A General Lack of Writing Ability

A Non-Expected Parting

(This short story was written in January of 2018, as a part of a High-School level Creative Writing course)

Zee pushed open the front door, letting the smell of fresh bread pour from himself into the room. In his open hand set a platter, and on it a half dozen warm rolls. He moved one of the rolls to the wooden table at the end of his room, by the window facing towards the hills. Beginning up the stairs, he thought he might benefit from getting a table able to hold more than one or two people. Once upstairs, he set the rest of the rolls next to his cot against the plank wood ground. He nodded as if in agreement with himself over the strategically important task of roll placement. The creak of the stairs was more pronounced when one was going down them, he'd noticed. Taking off his apron, he went to close his front door. His neighbor, Peter, waved from across the street. "Afternoon, Peter!" Zee called out, putting his arm up over his head to wave back.

"Afternoon," Peter called back, before both Zee and himself ducked into their respective homes.

Zee sat down at his small table, in his rather comfortable cottage, at the East edge of the small village of Thornwood. A book joined the bread roll on the table, open to a passage about a heroic knight. He smiled to himself, tucking the corner of a small white cloth under the collar of his shirt. It was a normal day, considering all that had happened. As to what was about to happen, however, the same could not be said. As Zee took a bite of the soft, warm bread, he heard a soft rapping at his door. His study, which stood to be the only other room on his ground floor, often was rocked against by the chair he'd put in it. He stood up, moving over to the study's door. He opening it a crack to find the table he'd spent many a night reading at. He furrowed his brow in confusion, seeing that the chair had been moved off to the side at some indeterminate time prior. He gingerly closed the door, turning around to the roll he'd left at his table. He was near thrown off his seat by the next round of knocking, which was decidedly more forceful than the last. Zee fell from his chair flat to the ground, scampering to the door whilst trying to get himself back to his feet. "Coming," He called through the door, quickly tossing it open to reveal Jay. "Well, I wasn't expecting this," Zee said, hartily shaking his hand.

"Oh come now, you're always expecting me."

"Of course, of course. Come in."

Zee again opened the door to the study, pulling from behind it the rocking chair. He pulled it to the center of the room, speaking as he made his way up the stairs. "So, what brings you here on such short notice?" Zee asked.

"Well, it's a bit of strange story..." Jay began, as a creaking began to emanate through the house, almost to the size of a dragon walking upon Zee's floor.

Zee took the plate of biscuits from next to his bed, moving down to the foyer. "What's going on down th-" There was a moment of explicit silence before the tray of biscuits clattered to the ground, Zee's mouth agape. Standing in his home were some half-dozen orcs, all of which were dumbly snooping around his room. Some were examining the paintings, some sniffing the floorboards, one even trying to a degree of success to hide from his shadow. "A very strange story," Jay admitted.

"What's all this about?" Zee asked, glancing around the room still in a state of absolute shock. The orc which had found itself enamored by his door wheeled around, pushing brutishly past the others and planting himself in front of Zee.

"Me need help with the bad men," The orc said, his lack of shirt and equally apparent lack of bathing making his words hard to concentrate upon. "Bad men kick out Th'agar," the orc continued, the others rousing to attention behind him. Zee only thanked the gods the others were more aptly clothed.

"What Th'agar is trying to say," Jay said, stepping between the massive orc and the comparatively-less-massive Zee, "is that his people were driven from their land by an evil sorcerer. I knew they needed a hero, so I came to you as quickly as I could." Jay clasped his hands together behind his back, a raised eyebrow accompanying his sly smile.

"No. I'm a baker, not a fighter," Zee said, bending over and beginning to place biscuits back against the platter they'd come on.

"But Zee-" Jay began.

"No! You've tried this same schtick with dwarves, with halflings, with dragons. No. It's not happening, not now, not ever."

There was a beat of silence as Jay's smile faded entirely.

"Racist..."

"Racist‽"

"Racist! I bet you'd have said yes in a heartbeat if it were a dozen 'hot elves' as you so often call them."

There was another uncomfortable beat of silence, one certainly long enough to validate the 'hot elves' comment. Zee finally broke the silence with a simple command. "Leave."

Jay turned heel, walking out with a scoff. "Come on boys," he called to the orcs, who were now all playing the interesting to watch game of mirror hide-and-seek. Th'agar turned to him, elbowing one of the others in the shoulder. This process of one elbowing the next to attention continued until they were all facing Jay. "It's time to go."

Zee watched as the orcs piled out through the door which was obviously too small for them. He went to close it, watching Jay, along with his posse, move on to the next house.

Peter heard a knock at his door, opening it to find an old friend, Jay, standing before him. "Well I wasn't expecting this," he began, holding out his hand to Jay, who shook it with fervor. "What are you doing around here so soon?" Peter asked, pulling up a chair at the table in the center of his room.

"It's a bit of a strange story," Jay admitted. As he did, Peter caught sight of the orcs positioned at either side of his door - as Jay had directed them to.

"Not again..."