Tuesday, July 14, 2009

The Devil's Cabbage

The Devil’s Cabbage
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 350

Bruce took a deep toke, “Man, that’s good stuff. Where doya get it?”

“The local good humour man, he pushes great stuff in dime bags.” Drew, the bartender said, pocketing the small bag of the devil’s cabbage.

“What the hell is the good humour man?”

“He’s the main man in this village. Anything you want, he can get you.”

Bruce looked along the dirt road that ran through the centre of the small town. From the tavern he was sitting at, he could see every building, the blacksmith, the bakery, and the markets.

“Where does he get his supplies from,” Bruce said. “It’s not a very big place you’ve got here.”

“Nobody knows. But what does it matter.”

Bruce took another long drag and waited a moment before exhaling. He picked up his broadsword, smiled and walked down the street.

“You the good humour man?” Bruce said to the thin, scraggily dressed man leaning against a cart full of wondrous items.

The man smiled, exposing his green teeth and foul breath.

“That’d be me,” he said. “What would you be wanting kind sir? I have a wide range of items to suit every need and desire.”

“You got any more of this whacky weed?”

“Sure, sure,” The good humour man said. “It will cost you; let’s say...that sword for all the grass you can carry.”

Bruce held the sword up, turned it around, smiling as the sun shone off it, making it seem to sparkle. He handed it over and picked up a large sack of the weed.

“Just see young Timberland over by the bakery,” the good humour man said. “I’m sure he will be able to find you some lodgings and employment...if you decide to stay on with us.”

The bartender walked past Bruce on the way to the bakery. Bruce looked at him with a strange recollection.

“Do I know you?” Bruce said.

“No, but welcome to Weedsville. I’m sure you’ll love living here.”


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