The Writhlers

Riversnail soon came into a desolate street. The houses which lined the sides of this street were patched and skeletal. The ground was as black as coal and a strong smell of rot even thicker than that of the forest lingered in the air like an invincible fog.

Few people hung around in the streets, these people could be categorized into two small groups. The passersby who made up only a small percentage of the people on the street, and the others who lay on the scorched ground with ribs poking out, half naked and writhing seemingly in great pain. Whether they were men or women, most of the passersby paid them not so much as a glance because two things the people on the ground had in common were missing limbs and bodies half-eaten from rot. This did not mean nobody paid these people any attention because while the mutations on the women's faces and bodies greatly discouraged the men who mostly ignored them, strange sounds still resounded from all parts of the village.

Riversnail walked casually along this street, his light green eyes gently surfing his surroundings. He didn't attract much attention and the passersby who looked at him only had expressions of unease or disgust. He felt something slide down into his bandages. A light rain had started to fall, dyeing the ground a very light pink. He entered a house which looked much larger and sturdier than the others. It had a round shape and a small door and Riversnail felt it looked like the igloo the Eskimos made out of snow, only several times larger.

Most of the inhabitants of the village occupied this house making it rather crowded, large as it was. A few figures stood in the dark and others sat on curved chairs built to accommodate as much people as possible. Most sat and drank a red liquid from tiny wooden cups with lifeless looks in their eyes but the rest stood on the chairs, some laughing, most shouting, splashing the contents of the cups they held left and right as they boasted garrulously of their kills.

Riversnail had never tried the red liquid before; Shower had told him that the liquid reduced one's lifespan in exchange for an escape. He didn't care so much about his lifespan but he also didn't see where they were escaping to, as far as he knew these men would drink until they exhausted their money and then go off to hunt and come again to drink tomorrow. The only difference was that they came back in slightly fewer numbers each time. Even if it was true he couldn't bear to leave his sister exposed just to come here and drink and shout.

Further away from the horde of drinking men and women was a long line formed by people holding long skin jars. Riversnail exposed a skin jar from his thigh and joined this line. Suddenly a loud noise echoed in the air and a man was sent flying.

"This is the last time I am warning you; we don't accept writhlers here, if I see your face here again I'll cu' it off and stitch it to my counter." said the man behind the counter.

The man who was sent flying only had one leg and half of his face had been consumed by rot. His arms were as thin as broomsticks and his ribs could be counted with unerring accuracy. Riversnail frowned; he could feel a deathlike aura emanating from him that was similar to those who lay on the streets.

The man didn't get angry by the slap instead he crawled forwards and planted his head on the ground.

"Please, please, anything, I will do anything. My son is dying; you people took my daughter from me. I'm not asking for her back, please just some water for my boy or he'll be dead soon."

The lips of the man behind the counter arched slightly; he stood silently, eyeing the man on the floor with a playful gaze. "Your daughter? We've taken a lot of daughters but I don't ever remember us taking anyone forcefully. You've spent all the money we've given you for her and have come here to beg, right? Get the fuck out of here and go drink the rainwater like the rest of the writhlers!"

The man trembled and his face, half eaten as it was, turned into something inhuman. He lifted up a trembling finger even as he was being dragged away by a pair of men previously standing in the shadows and shouted, "Bastard! Is that what you told her?! That I sold her?! Let me go! Leave me alone! Bastard!"

River snail watched with unreadable eyes as the man was slowly dragged out of the house.

"Next!"

After a while Riversnail stepped up to the counter. It was finally his turn. When the man looked up and saw Riversnail, he frowned deeply.

"One skin would be two mice for you."

"You sold to the man before me a skin for one mouse. Why is my turn different?"

The man snorted as he peered at Riversnail carefully bandaged body of which not a hint of skin was revealed and snorted, "Everyone knows you're living with that monster, who knows how badly infected you are right now, anything you bring can only be considered as infected goods if you don't want to sell get out of the way little boy and stop blocking the line."

Some people shuffled their feet in the back and a few mummers arose, but nobody spoke up to Riversnail. Riversnail didn't move either and only peered at the man with cold eyes beneath his hood.

"I am not living with a monster, that girl is my sister." Riversnail replied coldly.

Silence reined in the line and the scene seemed slightly comedic. A little boy stared at a large man and the large man stared at the little boy, no one willing to reveal a hint of weakness. The men standing guard in the shadows started to step out but a man's voice suddenly echoed from an inner room much further away from the back of the counter.

"Give it to him."

The men retreated back into the darkness and the man tending the counter seemed stunned but he immediately regained his composure. He collected the mouse and the boy put one more on the table.

"Add one mouse worth of sterilized meat."

When Riversnail walked out of the igloo he was two mice lighter. He took to the street but soon stopped because in front of him was the man who had been kicked out as a beggar. Behind him was a little boy of about eight, who had ragged red hair.

"I didn't know you sold your daughter." Riversnail said walking past him. "And I recall telling you that last time was a one-time thing."

"I would never." The man said, his eyes blazing fiercely. Those eyes told tales and hid emotions that couldn't be understood by a boy Riversnail's age.

Riversnail didn't respond and continued walking, whether the man was telling the truth or not he didn't really care. The only thing on his mind was watching out for bandits and his sister's condition. However the boy with red hair seemed to have been provoked.

"Father didn't sell sister, when he got injured in the forest the men came for sister the next day and..." The boy didn't continue and his face was scrunched up in agony, a festering hatred arose in his eyes and his fingers were clenched tightly. "And... After they... finished they took her away."

Riversnail finally stopped, the people who the boy described seemed familiar. He turned around and the man who seemed to have been using the last vestiges of his strength to follow Riversnail with his remaining leg finally collapsed on the floor.

At the side of his body where his cloak previously covered laid a lot of cut marks and small chunks of skin belonging to the thigh of his good leg were missing. Riversnail turned to the man and gazed at him with a meaningful look. The man seemed to understand the gaze and could only shake his head ruefully.

"I don't want to bury him." He said simply.

It was an incredibly selfish request, but this selfish request and the boy's tale made him remember something.

"I can't help you with that." Riversnail put up his guard and retreated as he looked at the man with a renewed gaze. He understood that the man didn't want his son to know about this gruesome secret. It was not his place to reveal it either. Besides a man who could cut his own flesh to feed his child, couldn't be underestimated. "But I can offer him some water."

"Thank you, Yes that is all he needs. Thank you." The man responded, joy clouding his half-rotted face.

The boy opened his mouth feebly. The man noticed his son's gaze had been fixed on Riversnail; a boy who could only a few years older than his son yet seemed so mature. Children matured early in this violence filled era, but children like Riversnail couldn't be found just anywhere.

"Open your skin jar. " Riversnail said when he saw the boy opening his mouth. The boy closed his mouth with a slight blush and opened a skin jar strapped to his leg. Riversnail felt it was better to pour the water into the skin jar so they could use it from time to time to quench their taste instead of just letting them drink it in one go. Calculating the average time, the mice traps took to successfully trap a mouse he felt nervous but he knew his sister would be happy that he had helped a boy today.

Pouring out roughly one fourth of the water in his skin jar he closed it and continued on his way paying little attention to the man bowing with tears in his eyes. Nobody had helped him when he needed it, so he didn't think he should be helping anyone. He didn't feel happy in the slightest after giving that man some of his water instead he felt he had done something he would end up regretting. He walked back into the forest and back to the tree he had seen earlier.

Standing perfectly still, he scanned through his surroundings with cautious eyes. A gale suddenly blew through the forest; bringing with it many shimmering blue leaves which danced in the air like spring butterflies. It threw Riversnail's hood back, exposing a face tightly wrapped with bandages, only revealing two clear bright eyes. This gale wasn't accompanied by a vicious whistle so Riversnail felt no panic.

He breathed in greedily, noting that only these infrequent gales seemed to carry the true forest air. Although it still smelled sour and slightly of decay he could slightly catch a hint of something nice. He didn't know what it was; but he felt it should the flowers he had read about in his books. He sniffed again for several minutes, seemingly basking in the fragrance of flowers but deep down he knew that it was not the smell of flowers that made him stand outside so stiffly. He was afraid. Afraid of what might have happened to his sister in his absence; afraid of what he might see when he entered the house, and so he deliberately delayed even as the butterflies in his stomach grew.

After a while Riversnail's rationality overcame his fear, he dug till he found a latch, opening it, he lowered himself into a small hole. Although he used his hand to arrange the bushes on top, he knew that it couldn't conceal the latch from the eyes of seasoned veterans, which comprised of most of the villagers after the great undertaking. He could only hope the small size of the hole which could barely fit him would keep them out. After thinking on it, he remembered the villagers already avoided him like a plague because of his sister so perhaps he didn't even need to be so meticulous about the bushes outside the latch.

After squirming through the hole for some time, the hole slowly became larger like a cone till it was barely enough for him to crawl. On the other side of the tunnel was a small iron door. He knocked twice but heard no movements. His heart tightened and he felt fear once again. He was about to knock again when he heard scuffling of feet. The door opened and a deep guttural voice filled with a childlike excitement came from the darkness within.

"Haha, Dumbsnail you made me wait so long!"