Goblinome

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Frankenstein in an alternate world, where there be goblins.



( Goblins have tattoos , each one a code that can only be read when the horde gathers. So, a doctor is hired to collect the limbs of many a goblin, assembling them into one monster, to bring about
a prophecy. )

Submitted: March 24, 2018

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Submitted: March 24, 2018

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I seem to remember a certain corporation that sold second hand hob-goblin parts with indelible  tattooed poetry scrawled across the skin of various unwanted limbs.

This would have been back before the establishment of provincial men of today, as they once had gathered outside laboratoriums, collecting sanctioned signatures to gain power over the dominant forums that had collectively banished there workforce.

In this contrived upper hand all-telling paper signed tongue, a voice managed to pry its secret existence into rebellion.

And, this corporation, with their mysterious practice of love-sick doctors, performing operations to thwart and constrain a sub-species for the sake of a betterment in some man that had in himself, looked upon with revered observance at the wonder and admiration of a once great race, then increased in wealth and gun-powder hatred.

So, as this story goes, as far as much as I am willing to tell, the vexation and various cares of a solitary doctor took hold; a useless disciple fretting and frolicking amongst the mice and rats at the feet of men.

For, he had received intelligence on how to un-knot the secret ghost-story that listened toward his companions, then dismembered hog-goblins with words inscribed onto their groaning removed limbs; a thousand seperate secret words telling a story complete when assembled into one body as a monster.

A new vigilant-vagrant is validated, born.

The one thousand mantelpiece appendages of my fireplace imagination.

Consultating my own perplexity, I hear guttural-breathing of that which I have assembled.

Then, the creature awakens, rises, enlivened and enraged.

It swaggers with a tousle of locks framing it eye, and it speaks:

"Nothing at all." 

He is perfect. He knows the secret.

I share this quiet moment with my creation, then I unleash that which I could never have bound.

Nothing at all.

The start of everything.

 


© Copyright 2018 Dr. Acula . All rights reserved.

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