To Hurt

The man I kicked goes to stand up. I’m immediately reminded of several problems. I’m diminutive. He's much larger than me. I have no weapons. He does have a weapon. And I don't know the law here. I could easily be the one who gets in trouble instead of him. I have no evidence that he grabbed me. It’s my word against his.

But still, does that mean I'll let him get away with grabbing me?

Nope.

Indignation replaces fear. Before he can utter a single stupid word, I kick him in the balls. Then cut and run into the crowd. I don't look back.

I run. Down streets. Through alleys. Across bridges. I run till I’m out of breath. Then hide in some bushes. There I stay for a long while. I take deep breaths. My heart pounds against my chest. Both from the running and the anxiety. What’s wrong with me!? I’m such an idiot! Walking around looking like a victim! Like a target! That’s why that man grabbed me! Then I went and kicked him! I made the situation worse! What was I thinking!? Stupid! Stupid!

Hidden in the bushes, I berate myself. Then my frustration turns to depression. The feeling of being a failure returns. Stronger this time. I don’t even understand why I feel this way. But I do. I’m a failure. A loser. Pathetic. I can’t help but cry. Couldn’t stop myself if I tried.

I try to stay quiet. Try to muffle my sobs. But I must do a poor job. In no time at all — or it could be a long time, I can’t tell — someone finds me. I’m terrified. I think it must be the man I kicked. The leaves part. Volcanic rock skin surrounds warm ember eyes. Not the man I kicked. A demon? Our eyes meet.

“Are you okay?” The eyes ask. A young voice. Childlike. Feminine.

“I’m— fine—” I choke out between sobs.

“Is that what elves call fine? You don’t look fine. I’ll go get my mum! She’ll know what to do!” She cries.

The child demon disappears. Her quick steps fade away, but I still hear her voice clearly. “Mum! Mum! There’s an elf in our shrub! Come quick!”

Too slow, I decide to leave. A pair of quick steps are back before I can move.

“Right there mum! She’s crying! You’ve got to help her! Right there!” The child cries.

The leaves part again. Two sets of matching ember eyes peer at me. I expect the mother to tell me to stop crying in their bushes and go away. But she doesn’t. Her eyes are surprised, but warm and compassionate. I feel embarrassed. Unworthy of whatever kindness she's going to offer me. I go to leave. But a hand on my arm stops me.

The mother demon’s voice is calm, soothing, patient. She says, “It’s alright. You don’t need to go. Why don’t you come out of there? We’ll get you fixed up with something to drink. Do you like spiced punch? It’s a local delicacy. I just made some fresh.”

“My mum makes the best spiced punch! For truth!” The child adds.

I consider bolting. But where would I go? Find another bush, maybe. I’m still lost. I need to ask someone for directions anyway. Might as well be these two. I crawl out of the bushes. Face the two demons. Cross my arms awkwardly. I can’t meet the mother's eye. I feel too ashamed and embarrassed. The feeling only gets worse when she wipes my eyes and nose for me. I want to crawl back into the bush.

The mother leads me up the steps to a small home. The child bounds along beside us. She sits me down at their table. The child pulls her chair around to sit next to me. The mother gives us each a wooden cup filled with what I assume to be spiced punch. I take slow sips of the cool drink. It tastes of roots and is oddly bubbly. I can’t tell if I like it. But I keep drinking. The child does the same, but with her eyes locked on me. I avoid eye contact. I move my eyes around the home instead.

I’m struck by how everything is so ordinary. Of course, I can’t remember why, but demon made me think of fire and brimstone. Odd. Aside from a few minor things, everything is normal. The table and chairs are too big for me. But the mother demon is twice my height, so that follows. The logs in the fireplace are made of glass, like so many other things I saw in the tent city. Glass seems to be everywhere I don’t expect it. And nowhere I do expect it. Glass windows are by far the scarcest thing I’ve seen.

I finish my drink. So does the child. The mother takes our cups. Then she retrieves a comb made of, of course, glass. She circles around behind me. My hair must be a mess. I couldn’t remember how to care for it.

“Enya anduin.” She says. Then runs the comb through my hair. It's oddly warm. Slides through easily. When I tried running my fingers through my hair, they kept getting stuck. “Feeling any better?” She asks gently.

I nod.

“Good. Did you like the punch?”

I nod again.

“Glad to hear it. Your hair has some leafs tangled in it. Give me just a moment, and I’ll get them out for you. Then, if you’d like, you can tell us what’s the matter.” She coaxes.

What’s the matter? I tally a mental list. I was almost murdered. Lost my memories. Got separated from the only people I know. Got myself lost. Am afraid my attempted murderer will see me wandering around town like an idiot and finish me off! Also, I assaulted someone. I start to get anxious again, but my feeling is cut off before it can take root.

The child demon — who’s been watching me constantly with a huge smile — suddenly shouts, “Can I touch your ears?”

“Coral! That is rude!” The mother scolds.

“Oh please mum! I’ll never get another chance again! I just had to ask! I had to! Please, miss elf, can I?” The child demon, Coral, cries.

The mother sighs. She sounds exacerbated. “I’m sorry, um—”

“Serie.” I fill in for her.

“Serie. Lovely name. I’m Marine. This is my daughter, Coral. I’m sorry about her. She’s always making odd requests of other races. And I have told her frequently not to.” Marine says, directing the last statement at her daughter.

Coral’s cheerful demeanor rapidly deflates. I feel my ears. They are curious. Long and pointy. Demon ears are much smaller by comparison.

“You can touch them.” I tell Coral.

She beams at me like the sun. Leaps from her chair. Makes a grab for my ears. But her mother holds her back.

“You’re positive? It’s alright to tell her no. I don’t want you to force yourself.” Marine says.

“Yes, it’s alright.” I tell her.

Marine relents, but warns Coral to touch softly. She agrees, and wastes no time feeling my ears. Which are more sensitive than I realized. Her touch makes the top of my head tingle. As she gropes my ears, Marine arranges my hair atop my head. In no time at all, she’s done. She goes to retrieve a mirror. And to my relief, also instructs Coral to be done with my ears. I relax. Release a held breath. Realize I was clenching my teeth. Next time someone asks to touch my ears, I’m saying no.

Coral gazes at her hands. Her eyes wide and sparkling. She says, “Wow! Thank you! You’re so lucky! Your ears are mag— magneticent!”

“Magnificent!” Marine corrects from somewhere else in the house.

“Magnificent!” Coral repeats.