Postby Bifrost Janger » Mon Mar 19, 2018 3:43 pm
I am Legend - The Bif Edition.
My name is Bifrost Janger and I am incredibly rare. In fact, I am an endangered species. The last human. On par with other mythical beasts like the unicorn and the dragon. I'm not sure of what happened to the others, but it has been a full cycle since I seen another. The last I seen was Pallas, in the centre of Milltown. We were the only two souls there among the dust and tumble weed. He shouted out to me, "Bifrost, what are you doing outside?! RUN!" And then disappeared back into the shadows before I had chance to ask what or why.
I went to the castle to see if I could find anybody else, but found it to be equally deserted. Cordelia's crown was even left; carefully sat upon the plump cushion that pads the throne as though someone had placed it there on purpose. I picked it up and put it on my head for a little bit. But Cordelia's head must be bigger than mine and it was an uncomfortable fit. That, and it made my neck ache. I left it somewhere in the kitchen while I raided the pantry. After stuffing myself, there was so much surplus food that I thought I'd pack some up and take it to the Gremlins. But then I realised that I could save my arms and just invite the chaps over!
After eating, we got rather drunk down in the wine cellar. Then we went to the barracks and I put on Hojo's armour and had a bit of a dance while the Gremlins played the pots and pans. There were rather a lot of what seemed to be biscuit crumbs in Hojo's pockets. I think one of the Gremlins made off with the crown. I haven't seen it laying around anywhere.
The following morning I awoke in the Royal four-poster bed with a Gremlin foot in my face and a sick feeling in my tummy. That turn was a cleaner one. I made a cup of tea and went to the library to begin composing The Tome of Humans. I supposed someone ought to keep the history of our species and that task had ultimately fallen upon me. I was sure to include important things, such as our love of tarts and how breeding pairs gift their mate's with rings.
Over the long turns I added several other titles to the royal library, including:
Humans. What do they? How? And Why?
People Peopling.
And,
Why Some Folk are Purple.
***
Luckily, when the Centaur rode into Dundee to see me, I was dressed beautifully in one of Viviyana's gowns. If they had came the turn before I wouldn't have looked nearly as impressive in Kaballoi's old cloak. I also occasionally enjoyed wearing Cody's jazzy trousers with the flame design. Bebhinn's goldspun was another favourite. Ellyana's cloak of thorns, not so much: It tangled in my hair and wasn't nearly as comfortable. Raffe's mom wasn't around to give me a haircut anymore so I'd been left unshorn. That's another thing; wherever everyone else was, they certainly weren't wearing any pants. I didn't wear anyone else's underwear, mind you, that would've been weird. Save that one time when I stuffed a bra with socks...
Anyway. The Centaur, I suppose, had came to see the mythical last human. And what a splendid sight I must have been to behold, in my fine gown with my hair growning wild about my shoulders. I'd even grown a little bit of a beard and had woven it with fresh Mirandines just that morning. Cleb, my Gremlin companion, looked equally as handsome in his tricorn hat with a shiny ring upon each of his little fingers. The Centaurs must have been suitably impressed as they visited us often after that first turn. I often seen them wandering about town and dipping into human dwellings.
The sight of humanoids in town became rather commonplace. Very cosmopolitan, this new age. Gnomes taken up residence in Jeffrey's (the Gremlins thought they'd grown a bit uppity since the humans vanished) and from time to time a Troll would wander into town to itch himself on the signpost. More seldom seen was an Ogre or Sea Dweller, but I suppose those chaps had always had homes of their own. Branishore, became completely inhabited by Sea Dwellers.
***
The seasons slip by and I remain quite alone. I dress as the people I used to know, sometimes I make believe that I am them. I roll in unkempt flowerbeds and hold ragtag humanoid parties in the grand ballroom. I think about naming myself Archmage, but then dismiss the idea as silly.
One particularly lonesome turn I find my feet have taken me back to a little house with a peeling yellow door just outside of Milltown. My mind casts back to a conversation I once had with Clement Fiddleford (bloody Clement Fiddleford), about zombies and how they go back to haunt the places where they once dwelt. Like how the zombie pirates still linger around their ships. Zombies aren't humanoids, though. Bloody Clement Fiddleford.
Either way, I have shuffled my way like a zombie back to a place that I once knew. I'm in my usual pigeon-grey trousers and waistcoat today; regular Bif. With no one coming or going the creeping flowers have grown right across the door and I have to force my way inside. I could never have come here if anyone were still around. This is my parent's house. The house that I grew up in, but am no longer welcome at.
I don't know what I expected to find inside. There isn't even a lingering scent of home. Everything just smells like dust. A portrait in pencil hangs above the fireplace; my siblings and I, Rifter-bleached and ghostly. The pencil never could capture the reds of our hair anyway. Mum had a passing artist to draw it. It had cost her five gold pieces. My gaze lingers upon the depiction of my eldest brother, Gren. Though he is only around his fourteenth summer when the artist captured him, he should be about thirty now. He was trying his hardest to grow a beard before he left home. I never did see him again to see how him and his beard had gotten on. He'd left home to be a warrior. Everyone knew that he would do it. He was tall and strong and good. No one had any doubt.
There was a time that I used to worry of bumping into Gren. I don't know what I'd have done if he thought me crackers as the rest of them. I knew he wouldn't though, he was friends with the Ogre Boy. Still, it's a worry that I needn't have anymore. No risk of running into him now.
Sometimes I think I hear the rumble of Draekyn's disapproving voice on the wind.
Hopefully, all of them will be back some day.
Fear is a strange soil. It grows obedience like corn, which grow in straight lines to make weeding easier. But sometimes it grows the potatoes of defiance, which flourish underground. - Terry Pratchett