Gabriel's Horn, Page 3

thinks they’re original). Stuck inside the darkness of the kitchen appliance hatred burned deep inside me, hotter than the scalding water. How many more cream pies to the face would I have to endure? How much more forced laughter would I have to put on? The drunk customers were the worst, hence my current predicament.

  What would I do when I was finally released from this watery prison? Kick their shins and waddle off in a temper! Brilliant, that’ll show them.

  Show them what a short tempered stereotype I am. The dwarf in need of anger management, a classic. I doubt they would even think I was legitimately angry, it’s all just part of the act: the tears and screaming as they showed me in a fucking kitchen appliance.

  All part of the act… I had wanted to be an actor since I was a boy but now I saw that it was the wrong dream for someone like me to have. Where would acting lead realistically? A remake of Wizard of Oz or a part as an Oompa-Loompa. What was the alternative? Playing Macbeth on a milk crate?

  Even if I could find a serious gig as an actor, like that Game of Thrones prick I’ll just be known as “Chester, the serious dwarf actor”, actually no I would be “the second serious dwarf actor” part of an overall movement Fox News, CNN and fuck knows who else would cash in on for a few days.

  Screw that.

  I was born just to be a jester. A laughing stock to the lords and ladies all through history and onwards for eternity. What was the point of living like this? I’m too angry to go out without a bang. I remember the hunting shotgun hanging on the wall. A big alpha male type was the host of the party and the owner of the gun, he took it down at one point in the night and pretending to fire at me, no loaded obviously but I could find some ammunition around here somewhere.

  It’s a big fuckin’ gun. A dwarf with a big fuckin’ gun… Shit, I would look ridiculous. Another stereotype. I would kill them with laughter long before I pulled the trigger.

  “I am still human,” I tell myself. I’ve told myself that many times, especially through my sour time in school.

  “Make lemonade when the world gives you lemons, Chester,” Mum would tell me.

  So that’s what I did and high school wasn’t as bad. They were still laughing, but laughing with me not at me as long as I was laughing as well. That’s how it works right?

  My laughter at myself was never genuine, there was always a feeling of animosity in the background.

  The world had done me wrong. What did I owe anybody?

  It’s because couldn’t defend myself from a pack of kittens and people only respect power in this cruel world. I’ll take this world and destroy it and create another, I know I’m smart enough I’ve even been called a genius.

  Yeah, that’ll be me, an evil genius with dwarfism and a chip on his shoulder with plans to take over the world. Sounds like Mike Myers movie.

  I’m a stereotype whatever I do. I take up professional poker I’ll be the short fella with the big bets or if I take up dancing I’ll be the ‘4 foot man with 2 left feet’. It will be hilarious no matter what. Everyone will love it. Everyone will have a good laugh. Except for me, because they’re laughing at me, not with me and they never were. No matter what I try, people will fawn, ooh and aah, “Oh good for him, he’s really trying even though…”

  Even though fucking what? I don’t know… Maybe I just need to…

  Then it came to me, a beautiful idea. You know the feeling when you get that perfect, delicious thought, unique and utterly yours as you add more and more to it. It's growing in size now, like a snowball rolling down a mountainside picking up speed.

  They didn’t have to know that I was a dwarf. It wasn’t hiding who I was, it was the opposite. It was a way to truly express myself. I was going to become a writer. When had there been some sort of stereotype about a dwarf writer? Never. It’s perfect, no stereotypes. I would be judged by the quality of my prose and characters. It’s not their fault that people are stupid, beautiful people with terrible depravities will always be treated better than a repulsive looking dwarf with a heart of gold.

  Beep. Beep. Beep. The eco-wash cycle was finished. The doors opened and I stepped out a new man, laughter greeted me but I just walked past them straight out of the house.

  I laughed as, but not with them.

  Trim, or the microscopic narrative of a leaf

  I heard it but didn’t quite believe it, a loud thump that seemed to come from all directions. I’m sure it was just something bumping into us. Our leaf was strong… we kept it strong. There’s no way it could have happened so soon. Autumn was a distant event in the future, something that bothered us little until it was actually time to pack up shop

  Yet here I was feeling the panic set in. We were homeless, our ship was adrift. Would the mother tree miss us? No, I suppose we were just a single leaf. But we were helpful, day after day waking up at dawn and opening the stomata, producing glucose till night fell and clocked out. I don’t know, but I’d like to think even if I wasn’t remembered I can get the satisfaction a job well done.

  Perhaps we haven't left, maybe a stem is just broken and patch that up for sure!

  No… no, I am just giving myself false hope. I feel dry, my membranes are shrinking.

  I slowly shut down my organelles as I was trained to so long ago.

  The cold hard ground pressures against me, I can feel myself being crushed into it.

  The decomposition is remorseless; I feel my body torn to pieces by alien creatures that dart so quickly here and there. Slowly what’s left of my sinks further into the dirt. This is death. I cry for what seems like years, I have nothing and no one.

  With all hope gone suddenly a hard object protrudes into what’s left of me, I can’t even bring myself to be terrified of this new horror, how could things be worse. I feel a force pull me towards this strange object. This is a root.

  I can’t believe it, I ‘m back to the mother tree, I was remembered, they rescued me. I am loved. Old friends welcome me back as I feel my nutrients surging back through.

  After an eternity of the cold dirt, the warmth of the hearth is ecstasy. I’m home.

  PR1NC3

  “Money can buy anything,” thought the Prince of Nigeria, “why can’t I buy love?”

  He stared blankly at his eHarmoney profile; ‘Prince of Nigeria looking for love and someone to share his life and wealth with.’ Maybe I was coming across too strongly, he thought.

  0 hits, several messages though.

  [You’re a joke mate] from a blonde in Sydney

  The second from Vienna [As if people still fall for this]

  Confused and feeling the sting of reject, he refused to open anymore. Placing his face in his palms he remembered the words of his uncle: Expand your horizons nephew, the world is waiting for you. His worldly uncle could not provide wisdom in person to the Prince now, he was either hiking the Himalayan ranges or relaxing on a tropical beach, taking full advantage of his royal allowance. Closing eHarmoney he brought up his web diary/blog ‘In Need of a Princess’ in which he had taken quite a likening to writing mediocre poetry about the hardships of his life.

  // I could fly to Sydney or Vienna in seconds

  This was an exaggeration, he calculated it would actually take 3 hours and 47 minutes in his father’s concord.

  // but who would be there waiting for me

  The world is not waiting for me Uncle, he thought to himself.

  Closing the blog he decided to indulge in a slightly more pleasurable form of self-pitying. A quick click from his favourite tabs later, and pornography filled the screen.

  The Prince’s eyes glossed over [daddyissues.com] when for some reason he was attracted to an advertising banner. Local Sluts NEAR YOU! It was like a lightning bolt hit his head, “Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I will not expand my horizons, I will compress them. He clicked cautiously, but soon his suspicions were cast aside as he saw a woman on a webcam was already messaging him. Hey sexy, I live near you at AREA CODE: 3493-B2, and I’m lonely!


  “Wow, that’s my area code. I needn’t travel around the globe, I can tame myself a common woman right here.”

  With a flurry of hand movements, he entered his name and credit card details (don’t worry it’s free!) and began.

  Pr1nc3 [This is an amazing coincidence that you live so nearby]

  Candy [wtf? You actually replied?]

  Pr1nc3 [I can’t see how someone could resist ur beauty, my lady]

  Candy [Your cute :) um this has never happened before but do you wanna meet up?]

  And just like that, he had found his princess. They organised to meet at a café round the corner from his palace, he had seen it from his limousine once or twice. With glee, he reopened his blog and finished the post as he went out the door.

  // The world may not be waiting for me, but AREA CODE 3493-B2 is!

  “Now, the Mercedes or the Lamborghini?” the Prince was presented with hard alternatives often. Deciding not to appear boastful he wisely chose the Mercedes. Needless to say, the Prince didn’t actually know how to drive any of his sports cars which he had spent an upwards of 12 million dollars to purchase. No, instead he spent more money on a driver who was more than pleased to drive his luxurious cars for him.

  He hopped into the passenger seat and off they went to the café. “Will she be there?” he wondered gazing out of the tinted windows. They arrived quickly and he checked his reflection in the mirror. Pre-emptively squinting his eyes and shielding his face from the