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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: CLOG

A place of worship ... or a place of dread?

This amusing micro-epic tells of a terrifying journey no man would ever wish to make.


The path was well worn, for they came in numbers.

To many, the journey had taken the form of almost religious homage. But for the majority, the subjugated, it was a feared and tortuous trek into the unknown.

Penance or penalty – who could tell? It mattered not.

Even those forced to accompany their masters on frequent trips were fearful of stumbling upon unexpected terrors. For this was an unforgiving land - a strange, soulless wood land, fraught with dread and trepidation around every turn. A land inhabited by a species of beings, shy by nature, who would gather in small groups but scamper into the darkened recesses when approached by outsiders. For it would seem they too were tormented by the unknown.

Colin had been here before, of course. Most of the village’s menfolk had.

But this particular command to saddle up the iron horse and prepare for a new venture into the living, breathing nightmare took him by surprise. Surely his master had laid sufficient sacrifices at the altar of Ingvar to last until the year end at least? Had their dues not been fully satisfied? What more could be required of them?

Colin’s hands were visibly shaking as he prepared for the journey. A survival pack was hastily replenished with revitalising fluids, spectacles, a mobile communicator and most importantly, cash. The god, Ingvar rewarded the offering of cash. This Colin knew only too well.

The short trip to the edge of the mysterious wood land passed quietly and the iron horse was securely stored in a place that would later become as difficult to find as the end of a rainbow.  

Colin’s master led the way towards, and through the rotating gates to the place of nightmares. Colin took a deep breath and closed his eyes as, from somewhere deep within, he found the courage to follow.

Instantly, his heart sank. His knees trembled. His head felt as if it were being squeezed by a contracting band of steel. Experience, however, reassured him.

“Focus on the positive. Always the positive,” he told himself. If his master was in benevolent mood, there may be a reward at the end of the trek. Assuming he made it through unscathed, that was.

Trailing a discreet distance behind his master, Colin joined the sluggard masses. Eye contact with the other subjugates proved difficult, but when by chance glances were exchanged, he could see into the very souls of the others. They were neither dead, nor undead. They were caught in a twilight world where all emotion had been thwarted. Until they made it to the other side (if they made it to the other side) their minds belonged to their masters. Only the naïve or plain stupid would offer up opinions of negativity. Even those who opined what they considered a neutral indecisiveness would be ruthlessly smote down in a volley of retribution.

As they wandered deeper and deeper into the petrifying forest, their masters would casually pick up items for brief inspection, pat them, then cast them aside once again. Colin and the other subjugates, however, would become disorientated and nauseous. Their very existence lay in the hands of the masters. So long as they remained no more than a few steps behind, and didn’t let them slip out of sight, they knew it would all have to end. Eventually.

Focus. Envisage the end. How good will it feel when it’s all over?

And then it was.

Suddenly, the trail opened up. No longer was it a random path meandering throughout the heavily wooded area. It was now a straight, direct walkway through a deep valley, dwarfed on both sides by mountainous blocks erected in temple-like fashion – a place for final worship before leaving the kingdom of Ingvar.

The mood of Colin and the numerous other subjugates visibly brightened. Their pace increased. Their gait lightened. They were nearly home. All that remained was to wade through the wide, but traversable rapids.

It had been done before. This was do-able.

And there, in the near distance, the reward. Colin’s master gave that look. Simply translated, it meant: ‘Yes. Ok. You’ve been good. Go on.’

And Colin ran and Colin skipped over to the reward. Now – ice cream or hot dog? Or maybe some meatballs to take-away? Or some cinnamon rolls?

Decisions. Decisions.

Weekend visits to Ikea were sometimes worth the grief.




Submitted: October 30, 2016

© Copyright 2020 Cee Tee Jackson. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


James Court

Wonderful piece of misdirection. I think perhaps 'forced to follow their mistresses' rather than masters would be more accurate, but would not keep the sense of it so well.

Sun, October 30th, 2016 11:24pm


Thanks James.
Yeah ... I deliberately avoided ' mistress' for the purpose of keeping the whole thing kinda adrogynous so as not to give the game away too early. Also wanted to avoid any other connotations of the word. ????

Sun, October 30th, 2016 4:37pm


This was so funny. Its exactly how i picture men being dragged to ikea on the weekends

Lol 10/10. poor colin

-Simone x

Sun, October 30th, 2016 11:40pm


Ha ha . Thank you Simone.

It truly is a soul destroying experience. ????

Cheers for taking time to comment.


Sun, October 30th, 2016 4:45pm


Great and funny. This is AWESOME

Mon, October 31st, 2016 12:38am


Cheers Talanboo.

Thanks for taking time to pass comment. Glad you liked it. :)

Mon, October 31st, 2016 3:36pm

Sue Harris

Loved this Colin, great play on words, highly amusing and entertaining. Your 'master' must be very masterful if she can get you over the threshold and into Ikea. My own slave refuses point blank, says he would rather eat frog spawn! Well done, another fun packed read.

Mon, October 31st, 2016 10:05pm


Thanks Sue.

I always reckon it's worth a few Brownie points - especially in weeks when I have lots of tennis and football to play / watch!

(Frog spawn, eh? Mmmmnn.)


Mon, October 31st, 2016 3:39pm

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