The Pariah

The Pariah


His father abandoned his mother upon his birth, seeing more red from her birth canal than he'd been reasonably prepared to expect.

His father's disgust at this freakish child and subsequent absence turned his mother into a broken shell of herself. He was left to more or less raise himself in a town that hated him and grew up just as you would imagine.

Misunderstood.

Mostly ignored.

Usually tormented.

Confused.

Hateful.

Especially the latter.

This hate he held for the world that abhorred him was his only companion. It was also returned in kind. Upon seeing him, fellows his own age hurled thoughtless, witless insults at him. The inhabitants of the tiny village looked away in shock and disgust, some even covering the eyes of the little ones. Their taunts became as familiar as his own heartbeat. He was unable to hide from them and, in the end, he decided that he did not wish to.

His rage and his despair grew too strong to stay amongst them.

He traveled alone, far into the depths of the snowy wilds, where none of his people had been brave enough to go. What did he have to fear, really? The unknown was preferable to the hell he suffered through daily. If death awaited him, so be it. He had never been taught to fear it.

In the end, death did wait in the woods - but not his. On his fourth day, fatigued and hungry, he came across a lone wolf. It was stranded from the pack, rabid and disoriented, foam dribbling from the corners of it's jaws. He imagined that, if it were able to speak, it would make no sensible sounds anyway. The wolf charged him and they fought.

It was the defining moment of his life. In mere seconds, seconds that seemed the whole of his lifetime, he killed the wolf. Killed the animal with just one powerful blow, solid enough to splatter the unfortunate beast's innards across the forest landscape. Blood covered his face, dripped down his legs, trickled across his back - a royal cloak made of crimson.

He knew now what he was born to do.

Let the others frolic and waste their lives in peace.

He was a hunter born.

He went to the castle of the King of Storms, the one they spoke of in hushed and terrified whispers. He slew all his guardsmen effortlessly. His newfound talents for killing were no mere skills but an art. A blessing to someone as full of rage as he was. In the end, some of the King's servants lost their nerve and tried to hide or flee, only for him to find and kill them effortlessly. He could always see in the dark. So much made sense to him now about what he had been born for. When he made his way into the throne room of the now-trembling Storm King, he knew exactly what price to demand in exchange for the monarch's pathetic life.

He returned to the land of his birth with no self-loathing. Just calm, crushing hate and a plan.

The town he hailed from was ruled by The Leader without question. A snide, judgmental tyrant whose laughter was as constant as it was grating. Tonight, he would ensure that The Leader's laughter stopped.

Even though the night of his return was murky, everyone knew something had changed as he strode through the fog, unbowed by the howling winds. Taunts died in the mouths of his former tormentors when they saw how the freak now carried himself, all of the useless muscle turned into effortless power. Mouths went dry and servants stumbled with fear when they saw him stride up to The Leader's home, still covered in the dried gore of both the wolf and the King of Storms' minions, his head held high.

The Head Servant of the Leader alone stood his ground as he saw him coming through the snowy twilight. For all his strength, the Head Servant of the Leader fell in an instant, dead and on the ground before anyone had a moment to so much speak his name. He stood proudly over the corpse, smiling while the others stood back and gasped in shock at his audacity and his viciousness.

Now, the Leader would have to appear.

Now, his time was near.

The Leader stumbled out from the fog, face reddening with rage. Their Leader, the one who had not even bothered to acknowledge his presence, had no choice to stare at this monstrosity that towered over him now, eyes clearly murderous in the light. For the first time he could remember, the Leader's voice did not boastfully deliver judgments or orders, did not roar with mocking laughter. Instead, his voice trembled, like that of a frightened child.

"You . . . You've made a deal with the King of Storms? Haven't you? That's why- This weather is-"

He leaned in close to the Leader's face, making sure that sharp, glinting edges of his teeth and other things were clear in the light.

"Yes." One word. The first of many.

The Leader sighed and swallowed heavily. He knew there was only one option. They both did. Tears streaming quietly down his face, The Leader spat out his request like he was trying to vomit up sewage.

"Freak, you- with this weather and my- he's dead! You just- You killed him! You! And now, you are the only one who- who can! Damn you to hell, now you're the only one who can-"

He leaned in closer to the Leader, making all the men and women around him gasp in shock. As if his ugliness was a contagion and not a symbol of the power he could wield.

"My name, you filthy piece of shit. Call me by my name . . . and ask again."

The Leader's breath caught in his throat as he stared him down. After a long, painful moment The Leader stared at his sharp points, still dripping with gore, and made a terrible choice. Eyes closed, he spat out each word like a bullet. Especially the name.

His name.

"Rud- Rudolph, with your nose so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Rudolph merely nodded. He owned this place now. Rudolph shook his antlers, snapping his head up with pride, arrogantly splattering the Leader's red & white suit in blood. He laughed at the fat man's whimper of fear and strode forward to take his place in the world.

This was his time now.

Soon, he would have the entire world at his beck and call.

His name would go down in history.



Copyright K. D. Bryan, 2004, All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction Without Prior Consent.