelief at how stupid his thoughts had been brought a spring to his step. He started to move with a little more confidence, a confidence that only exists with the comfort of knowing that you really are totally worthless.

"Excuse me, young man!"

Young man! Who in their right mind would consider me, a scrawny grey haired old... He turned around to see three well dressed and solid looking men with their hair pulled back into pony tails step out from a shadowed alleyway.

Oh great, them!

Trembling while raising his hands and taking two steps backwards he said, "Now hold on!"

"Come now, we just want to talk!" said the man in the middle through a devious looking smile as he stepped forward.

"Ah, now is not the best time!" said the old man as he turned and ran off. The three pony tails took chase, not as fast as the old man mainly because they knew where he was heading. It was midday after all. Everybody heads home at midday to shade themselves from Dazbog's torturous heat.

Slate Passage, one of the oldest streets in Western Anta-Nathalia, is riddled with many connecting alleyways. However over the last five cycles, due to the dreath and criminal times, many of the alleyways had been blocked up. The idea was to deter thieves by making their escape harder to navigate but the outcome was that the innocent found navigation difficult and rather stressfull at the best of times. Therefore, to navigate correctly and to keep a clear head, the old man had started to count the alleyways he passed which would allow him a quick escape with little to no mistakes.

Passing alleyway ten he took another look over his shoulder and felt a little relieved to see that, even though the three pony tails were still trailing him, they were dragging behind. He coughed out a little laugh at the thought of rich living causing tough guys to become as slow and weak as the rest of the normal people. Picking up the pace a little while continuing to count the passing right side alleyways he delved deeper into the South Western part of the city. After passing alleyway thirteen the street started to become crowded with half broken wine barrels, smashed bottles, broken chairs, planks and hunks of wood that could be used to make a barricade that is supposed, by some, to add some kind of prtection to the homes. But, since there were doors that had been ripped off their hinges and thrown into the street, the idea of a barricade giving any form of protect was nothing more than a folly. In reality, the three pony tails following behind had probably ripped the doors from the hinges while breaking their way into the homes to get what they thought was owed to them.

By alleyway fourteen all the weaving through the junk had started to take its toll on the old man and his pace started to slow. He looked over his shoulder once again to assess the pony tail situation and noticed they had dropped even further behind. Smiling at the thought of losing them, and mentally complimenting himself on a job well done, he turned triumphantly into alleway fifteen and continued along at a slow jog, happy with the thought of knowing where he was. It's that intoxicating euphoria you feel when you're close to home; the feeling of the successful conclusion to your journey. He knew everyone who lived in this alley; knew the shadows that covered the cobblestones. He knew the little twists the alleyway took to the left then to the right. He knew the little straight part that came after the right bend and was anxious to see the barricade he had built from the junk surrounding the front of his house... but the alleyway twisted to the left straight after the right. He stopped, looked over his shoulder again and saw nothing. He sighed in relief, then shuddered when he heard some junk being pushed or thrown around. Looking in front of him the realization of not knowing exactly where he was sunk in.

"Curse you Limilk!" he muttered, "where in the blazes did I lose count?"

The noise of more junk being tossed around behind him brought on fear which did nothing but reinforce his decision to continue forwards with the hope of finding some kind of recognizable ground. With his head spinning left and right he made sure to peer into every nook and cranny hoping against hope that there was a possible place to hide just encase the sound of thrown junk was from the three pony tails. When the left twist in the alleyway straightened, his heart sunk. Drirectly in front of him, not even twenty steps in front, was a large stone wall that had been there longer than he had been alive. There was no way over the wall as it reached as high as the two three storey buildings it was built between. There was nowhere to hide and not enough junk left around to pile up high enough to attempt scaling the wall.

 The sound of an empty wine bottle being kicked along the cobblestones echoed through the alley towards him. The sound of laughter created a space within him for fear to enter. There was nothing left to do but wait to see whether the sound of the bottle and laughter came from scavengers or the pony tails. So he walked the twenty steps, turned and rested his back against the wall and waited for the inevitable - whatever that would be.

He heard the footsteps first, then a form sarcastic laughter, before the three pony tails emerged. Standing twenty steps in front of him they ozzed confidence. They knew what was about to happen. They had hoped for a chase. It made the capture all that more fun when you had to work for it. They spread themselves out as wide as the alley would allow. The one in the centre moved forwards ten steps, while the other two moved with the precision of a cat stalking its prey, one on the left the other on the right, moving smoothly until they stood either side of the old man, staring at him with sadistic grins that proved they really enjoyed the chase.

 The man in the middle took two more steps forward as he said, "I don't understand why you people think you can escape us." He laughed, "This is our job, and I must say, we are pretty good at it!" He shook his head, "There really needs to be respect shown instead of all this... pointless... running around." He looked to his left, then to his right before continuing, "You must know that we have eyes and ears all through the city. There is no way for you to escape us!" He laughed as he took another step forward, "But since you did put up a decent enough attempt at escape for an old man, and yes we did enjoy it, I'm going to give you a chance to explain yourself." A strange smile curved his lips, and a sparkle entered his eyes. However, they were short lived as a sharp yank on his pony tail and a kick that swept his feet off the ground had him landing flat on his back. With eyes widened by the shock, he saw a man in a hood that seemed to shadow his whole face, except for the bright blue eyes piercing through like lightning striking in the blackest of nights. 

"I give you no chance to explain yourself!" he said with a gravely deep voice.

The pony tail raised his head a little in time to see a blury fist speed towards his face. His head slammed into the cobblestones and eveything went black. The hooded man threw three fists into his face, shattering the nose and leaving a crimson spider web sprayed across his face.

The hood quickly straightened up then swiftly launched himself across to the pony tail on the left and side kicked him in the stomach doubling him over, which resulted in the hooded man hooking his right arm around the neck in a headlock then falling backwards, slamming the pony tails head with a solid thud into the cobblestones and knocking him into unconsciousness. The hooded man rolled over backwards on to his feet, and stalked toward the third pony tail who decided that it would be a good time to leave. As he attempted an escape the hooded man moved quickly to grab hold of the pony tail and spun him face first into the alley wall, then delivered three solid punches to the kidneys. The pony tail let out a groan as he fell to his knees.

"There's no escape from me!" The hood growled, then laughed, "there never will be!" Grabbing hold of the pony tail's head he pulled him up off his knees only to throw him on to his back. 

The hooded man's voice rumbled, "Just so you know the West belongs to me!" before stomping his right foot onto the pony tails ribcage. The thud from the foot was sickening enough, but the cracking of the ribs sent shivers down the spine of the old man, who hadn't moved at all out of fear. In fact, his bladder was the only part of him that had moved, staining the front of his ragged pants. Clamped to the cobbestones and riddled with fear, all the old man could do was watch as the hooded man sent a flurry of punches into the broken pony tail's face until unconsciousness set in. The old man' bladder moved once again, not at the sight of the pony tails mashed face but at the sight of the hooded man as he stood and smoothly walked towards him. Clothed in blac, which looked more like a deep red in the sunlight; the hood looked to be attached to a buttoned jacket, the pants looked to be tight fitting and his shoes made next to no sound as he walked. His hands were bare, the knuckled had been split and blood was running down his fingers.

The old man shuddered when he saw the blue piercing eyes. He attempted to speak but could only stutter out "th... th... th... th..." before he was interrupted with "shut up!" spoken in a low growl.

"I... j... j... just w... w... want t... t..."

"Shut up!" interrupted the hooded ham again.

The old man furrowed his eyebrows. The frustration caused by the uncontrollable stuttering had been burnt away and with a new confidence gained from being interrupted, he managed to speak boldly, "Now look here, I just want to thank..."

"Just be quiet!" interrupted the hooded man again.

The old man slammed his balled fists against his hips, "who in the blazes do you..."

"I'm not talking to you!" interrupted the hood again.

The old man looked around the dead end alley, then chuckled, "Well, who by Maweth are you talking to?"

The hooded man raised his right hand and pointed at the old man, "What I want to know," he growled, "is why..."

ASK HIM THE QUESTION

"Stop telling me waht to do!" rasped the hooded man.

"I didn't say anything!" whined the old man.

 "I'm not talking to you!"

ASK HIM

The hooded man raised both hands to his ears, "Get out of my head!" he chuntered. The old man's eyes widened, his mouth hung slightly open, he started to edge away from the mad man.

"Alright!" rasped the hood, "I'll ask him!"

The old man hadn't moved too far before the hooded man grabbed him and pushed him back against the wall. "Why were they going to break you?" his voice grating in the old man's ears, scaring the urine out of him again.

"Th... Th... They want silver..."

"They don't look like thieves!" interrupted the hood's grating voice, again.

"They aren't," squeaked the old man, "They're collectors!" The feeling of relief surrounded the old man once the hood released his grip. He smiled nervously. Not because of the situation, but because he could, for the first time, see some of the hood's face. His nose was a little crooked as if it had been broken a few times. There was a scar on the left side of his upper lip and there looked to be dark rings around his eyes, which may have been from the shadow the hood provided.

The hood grumbled as he took a step back to reassess the situation.

ASK HIM AGAIN

"Why don't you leave me to it then!" rumbled the hood. With a shaking of his head and the taking of a deep breath, the hood seemed to calm down a little. "Why did they want silver?" he asked in a way that could be considered pleasent which threw the old man a little.

"Well, about a moonth ago I borrowed ten pieces of silver to pay my landlord. But I haven't been able to pay them back. Now they want twenty pieces of silver!" The old man almost slid down the wall into a crumpled heap. "I don't know what to do any more! My family has been here four hundred cycles. I'm going to lose..."

"Knock it off!" interrupted the hood. "There's no point in sobbing about it. You're not the only one it's happening to!"

The hood turned to his left as if to walk off.

ASK HIM WHERE...

"For the love of Dazbog, will you stop..."

ASK HIM

The hood turned back to the old man, "Where can I find these faecal punches?"

The old man stood up straight. "Well," he said, "Go back out this alley, turn left and count twelve alleys on the right, which should be on your left. Then turn into the left alley, which should be on your right. Then count seven alleys and three doors on what should be your left. The third door is quite expensive and has all thesee..."

"Enough!" grumbled the hood as he grabbed hold of the old man's left shoulder, "Your directions are hogwash!" he rumbled, "show me!"

The old man squirmed in attempt to get away, "please no!" he almost cried, "if they see me..."

"Show me!" the hood interrupted loudly, and with a grimace said, "nobody will see you, they'll be busy dealing with me!"

That sent shivers down the old man's spine. What by the fires of Limilk have I gotten myself into?

As they walked to the edge of the alley he turned to the hooded man and said, "I think it is about time to introduce myself..."

"I don't care!"

The old man chuckled nervously, "you should care. Everyone's talking about you and claiming some things that I thought unbelievable. That is until..."

Will saying your name stop you from talkinf to me?" growled the hood.

"I am Hayman," said the old man, "descended from the first..."

"I have your name, now you can shut up!"

 

 

 

The back room is something that has to be seen to be believed. There are no windows and the walls are almost completely covered in paintings that enshroud the wonderfully plastered and whitewashed walls. Many of the pictures are from places most people in Anta-Nathalia had only heard about in stories; or lies, which is what most consider stories to be. Places like the fabled walled city that controls the North Western lands known as Mulburga. Or the River Daldara, that great snake-river cutting through the western lands dividing the Northwest from the Southwest until it bleeds into Boils Embayment, the little western indentation near the top of the Great Gulf. Another intriguing picture was the creation of the Sea of Glass, depicting the massive lightning storm two thousand cycles eariler that turned half the Dacari Desert into glass; although it is assumed the Sea of Glass only surrounds the Red Mountain and is only about quarter of the size of the Dacari Desert. 

The floor itself is impossible to see as it's laden with many rugs with all sorts of bright and beautiful colours created from dyes that are foreign to Anta-Nathalia. One of the rugs had a rather large lion's head that looked to be spitting fire while letting loose a mordacious roar. It obviously came from Eomar, one of the oldest cities in the land although its where abouts is uncertain; a troubled city that had some kind of uprising around five cycles ago, which this rug most probably represents. There was a bright blue rug with red edges and red tassels and a bright yellow sun in the centre, which looked to be depicting some form of Dazbog. Some of the rugs had images of mountains, rivers and palaces from faraway lands. There was even one with a mythical beast surrounded by men with spears attacking it; the beast didn't look to be very impressed with the men.

Hanging from the centre of the ceiling was a chandelier with six large candles, which seemed to rock ever so slightly, bringing a wavering light to the room, making the rugs and paintings look kind of like they were living things. The candles represented the six major gods of Anta-Nathalia and were shaped in their likeness, that is until the heat from the flame distorted them. The structure of the chandelier itself resembles the shape of a star which has five points. Each point of the star has a candle attached while in the centre was the largest candle. Each candle was a different colour with the large one in the centre being a yellow that represented Dazbog the sun god. The blue for Anoukis the water god, the orange for Limilk the god of fire, the white for Maweth the god of death, the black for Sin the god of the moon and green for Upunaut the god of the afterlife.

Towards the back wall was a black wooden table with a pile of scrolls on the left and one scroll stretched out in the centre. The table was expertly made with hand carved legs. The feet of the legs had been shaped to represent the paws of some long forgotten beast, while the centre of the legs looked to be shaped into that of a female human being with an oversized bust without nipples. The top of the legs were shaped into the style of a tree with the branches stretching out to support the table top, which was about a hand thick and made out of one piece of wood. The blacness of the wood was natural; well not really. The tree the table was made from once stood in The Dead Woods, just south of one of the proposed places Eomar was though to be. Rumour has it that the trees were tortured by some stray lightning from around two thousand cycles ago, that the woods never recovered, that nothing lives there, hence the name: The Dead Woods. It is also assumed that the woods were tortured at the same time as the Dacari Desert was turned to glass, but that may just be speculation.

Hunched over the black table peering intently at the stretched scroll was a short bald man with a round midsection, kind of like a barrel is a barrel was soft. His cheeks had a purple, reddish complexion that was enhanced by his large beak like nose. He had patches of stubble above his top lip, which did nothing for his appearance other than expose how small his mouth is and how thin his lips are. The chin is pointed and sticks outward, his eyes are beady and black, which enhances the short forehead. He did have one thing going for him though and that was his rather long pony tail that hung half way down his back, but starts at the lower back of his head, negating any form of attractiveness the pony tail would give the average man. His hands planted either side of the scroll seemed to support his weight if only to stop him from face planting the scroll.

"Well Jekar, this is looking pretty darn good!" His voice sounded a bit like the squeal a pig makes, although quieter it still has the ability to make most in the room a little anxious and to bring out the need to end the conversation quickly. Except for Jekar, who was partially deaf. He stood a good head and shoulders above the average man and, even though his size warranted a second guess when confronting him, he was a big softy. Until he is given an order that is, then it's a good idea to run! He is intensely loyal to Damson, the man beside him, and would do anything he's asked without question.

"How so?" asked Jekar with his thundering voice. The volume and depth exclaimed a form of authority until you noticed that his pony tail wouls swing from side to side when he spoke, kind of like a happy puppy wagging its tail, which made it hard to take him seriously.

Damson stood up about as straight as he could and looked to his right. "The scroll says we are owed one thousand silver coins and that we are up by five hundred silver coins this moonth." He smiled, which did nothing for his complexion except to show that his face looks more rat like when he's happy.

When Jekar smiled it did two things, it made Damson look quite attractive, while at the same time made Jekar look downright scary. "Semiazaz will be happy then!"

Damson dropped his smile, shook his head, "You would think so, wouldn't you." He let out a rather loud sigh, "I'm not sure if that man will ever be happy!"

Jekar laughed, and Damson took a step back, his eyes widened. It was a little strange for Jekar to laugh, normally he would just smile at you, sometimes he would grin and that was straight out terrifying. "We should take him to Doogal's tavern to celebrate!" he thundered out a little louder than was expected.

Damson piffed out a breath of air, "You just want to visit the upper rooms!"

Jekar nodded his head in agreement while his smile widened.

"Sorry to spoil your interesting and possibly devious plan of getting some free crumpet out of me, but we must wait for Jabula and those two idiots he took with him to get back." Damson kind of like Jabula. He was hard, but fair and the customers seemed to respect him. Well, that's what he said. Those other two though, they seemed like they were more interested in enforcing something that really wasn't needed. "What do you think of Jabula's two apes?"

Jekar took a deep breath, his eyes widened and almost rolled into the back of his head. Letting out the wind with a whistle he said, "They look to be untrustworthy. I grew up with Jabula. He wasn't very nice back than and I don't think much has changed. I wouldn't be surprised if he's here as a spy for Semiazaz."

Damson let out a little chuckle, "Oh please," he squealed, "I'm good with Semiazaz!"

"That's not a bet I would take!" Jekar said softly. "Those two apes are Jabula's boys, and Jabula is Semiazaz's boy. I wouldn't be surprised if they're here to undermine what we're doing."

Damson furrowed his eyebrows, "I think you need to explain that a little more my friend!"

Jekar took another deep breath, "well, if I was here for Semiazaz I would be looking for advancement. To accomplish that I would need to take your position. That means I would only turn in half of the collections and continue to bash more silver out of the customers. That makes you look bad and me look good!"

The look on Damson's face was something rare. The depth of Jekar's though was even rarer! Damson had to give it to the man though, it was a well though out idea and, whether it was right or wrong it showed that Jekar was more than just a big lump of scary muscle.

Damson placed his right hand under his chin, which is something he did when trying to show himself to be a thinking man. "What about the two in the other room? Are they? Can we trust them!"

Once again Jekar took a deep breath, "Are you thinkin aloud, or do you want an answer?"

Jekar smiled to himself. It had been a long time since anyone had asked what he really thought. He loved the idea that he was respected. The thought that Damson, quite possibly his only friend, respected him was more than gratifying.

Damson took the hand away from his mouth, "Oh, I'm sorry Jekar. I didn't hear what you said because I was thinking aloud!"

Jekar flinched ever so slightly, "I said nothing!" His voiced thundered throughout the room once more causing Damson's eyes to widen at his words. "I'll tell you what. Once Jabula and his apes get back we can wrap things up here then head over to Doogal's tavern for a feed and some wine." Damson was feeling a little generous after looking over the scrolls and it sounded as if Jekar could do with a little bit of relaxation.

Jekar smiled, "sounds good!" he thundered.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut in the outer room gave reason for Jekar's smile to widen, "sounds like them now!"

The words, "who the blazes?" followed by a crash, followed by a shout and another crash could be heard echoing through the door from the outer room.

"What in the name of Maweth is happening out there?" squealed Damson.

"No idea!" replied Jekar.

Damson looked at him with a worried look on his face, "I think maybe you're right in stating Jabula is here ot take our position!"

Jekar's eyes widened a little. A smirk etched its way across his mouth, "I told you so!"

"Yes, yes," said the frustrated Damson, "never mind that now! How would you like to break your old friend?"

"He was never my..."

"I don't care!" interrupted Damson, "Just break the gwok!" he shouted in an unnerving tone.

Jekar grinned as he walked through the outer room door. What he saw didn't take time to register. He was grabbed and thrown against a wall and punched three times in the abdomen. As he attempted to gather himself he was yanked from the wall and thrown back into the inner room.

Damson couldn't believe what he saw. Jekar came almost tumbling through the door, then a black shadow came diving through, connecting with Jekar around the waist knocking him flat on the floor. The black shadow then twisted itself into a crouching position and threw a flurry of punches into his face. The sound was sickening. The cracking of the nose and teeth and whatever else was breakable on a man's face. Damson moved behind the black table and started to squat down, when the sickening sounds stopped. He saw the black shadow thing stand and turn towards him. It pointed as it stalked ever so silently towards him. When it reached the light drifting down from the chandelier he could see the shadow for what it really was. A man in a black, or was it a red hood and matching outfit. It was hard to tell in the wavering candle light.

Damson jumped to his feet, "You!" he squealed.

"Yeah, me!" growled the hooded man. 

Damson quickly moved to his left of the table when the hood rounded the right side, "Come here, you little butt squirt!" rumbled the hood as he quickly changed direction to launch himself at Damson. Taking hold of Damson's shoulders the hood lifted then slammed Damson into the multi-layered, rug infested floor. Wind involuntarily exhaled through Damson's mouth, his eyes were wide and watery with the shock of being slammed back first to the floor. The hood slowly but calmly positioned himself into a sitting position on Damson's chest, planted both his knees into Damson's elbow sockets and cupped both hands around his neck and started to squeeze.

ASK HIM A QUESTION

"Get out of my head!" growled the hood.

Damson's eyes couldn't get any wider at the shock of hearing this crazed man talking to himself. Makes sense he thought. The things people are saying about this idiot, but what in the name of Maweth have I done to deserve this treatment?"

ASK HIM...

"Alright!" he growled, "I'll ask if it shuts you up!" He got of Damson, grabbed hold of the right arm and dragged him to his feet. The trembling Damson took a quick look a Jekar, then back at the hood.

"Don't worry about him," rumbled the hood, "he ain't waking for a while yet!" He laughed, "what you should be worried about is what I'll do to you if you lie to me!" Grabbing Damson by the throat with his right hand, lifting him ever so slightly off the floor, he moved to the black table. "What's on these scrolls?"

Damson attempted to speak but the only sound he made was a kind of gurgle. The hood released his grip on the throat and asked again. Damson's purple reddish complexion had turned to more of a pale white, "It isn't my place to tell..." but his words were interrupted with a solid left jab to the face followed by the words, "It's your place now!"

"It's just records!" Damson winched as he said it, knowing that things will go sour when Semiazaz hears of his betrayal.

"Records of what?" roared the hood.

Damson looked shocked, not at the force and volume of the hood's words, but because he didn't know what it was they were doing here. Damson smiled with a quiet confidence that there might be a possibilty of winning this situation. "They are the records of all our customers," he said as pleasantly as was possible with a voice like his.

The hood just stared at him, "you mean the records of those you extort!"

The quiet confidence that Damson had vanished along with his smile. Grabbing him by the shoulders the hood once again threw him to the ground, raised a fist but was interrupted by

TAKE THE RECORDS

ecohing through his head. The hood roared, "what do you think I was going to do, leave them here?" As he stood up and moved towards the black table, Damson released a deep breath. The thought of getting hit by this mad man was more than he could handle. He stood up and etched his way to the table. The hood turned to stare at him, "This is mine!" he rumbled as he scrunched up the stretched scroll and jammed it down his jerkin.

"Fair enough," said Damson with a smile.

YOU SHOULD TAKE THEM ALL echoed in his head. The hood laughed, "good point head!" he said as he grabbed the stack of scrolls and started jamming them down the front of his jerkin. Damson dropped his smile, took two shaky steps forward, pointed a finger which was shaking wildly at the hood, "do you know who owns those scrolls?"

"Me!" growled the hood.

Damson laughed, "you don't want to mess around with these people! Just put the scrolls down and leave, I will say nothing."

The hood turned to face Damson and roared, "I already have one voice telling me what to do, I don't need another!" He threw a right hook that flattened Damson, then took a couple of steps to the left side, placed his right foot on Damson's neck. "All debts are cleared, from now on you repay what you've stolen!" He put pressure on the right foot, "do I make myself clear?" He waited a few moments then roared, "do I make myslef clear?"

RELEASE YOUR FOOT SO HE CAN ANSWER echoed in his head.

The hood sighed while shaking his head and removed his foot allowing Damson to sputter out the words, "You make youself clear!"

The hood grumbled something inaudible as he turned and left.

 

Standing outsode wondering what was happeing, Hayman contemplated leaving. After all, he thought, I have had more than enough excitement for ten days, let alone one day. His head swivelled left then right, he looked down at his feet and came to the decision to leave, when the hood walked out the door. "You're back!" said Hayman, "what happened? Did you sort it out for me?"

The hood smiled to himself as he came closer. Then from out of nowhere his right fist hit Hayman in the teeth knocking him to the ground.

Looking up Hayman asked, "Why in the name of Sin did you do that?"

"You deserve more!" rumbled the hood.

"What makes you think that?" he said, then shuddered as he watched a smile spread like a disease across the hood's face.

"It was you I followed into the alleyway," rumbled the hood. "It was you I was after!"

Hayman slaowly got to his feet, wiped a trickle of blood from his lips and asked, "Why?"

"Two days ago I saw you steal a loaf of bread from the bakery." The hood grumbled then spat a glob of phlegm onto the cobblestones, "I see now why you did. One punch is enough justice for you, this time!"

Hayman stood there with furrowed eyebrows, "well, thanks, I guess!"

The hood groaned, "Think about what you did. Steal from the baker and he can't make his payments then ends up coming to these faecal punchers! All because of people like you." The hood spat again, "you make me sick!"

Hayman scratched the bacl of his head, "why didn't you stop me two days ago?"

The hood took a step closer and shouted, "why did you steal?"

"I was hungry!" replied Hayman with a slight squeal in his tone.

"That's no excuse!" growled the hood.

"Well, I suppose I could ask for bread as payment for some kind of work around the shop!" replied Hayman.

"I don't care," rumbled the hood. "But if you steal again I'll break you in ways you never thought possible!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 19.03.2017

Alle Rechte vorbehalten