• Upon the warm summer's day and from whence the blossoms of May erupted from the undercarriage of season's change, there came a being who flickered underneath the sunlight, as though a cloud drifting over its shadow, of which none existed.

    From the perspective of a traveling passersby, if there were perhaps any wandering down that dirt road, this being was not quite a man, nor even a woman; instead, a cloak wrapped the creature in a beige that recalled dusted, rotting earth struck by famine. The figure of the being did not suggest either sex, neither in the shape, nor the posture of its walk, and doubtless this traveler would have wondered what might the being hide inside the folds of cloth. But of no matter; the being was too large in both width and height to be something as fragile as mankind.

    The sunlight drifted by the breeze's whim, and from this current came pulls and tugs and summons of light that through the canopy of trees overhead created rippling holes; and the being, as it was dictated by the light, swished back and forth through focus and grainy shadow, vanishing and reappearing seemingly on a whim.

    The pitter-patter of feet upon ground was swift and firm, leaving indents of clawed feet in their wake. What creature would make such marks? the imaginary traveler would think. And no doubt, when the being bent down and from its cloak emerged a hand stretched thin with talons and blood, the traveler would run off before wondering once more what this being could possibly be.

    The being retrieved a small pebble from the ground and brought it to the darkened hole inside its hood. A strange hissing sound, followed by a rising steam from the hole, echoed along the treeline; woodland creatures of all variety stopped themselves mid-pursuit to listen -- and as though possessed, they ran, stampeded through undergrowth and plants, deer galloping, rabbits scurrying, fowl flying afoul.

    The being did not move.

    And then it spoke.

    "Li'l friprin' foggy snatchers." The being's voice sounded very much like a man who had spent his whole life inside a chimney. "Gov'rin' the fricks an' this's what they do ter me. Corram 'em ull ter friprin' Hades, see if I care." And to punctuate its oath, something that looked remarkably like spit flew out of the hole and hit the ground with a considerable amount of force. Dust flew up to the treetops, and all remaining birds flew off shrieking.

    Where the glob of spit had landed was nothing more than a melted hole. Steam rose out of the ashes. A leaf that had the unfortunate luck of lying too close was on fire; the two burning embers were quickly extinguished by the wind.

    "Fuggem ull, frit'rin' me time away," muttered the being. "Fuggem an' their mummies down the roads ter Tartarus."

    It shook its head and continued onwards. The last words that left its lips were, "Fuggem. Fuggem an' their ani-mays an' their avi-tar-tars an' their foggy-daft arenas, damnabull basting-turds."