The Poison Dwarf of Saint Evanage

In a land in time much in time with now, is a place that goes by the name of Saint Evenage. It is a lowly place where all manner of peoples exist, but none of which accord to normality. They are somewhat of a degraded form of humankind; dirty smelly people that live in the soil. Their clothes are what they rob from rubbish heaps from the outlying villages, and their mode of sustenance is fermented potato water and manky parsnips. They are most prolific during the hours of night where they can remain unseen to outsiders.

They dare not enter out of their own domain. For beyond their sullied kingdom are symbols that unnerve this people. Funny shapes that instil them with fear and dread - shapes that form a thing; a school of thought called W.O.R.D.S. It is in these shapes that they become aware that they are incredibly stupid for they cannot read. Even the name of an adjacent town or village sends them into paranoiac rage.

In one such town situated close by to Saint Evenage was Jolly Man. He was an incredibly happy man and enjoyed the height of health. He wore fine clothes, owned a fine car which was complete with a beautiful home. Yes, Jolly Man was jolly for all the right reasons, but there was one thing he needed to be complete: he needed to find someone to share it with him.

Nobody liked to talk to Mr Jolly for they were in envy of his wealth and success. Although they lived in nice homes, were educated and a clean people, they found it odd that happiness could be so readily achieved by someone. It did not let it bother him for he had all that he needed in life, except for that one special person and his untiring heart told him to be patient. Each night he would leave the comfort of his home so as to endure his magnificent garden, which was complete with a floral display of exotic plants and tall powerful trees. He enjoyed such a display for he found that nature gave verve to his soul, and the vastness of the infinite sky above lulled him from the Earth. He would place his mind within the stars and feel himself amongst them. And while he was there he noted how insignificant life was down below, and everything that truly mattered was within him.

The seasons drifted on and James Jolly was losing all sense of hope. How could he possibly attain his dream of meeting someone in a place where nobody would speak to him? He decided to venture to local bars where the people gathered to converse and occasionally established new friends. He dare not let them know that it was he, Mr. Jolly, for they knew that they would reject him. Consequently, he would adopt a befitting disguise that would not invite suspicion. He dug out some dirty and dishevelled clothing and had a few swigs of Vodka. Jolly did like a drink every once in a while, but today he had discovered a wanton taste for it. He didn’t feel like his usual happy self, and so wanted to dispel becoming like his miserable neighbours.
He left his home when darkness had shielded his exit from the judging eye of his neighbours. He moved between the dark alleys giving thanks to the silver moon above they guided him to his destination. The Vodka had numbed his anxieties and he was ready for adventure. He had heard that bars were places were escapades might be initiated; where the introduction of new people could lead to new memories and experiences. Perhaps, he could allow himself to become like them, a reduction in self-assurance might be what he needed; to allow himself to surrender to their emptiness.

He saw the bar set off in the distance and lit up like a beacon of lust. It poked its way into the main road with an incandescent glow. A sign displaying ‘GEORGE IV’ swung gently in the soft breeze, and James Jolly had found his new paradise.
Even with the alcohol within his veins, there was some anxiety residing in his stomach. It was his first entrance within a bar and he did not know what to expect. They piercing eyes of the patrons did not receive him well but within moments they had forgotten of his presence. James soon succumbed to the smell of stale beer, sensing like it was some magical spell that drew him to the bar.

The night drifted on and Jolly’s new appearance attracted some attention. One man in particular sensed some familiarity about Jolly Man, Mr. Norris from across the road who noted his high spirits as he downed each pint of beer with happy haste. However, this man in his dishevelled attire and asinine behaviour allowed him to believe it was just another silly drunkard.
James Jolly decided it was time to make acquaintance with some of the patrons. He was intrigued by a conversation between two men involving the town of Saint Evenage, who bantered on about their dirtiness and stupidity. James found it sad that these men should take such pleasure in the suffering of others, and decided against joining the conversation until they mentioned her.
‘Yes, they say she is petite, voluptuous and pretty. She has green eyes like emeralds that drive deep into a man’s heart,’ said one of the men. ‘I heard she casts a spell on men to lull them to her designs. When they have served their use, she casts them back out to the dirty world of Saint Evenage. That’s how it was formed. It is the land of broken hearted men and failed romances. They live in the soil and grovel for salvation right outside the station . She destroys all their thinking and rationality, and all the women there are her creation,’ said the other man.
‘Excuse me,’ butted in Jolly as politely as he could, ‘but whom do you speak of?’ The two men pondered Jolly for some moments, and after a brief introduction and the mutual exchange of drinks, he learnt that the girl in which they spoke of was known as the Poison Dwarf. Jolly could not fathom how such a beautiful girl should be so cruel. Surely such a fine exterior would produce a heart worthy of the finest man – a fine man like Jolly, perhaps?

James was becoming continually inebriated and was forgetting where he was. The landlady had noticed him falling against the bar and dropping his drinks on the floor, and was thus becoming somewhat agitated by his behaviour. It also drew the attention of Mr. Norris who studied Jolly in more detail and his memory advised of some familiarity once more.

Stumbling about the room Jolly fell against the bar like bag of bones. He burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter which he could not understand nor contain. The landlady squared up to him against the bar ready to evict him from her premises. ‘I’m sorry, madam,’ slurred Jolly having dispensed with the laughter, ‘but what would you do for a packet of bacon fries?’
‘That’s it,’ yelled the landlady, ‘get out!’ Jolly had had enough of this depressing place and was keen to make his exit as he stumbled through the door. Meanwhile, Mr. Norris and his entourage of three men followed.

James Jolly could barely carry himself. He had never been this drunk and didn’t know where he was, and when he saw four men approach him, he was completely disinterested.
‘Hey, I know you,’ called out Norris, ‘You are my neighbour across the road from me you smarmy bastard. What do you think you are doing down here?’
Jolly turned to face the four men of different shapes and sizes. There was the stumpy Mr. Norris with his round face and scruffy short hair who he stood in front of them kingly with power. ‘Nothing much,’ he garbled, ‘I found myself rather partial to a dirty scrubber,’ he laughed uncontrollably, ‘it does seem that bacon fries buys you very little in these here parts.’
Norris returned an unimpressed demeanour and stated, ‘We do not want you around here, Jolly. You are not welcome in this bar or even our town. If you want to stay here, then you had better start giving us some friendly donations from your wealth.’

By now, Mr. Jolly could no longer support his stance and had crumpled against the bar wall, ‘I guess a few thousand quid might aid you in your quest to look presentable. I don’t think it would buy you a woman of any sorts, mind, no woman for any amount of cash would entertain you. Perhaps your mum might help, or a sister even, if she was unfortunate enough to produce any more of you,’ he chuckled.
‘I don’t find that very funny, this isn’t a joking matter you toffee nosed twat!’
‘Toffee nosed, you say? I have a nose for horse shit when I smell it, so please, could you just go away.’
With that, James fell to the floor unconscious and an incensed Mr. Norris with his eager entourage threw him in the boot of their car.