Post by RoughWriters on Sept 3, 2010 9:25:33 GMT -6
This week we have two selections. First, a review of the book "The Lord's Prayer Through Primitive Eyes," by Dr. Shim, and second a selection from the very beginning of Edward's novel "Jaine."
We look forward to hearing your opinions at our next meeting!
You can also find Dr. Shim's review here: facultyweb.swau.edu/jts/lordsprayer.htm
BOOK REVIEW: DRAFTY DRAFT--estimated 69% complete.
The Lord's Prayer--we can repeat it by rote but what does it really mean? What impact does it have on us personally, corporately, on our mission?
Gottfried Oosterwal deconstructs the Lord's Prayer theologically; he tells gripping stories of a remote culture grappling with the powerful new concepts which it reveals; and finally insightfully applies that learning to us.
Oosterwal was a missionary to seemingly less-advantaged cultures of New Guinea. Have you tried to explain the Lord's Prayer to someone...in a different culture? How does one translate "kingdom" to people who have no political power structures? and "our daily bread" to a culture with no bakeries and who gather grass, hunt and fish to eke out a marginal existence on the brink of extinction? It took Oosterwal, who can communicate in eight languages, about three years to find a translation that was meaningful to the Bora-Bora tribe [p. 23].
Let's look at some of the relational implications. When we say "our Father"--that automatically makes us all siblings. Is God really Father or also Mother? Oosterwal explains that the meaning of the term Abba refers to the feminine aspects of fatherhood: caring, nurturing, showing compassion, tenderness. [pp. 44, 49.] In interview, Dutch author Oosterwal appreciates Dutch painter Rembrandt's rendition of the Prodigal Son. One can see in the different hands of the father a feminine hand that represents the nurturing side of the parent. God made man in his image--male and female created He them. We see through a glass dimly, but evidently I'm not alone when I wonder if God might be both!
A component of intimate relationships is how we address another. It was considered so highly inappropriate to call God so intimate an appellation as "Father" as to be deemed blasphemous by Jesus' listeners! [p. 43]. Matthew, (but not Luke), licensed by the Holy Spirit, target marketed the gospel to the Jews and included the distancing phrase, "who art in heaven"? Who would have thought--reaching people where they are in their limited theological paradigms!
Fast forward to recent history and another culture. In New Guinea, Nabak was a little boy struck by blindness and paralysis and abandoned by all lest the curse of the god Nabarssof similarly afflict them. Oosterwal dared to defy the curse of the god, fed and cared for Nabak and was also stricken with blindness and paralysis. [OPTIONAL CUT: Service always has a cost.] Oosterwal's recovery in a week prompted people to ask about his powerful God. They also faced an existential crisis that prompted tribesmen to request, "Teach us to pray." Oosterwal decided to teach the Bora-Bora the Lord's Prayer [pp. 20-21].
The cultural changes were phenomenal. Their life had new vibrancy. They became prosperous, fecund, peacemakers. The men became more caring, compassionate fathers. They had enough food to share with others, they built churches large enough to accommodate others.
One of my colleagues describes the book succinctly as "intriguing both theologically and anthropologically"--I concur. Among many things, Oosterwal gives an in-depth analysis of the three versions of the Lord's Prayer without inflicting on us an analysis of the original Biblical languages. He also provides a work that files a gap in Adventist literature even though we've typically shied away from a me-too-istic approach and averted attention from this section of this seminal sermon. It has taken the author twenty years of meditation on the Lord's Prayer to bring us this book. Surely you can take a Sabbath afternoon to read it. If you want to answer the five reflection questions at the end of each chapter--it'll take longer. [OPTIONAL CUT: Samples: "What is the role of the Holy Spirit when we pray? [p. 40], When forgiveness is given, are the acts wiped out as if they never happened? [p. 141], Is the Lord's Prayer for individuals? congregations? both?--biblically support your answer [p. 157].] Sorry, there is no answer key.
Ideally, I envision thoughtful readers reconceptualizing a clear picture of God individually and collectively so that we can adapt and share the essential components with global awareness, cultural sensitivity, recognizing and retaining the positive values of others and not attempting to unnecessarily annihilate nor alter their culture.
Now that we've learned about the power of the Lord's Prayer from "primitive" people perspective, how do we share with those in a sophisticated, 21st century setting?
While I definitely recommend perusal of this publication, I recognize the reality that most of the readers of this review will not so let me share my summary of the book: we should make God's will our own, we are called to an intimate relationship with a God who expects us to actively share [pp. 13-14].
And here is the selection from Edward's "Jaine"
Chapter 1
A Hole in the Wall in the Bottom of a Ditch
“A bridge would work real nice right there.” Robert said.
“What?” Asked Mark.
“A bridge,” Robert said again, “Right across there.” He gestured at a particular point along the ditch. “The banks on both sides are already sturdy enough. You could brace it some more, of course. But it'd be a good spot for a road to cross.”
“Okay.”
They kept walking along the ditch in silence.
Robert cast a glance at Mark. They contrasted each other thoroughly. Where Robert was short and tone, Mark was tall and lanky. Where Robert was scruffy and unkempt, Mark was neat and prim. He was also quiet. Robert wasn't one to talk either. Not usually. But he could talk a stone to death compared to Mark.
Not for the first time Robert wondered why the contractor hired Mark in the first place. Of course, that was probably a dumb question, when the same person was also okay with hiring an emancipated sixteen year old. The guys always heckled Robert about his age. But at least Robert was proving himself. Harold, the group's surveyor and the man Robert was a sort of apprentice to, was already sending him out to do his job. Like survey the ditch.
Robert's eyes scanned the dirt walls with his natural constructor's eyes and he could already see the canal that would take its place, feeding water into the treatment plant from the river, even though the ditch was currently dry and had been for years. He could also see the buildings growing up nearby. Businesses, Apartment complexes, shopping malls. The city was growing, and it was coming here. The contractor he worked for would be getting a lot of business. And Robert would be there to help build it all.
He smiled.
“What're you working here for?”
Robert looked over to Mark. At first he didn't process the question, being surprised that so many words came out of Mark all at once.
“What am I working here for?” He asked.
“Yep.”
“Well, I like to build things.”
Mark shook his head.
“What?” Robert asked.
“Not that.” Mark said. “Your parents?”
“Oh. I don't really want to talk about it.”
Mark shrugged and they kept on walking.
That was the first time anyone but the contractor asked about his parents. Robert pushed it to the back of his mind. He was supposed to be working.
His eyes went back to scanning the ditch for problem areas, and they walked in silence for some time. One side of the ditch rose till it was taller than a full grown man from the bottom of the ditch to the top, turning from dirt to clay. That's bad, Robert thought, There'll be all sorts of problems if we don't build this thing right. Eventually it turned into a dirt and clay mix with small rocks and stones that littered the bottom and sides. They were about to reach a bend when Robert saw something strange.
“What is it?” Robert asked.
Mark squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Heck if I know.”
Across from them, the gaping hole sat in the side of the clay wall. Moss grew on the stones peeking out of the dirt, and a tree’s exposed roots framed the left side. It had been there a long time. It wasn’t supposed to be there.
Robert scratched the back of his head. “Well, what’re we gonna do?”
“Don’t know,” Mark said.
“They told us it was just a ditch,”
Mark nodded. “I know.”
“Just a solid ditch.”
Mark nodded again. “I know.”
“Well, I guess this is why they have us here to survey the thing,” Robert sighed. “We’d better report it.”
“Yep.”
Robert put his hands on his hips and looked at the hole for a minute. An idea came to him.
“It doesn’t take two to tell them, though.” He said.
“Nope.” Mark agreed.
Robert looked at the hole a little longer. It was kind of like a tunnel entrance really. “So who’s gonna go?”
Mark shrugged.
“Huh.” Robert looked at the hole, then up at Mark. “You go.”
“Alright.”
Mark turned, slowly walked away and disappeared over the crest of a hill.
Robert looked back at the hole a while, then with a shrug he sidestepped down into the ditch. It wasn’t very steep. They’d make it steep later. Reinforce it to make up for the clay. Concrete. Steel. But it was natural for now.
Like the rest of the trench it was dry, as ditches usually are, with long grass and poison ivy growing down the sides. Weeds grew along the bottom too, amongst the red and brown pebbles. Robert didn’t give them much attention as his dry mud-crusted boots skidded through them.
The hole was a tunnel entrance. He could see back a ways. Not too far, but a ways. Couple feet in, it got gloomy; a few more feet, it was toe-stubbing dangerous; few more and it was perfectly black.
The walls, a strange mix of clay, rock, and dirt, were solid. He had studied engineering a lot, especially for someone his age, and he knew good walls when he saw them. It had a low ceiling, though. He could walk into it if he wanted. He’d have to slouch over, bend his knees a little.
He left the hole, side-stepped up the side of the ditch, found a spot under a tree and sat down. Mark would be a while.
Roughly brushing leaves off his worn jeans, Robert looked around. Trees were everywhere. Dark green shades danced along the ground as the treetops swayed in the wind. Bright green shafts of light piercing the shadows. Hundreds of them. The forest shimmered. Shame it was gonna be taken down.
It reminded him of the tree his family had owned when he was small. He and his mother would sit under the tree and play on cooler afternoons. His father cut the tree down after she died. Robert was glad to be gone. He was.
Shrugging off old memories, he settled further into the soft ground. The tree had a nice shape to it. Concave. He leaned against it, smiling. Mark would be a while. He closed his eyes.
********
Robert slowly woke up and stretched. How long is Mark gonna be anyhow? He wondered. The sun had neared the horizon since he’d shut his eyes last, and the shadows were all changed. And how long did I sleep?
His musings were put on hold when he heard a sharp rustling sound. He blinked and glanced about. Something was moving on the far side of the ditch. He couldn’t make it out, but it seemed to be stuck in a bush. It tugged, and tugged, yanked itself free and tumbled into the trench. Robert leaned forward. The creature stood up, brushed itself off, and rearranged its cloak. She couldn’t have been more than two feet tall. Maybe less.
Robert figured it was a her. Hard to tell from that distance. He figured her cloak must have caught on the bush.
He figured he was seeing things.
She gathered herself and looked about. Spotting the hole she gave a short cry of triumph. Robert recognized that sort of shout from the construction site. It was very like the short barks of “Yeah!” “Alright!” and “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” whenever a heavy piece of building went up well.
Had Robert been any less convinced that he was seeing things, or dreaming, he would have been alarmed. As it was, he was merely curious. She struck him as some sort of living doll. She wasn’t a dwarf in any case. From what he could tell she was a perfectly proportioned woman. Just two feet tall. Whatever kind of illusion she was, he didn’t want to frighten her away. So he stayed still.
She ran over to the hole and peered inside. Shortly, she turned and found a spot nearby. She sat, took a quick look around, though she didn’t spot Robert, pulled out some kind of food, and began to eat.
She seemed rather crude. A fine sentiment, coming from him, but there was something in the way she crouched over her food that reminded him of a dog protecting its bone. Occasionally she’d look up from her meal, watching her surroundings, before diving back into it.
Robert didn’t know what to think. He’d never imagined, in the event he began hallucinating little people, that they’d be quite like this.
He had been watching for several minutes when something new came hurtling out of the bushes. Shaped vaguely like a chimpanzee it was green, scaly yet somehow covered in a bristling brown fur. The creature flew from the opposite bank and pounced at the woman. The woman, seeing the creature, gave a surprised yelp and scrambled back, terrified.
Illusion or not, it was his illusion. So, Robert being Robert, he quickly found himself tearing down the side of the ditch at the thing.
Its snarling face, gleeful at the sight of its cornered prey, looked up at Robert with a rather different expression. Robert dove low and shoved his shoulder into the creature’s chest, and they both went sprawling.
Robert wasn’t the first to get up, but he reached out and grabbed the thing’s left leg before it could get out of reach and tossed it down the ditch. He turned to the woman, who was gawking at him with an odd expression on her face. “Run,” he said, and turned back to the creature. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sprint for the hole and disappear into its depths.
The strange brown-green creature got up again and eyed Robert warily. The thing seemed about three feet high, or so, and stood perfectly upright. Though it had a definite bestial, even goblin-ish, look, the way it carried itself seemed to indicate a far more human intelligence.
Now that the small woman was gone, Robert seemed to awaken to the facts of his situation. He was standing in a ditch, facing down a goblin with mean looking teeth and very angry eyes. Robert wasn’t sure what he should do.
The creature noticed Robert’s hesitation and made a break for the hole. Strangely, the creature didn’t lope or scramble like Robert somehow felt it would, but picked up its legs and swung its arms not at all unlike an Olympic runner. Surprised, Robert hesitated for a moment, then leapt at the goblin and wrapped his arms around its waist.
The creature gave a startled yelp and squirmed to get free. Robert held on tightly, though the creature became more and more frenzied. The thing’s talons scratched at him, and it tried to kick his face. Robert found himself again at an impasse of options. He couldn’t very well let go, but at the same time his arms were hurting badly and his grasp wasn’t going to hold forever.
The creature took the situation in hand, however, and with a vicious, unnatural gleam in its eye, turned and clamped its toothy mouth down on Robert’s forearm. Robert cried out in pain and turned his attention to getting the thing off.
What had once been a creature all too willing to get away from him turned into a leech that couldn’t be removed. Howling in pain, he pulled and tugged at its fur and scales, grasped at its mouth and lips, and gave it several heavy blows to the abdomen and groin.
Along with the pain came a creepy and disgusting sensation in his arm. It reminded Robert of the creature’s tongue, and images of a long worm-like tube sliding under his skin sent him into an enraged panic. He rained blows on the thing, but aside from its vice-hold on his arm, it flopped about under his fists like a sodden pillow.
With the same suddenness with which the thing turned and bit him, its jaws lost all power and slipped free in Robert’s wild swinging. The goblin’s body flew off and landed in some nearby bushes.
Robert felt weak and dizzy. At first he stumbled away from the goblin’s landing, then with a desire to make sure it was dead, or whatever it was, he stumbled towards it. He didn’t make it that far, however, before feeling an intense pressure in his head.
Slowing to a very unsteady halt, he looked at his arm. Inside a half-ring of puncture wounds was a nasty red hole. The skin around the wound was already showing the color changes of a bruise.
Stumbling sideways, he tried to regain his balance and failed, passing out in the bottom of the ditch.
********
We look forward to hearing your opinions at our next meeting!
You can also find Dr. Shim's review here: facultyweb.swau.edu/jts/lordsprayer.htm
BOOK REVIEW: DRAFTY DRAFT--estimated 69% complete.
The Lord's Prayer--we can repeat it by rote but what does it really mean? What impact does it have on us personally, corporately, on our mission?
Gottfried Oosterwal deconstructs the Lord's Prayer theologically; he tells gripping stories of a remote culture grappling with the powerful new concepts which it reveals; and finally insightfully applies that learning to us.
Oosterwal was a missionary to seemingly less-advantaged cultures of New Guinea. Have you tried to explain the Lord's Prayer to someone...in a different culture? How does one translate "kingdom" to people who have no political power structures? and "our daily bread" to a culture with no bakeries and who gather grass, hunt and fish to eke out a marginal existence on the brink of extinction? It took Oosterwal, who can communicate in eight languages, about three years to find a translation that was meaningful to the Bora-Bora tribe [p. 23].
Let's look at some of the relational implications. When we say "our Father"--that automatically makes us all siblings. Is God really Father or also Mother? Oosterwal explains that the meaning of the term Abba refers to the feminine aspects of fatherhood: caring, nurturing, showing compassion, tenderness. [pp. 44, 49.] In interview, Dutch author Oosterwal appreciates Dutch painter Rembrandt's rendition of the Prodigal Son. One can see in the different hands of the father a feminine hand that represents the nurturing side of the parent. God made man in his image--male and female created He them. We see through a glass dimly, but evidently I'm not alone when I wonder if God might be both!
A component of intimate relationships is how we address another. It was considered so highly inappropriate to call God so intimate an appellation as "Father" as to be deemed blasphemous by Jesus' listeners! [p. 43]. Matthew, (but not Luke), licensed by the Holy Spirit, target marketed the gospel to the Jews and included the distancing phrase, "who art in heaven"? Who would have thought--reaching people where they are in their limited theological paradigms!
Fast forward to recent history and another culture. In New Guinea, Nabak was a little boy struck by blindness and paralysis and abandoned by all lest the curse of the god Nabarssof similarly afflict them. Oosterwal dared to defy the curse of the god, fed and cared for Nabak and was also stricken with blindness and paralysis. [OPTIONAL CUT: Service always has a cost.] Oosterwal's recovery in a week prompted people to ask about his powerful God. They also faced an existential crisis that prompted tribesmen to request, "Teach us to pray." Oosterwal decided to teach the Bora-Bora the Lord's Prayer [pp. 20-21].
The cultural changes were phenomenal. Their life had new vibrancy. They became prosperous, fecund, peacemakers. The men became more caring, compassionate fathers. They had enough food to share with others, they built churches large enough to accommodate others.
One of my colleagues describes the book succinctly as "intriguing both theologically and anthropologically"--I concur. Among many things, Oosterwal gives an in-depth analysis of the three versions of the Lord's Prayer without inflicting on us an analysis of the original Biblical languages. He also provides a work that files a gap in Adventist literature even though we've typically shied away from a me-too-istic approach and averted attention from this section of this seminal sermon. It has taken the author twenty years of meditation on the Lord's Prayer to bring us this book. Surely you can take a Sabbath afternoon to read it. If you want to answer the five reflection questions at the end of each chapter--it'll take longer. [OPTIONAL CUT: Samples: "What is the role of the Holy Spirit when we pray? [p. 40], When forgiveness is given, are the acts wiped out as if they never happened? [p. 141], Is the Lord's Prayer for individuals? congregations? both?--biblically support your answer [p. 157].] Sorry, there is no answer key.
Ideally, I envision thoughtful readers reconceptualizing a clear picture of God individually and collectively so that we can adapt and share the essential components with global awareness, cultural sensitivity, recognizing and retaining the positive values of others and not attempting to unnecessarily annihilate nor alter their culture.
Now that we've learned about the power of the Lord's Prayer from "primitive" people perspective, how do we share with those in a sophisticated, 21st century setting?
While I definitely recommend perusal of this publication, I recognize the reality that most of the readers of this review will not so let me share my summary of the book: we should make God's will our own, we are called to an intimate relationship with a God who expects us to actively share [pp. 13-14].
And here is the selection from Edward's "Jaine"
Chapter 1
A Hole in the Wall in the Bottom of a Ditch
“A bridge would work real nice right there.” Robert said.
“What?” Asked Mark.
“A bridge,” Robert said again, “Right across there.” He gestured at a particular point along the ditch. “The banks on both sides are already sturdy enough. You could brace it some more, of course. But it'd be a good spot for a road to cross.”
“Okay.”
They kept walking along the ditch in silence.
Robert cast a glance at Mark. They contrasted each other thoroughly. Where Robert was short and tone, Mark was tall and lanky. Where Robert was scruffy and unkempt, Mark was neat and prim. He was also quiet. Robert wasn't one to talk either. Not usually. But he could talk a stone to death compared to Mark.
Not for the first time Robert wondered why the contractor hired Mark in the first place. Of course, that was probably a dumb question, when the same person was also okay with hiring an emancipated sixteen year old. The guys always heckled Robert about his age. But at least Robert was proving himself. Harold, the group's surveyor and the man Robert was a sort of apprentice to, was already sending him out to do his job. Like survey the ditch.
Robert's eyes scanned the dirt walls with his natural constructor's eyes and he could already see the canal that would take its place, feeding water into the treatment plant from the river, even though the ditch was currently dry and had been for years. He could also see the buildings growing up nearby. Businesses, Apartment complexes, shopping malls. The city was growing, and it was coming here. The contractor he worked for would be getting a lot of business. And Robert would be there to help build it all.
He smiled.
“What're you working here for?”
Robert looked over to Mark. At first he didn't process the question, being surprised that so many words came out of Mark all at once.
“What am I working here for?” He asked.
“Yep.”
“Well, I like to build things.”
Mark shook his head.
“What?” Robert asked.
“Not that.” Mark said. “Your parents?”
“Oh. I don't really want to talk about it.”
Mark shrugged and they kept on walking.
That was the first time anyone but the contractor asked about his parents. Robert pushed it to the back of his mind. He was supposed to be working.
His eyes went back to scanning the ditch for problem areas, and they walked in silence for some time. One side of the ditch rose till it was taller than a full grown man from the bottom of the ditch to the top, turning from dirt to clay. That's bad, Robert thought, There'll be all sorts of problems if we don't build this thing right. Eventually it turned into a dirt and clay mix with small rocks and stones that littered the bottom and sides. They were about to reach a bend when Robert saw something strange.
“What is it?” Robert asked.
Mark squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Heck if I know.”
Across from them, the gaping hole sat in the side of the clay wall. Moss grew on the stones peeking out of the dirt, and a tree’s exposed roots framed the left side. It had been there a long time. It wasn’t supposed to be there.
Robert scratched the back of his head. “Well, what’re we gonna do?”
“Don’t know,” Mark said.
“They told us it was just a ditch,”
Mark nodded. “I know.”
“Just a solid ditch.”
Mark nodded again. “I know.”
“Well, I guess this is why they have us here to survey the thing,” Robert sighed. “We’d better report it.”
“Yep.”
Robert put his hands on his hips and looked at the hole for a minute. An idea came to him.
“It doesn’t take two to tell them, though.” He said.
“Nope.” Mark agreed.
Robert looked at the hole a little longer. It was kind of like a tunnel entrance really. “So who’s gonna go?”
Mark shrugged.
“Huh.” Robert looked at the hole, then up at Mark. “You go.”
“Alright.”
Mark turned, slowly walked away and disappeared over the crest of a hill.
Robert looked back at the hole a while, then with a shrug he sidestepped down into the ditch. It wasn’t very steep. They’d make it steep later. Reinforce it to make up for the clay. Concrete. Steel. But it was natural for now.
Like the rest of the trench it was dry, as ditches usually are, with long grass and poison ivy growing down the sides. Weeds grew along the bottom too, amongst the red and brown pebbles. Robert didn’t give them much attention as his dry mud-crusted boots skidded through them.
The hole was a tunnel entrance. He could see back a ways. Not too far, but a ways. Couple feet in, it got gloomy; a few more feet, it was toe-stubbing dangerous; few more and it was perfectly black.
The walls, a strange mix of clay, rock, and dirt, were solid. He had studied engineering a lot, especially for someone his age, and he knew good walls when he saw them. It had a low ceiling, though. He could walk into it if he wanted. He’d have to slouch over, bend his knees a little.
He left the hole, side-stepped up the side of the ditch, found a spot under a tree and sat down. Mark would be a while.
Roughly brushing leaves off his worn jeans, Robert looked around. Trees were everywhere. Dark green shades danced along the ground as the treetops swayed in the wind. Bright green shafts of light piercing the shadows. Hundreds of them. The forest shimmered. Shame it was gonna be taken down.
It reminded him of the tree his family had owned when he was small. He and his mother would sit under the tree and play on cooler afternoons. His father cut the tree down after she died. Robert was glad to be gone. He was.
Shrugging off old memories, he settled further into the soft ground. The tree had a nice shape to it. Concave. He leaned against it, smiling. Mark would be a while. He closed his eyes.
********
Robert slowly woke up and stretched. How long is Mark gonna be anyhow? He wondered. The sun had neared the horizon since he’d shut his eyes last, and the shadows were all changed. And how long did I sleep?
His musings were put on hold when he heard a sharp rustling sound. He blinked and glanced about. Something was moving on the far side of the ditch. He couldn’t make it out, but it seemed to be stuck in a bush. It tugged, and tugged, yanked itself free and tumbled into the trench. Robert leaned forward. The creature stood up, brushed itself off, and rearranged its cloak. She couldn’t have been more than two feet tall. Maybe less.
Robert figured it was a her. Hard to tell from that distance. He figured her cloak must have caught on the bush.
He figured he was seeing things.
She gathered herself and looked about. Spotting the hole she gave a short cry of triumph. Robert recognized that sort of shout from the construction site. It was very like the short barks of “Yeah!” “Alright!” and “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” whenever a heavy piece of building went up well.
Had Robert been any less convinced that he was seeing things, or dreaming, he would have been alarmed. As it was, he was merely curious. She struck him as some sort of living doll. She wasn’t a dwarf in any case. From what he could tell she was a perfectly proportioned woman. Just two feet tall. Whatever kind of illusion she was, he didn’t want to frighten her away. So he stayed still.
She ran over to the hole and peered inside. Shortly, she turned and found a spot nearby. She sat, took a quick look around, though she didn’t spot Robert, pulled out some kind of food, and began to eat.
She seemed rather crude. A fine sentiment, coming from him, but there was something in the way she crouched over her food that reminded him of a dog protecting its bone. Occasionally she’d look up from her meal, watching her surroundings, before diving back into it.
Robert didn’t know what to think. He’d never imagined, in the event he began hallucinating little people, that they’d be quite like this.
He had been watching for several minutes when something new came hurtling out of the bushes. Shaped vaguely like a chimpanzee it was green, scaly yet somehow covered in a bristling brown fur. The creature flew from the opposite bank and pounced at the woman. The woman, seeing the creature, gave a surprised yelp and scrambled back, terrified.
Illusion or not, it was his illusion. So, Robert being Robert, he quickly found himself tearing down the side of the ditch at the thing.
Its snarling face, gleeful at the sight of its cornered prey, looked up at Robert with a rather different expression. Robert dove low and shoved his shoulder into the creature’s chest, and they both went sprawling.
Robert wasn’t the first to get up, but he reached out and grabbed the thing’s left leg before it could get out of reach and tossed it down the ditch. He turned to the woman, who was gawking at him with an odd expression on her face. “Run,” he said, and turned back to the creature. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sprint for the hole and disappear into its depths.
The strange brown-green creature got up again and eyed Robert warily. The thing seemed about three feet high, or so, and stood perfectly upright. Though it had a definite bestial, even goblin-ish, look, the way it carried itself seemed to indicate a far more human intelligence.
Now that the small woman was gone, Robert seemed to awaken to the facts of his situation. He was standing in a ditch, facing down a goblin with mean looking teeth and very angry eyes. Robert wasn’t sure what he should do.
The creature noticed Robert’s hesitation and made a break for the hole. Strangely, the creature didn’t lope or scramble like Robert somehow felt it would, but picked up its legs and swung its arms not at all unlike an Olympic runner. Surprised, Robert hesitated for a moment, then leapt at the goblin and wrapped his arms around its waist.
The creature gave a startled yelp and squirmed to get free. Robert held on tightly, though the creature became more and more frenzied. The thing’s talons scratched at him, and it tried to kick his face. Robert found himself again at an impasse of options. He couldn’t very well let go, but at the same time his arms were hurting badly and his grasp wasn’t going to hold forever.
The creature took the situation in hand, however, and with a vicious, unnatural gleam in its eye, turned and clamped its toothy mouth down on Robert’s forearm. Robert cried out in pain and turned his attention to getting the thing off.
What had once been a creature all too willing to get away from him turned into a leech that couldn’t be removed. Howling in pain, he pulled and tugged at its fur and scales, grasped at its mouth and lips, and gave it several heavy blows to the abdomen and groin.
Along with the pain came a creepy and disgusting sensation in his arm. It reminded Robert of the creature’s tongue, and images of a long worm-like tube sliding under his skin sent him into an enraged panic. He rained blows on the thing, but aside from its vice-hold on his arm, it flopped about under his fists like a sodden pillow.
With the same suddenness with which the thing turned and bit him, its jaws lost all power and slipped free in Robert’s wild swinging. The goblin’s body flew off and landed in some nearby bushes.
Robert felt weak and dizzy. At first he stumbled away from the goblin’s landing, then with a desire to make sure it was dead, or whatever it was, he stumbled towards it. He didn’t make it that far, however, before feeling an intense pressure in his head.
Slowing to a very unsteady halt, he looked at his arm. Inside a half-ring of puncture wounds was a nasty red hole. The skin around the wound was already showing the color changes of a bruise.
Stumbling sideways, he tried to regain his balance and failed, passing out in the bottom of the ditch.
********