Green Peak, First Sunday of the Summer

 Sil was once an ordinary elf, as ordinary as one could be. What made him exceptional, though, was his impeccable voice and a sense of rhythm. Sil was a bard. His love for music was as big as his fear of labor. He was workophobic.

That beautiful Sunday morning, Sil was taking an after-sleeping nap. He lived with his parents and his fiancée, but they hardly ever saw him awake. He was pretty much like a hibernating bear, only that he had unwashed clothes for lining, but just like a bear’s den – his room was in complete darkness from morning till night. Little did he know, his cave troll idyll was about to end…

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Sil yelled as he landed on the ground. His bottom part paddled through dirty gravel, leaving a trail of dust behind him. His father stood at the front door with his hands resting on his hips. That old elf had all the years of parental frustration painted all over his face. Mind-boggling dissatisfaction hovered in the air like dark clouds of disappointment.

“I told you so many times to get a job!” his father snapped. “Go apply to the mine at last! Do you think you can spend your whole life like this?”

“I told you so many times that I do not need a job!” Sil moaned impatiently with anger flaming in his yellow eyes. “I can make money with my music!”

The old elf flared-up. “WHAT MUSIC?!” If he got a dollar every time he heard his son say that, he would already be able to afford to buy him a house, furniture and a herd of goats. “You will earn good money in the mine. What is your problem?”

Sil was silent for a moment. A mixture of anger and injustice burned deep within him, wanting to get out.

“Kiss MINE bottom, dad,” was what eventually slipped out of his mouth.

That was the last straw that broke the camel’s back.

“No job, no home. Understood? If you do not start bringing money home, you might consider yourself homeless!” Sil’s father was far from joking. He believed that jokes should actually be funny, and this is just hopeless.

Deep inside, Sil knew all along that this was going to happen at some point. One thing was always certain – despite everything, his fiancée would be there for him.

“At least my fiancée supports me.” Sil’s mumbling voice was nearly incoherent. His lover stood behind his father all along. She was quiet, trying not to let her secret out.

“Actually…”—her voice was trembling—it was my idea…” She couldn’t bear the weight of this situation any longer.

Sil slowly turned around to see her; his face was empty and pale, but it quickly started turning red. With his pointed ears, he resembled a flaming crimson teapot with steam going out of its neck.

“Just give me my things.”—his voice turned cold.

His fiancée brought his trusty backpack and his father threw it at him. All the personal belongings of this unfulfilled bard dashed with the velocity of a seagull diving down to steal food from beach-goers, hitting him on the back of his head.

Sil got up, he tried not to show that it had gotten into him. He took his carefully folded clothes out of his backpack. Sil’s body wasn’t properly dressed up since he went out for bread last week. Soft fabric touched his skin.

“I am leaving, ”—he said as his hand passed through the blue sleeve of his jacket.—“Do not beg me to stay.” Sil straightened his shirt and turned around. He was going slowly if they wanted to beg for his forgiveness.

Sil’s fiancée began to have second thoughts.

“Maybe we were too harsh on him?” She asked with a voice sprinkled with sadness. Their relationship wasn’t good, but she loved him and she seemed not to notice that. He had been gone many times before. She just had a feeling that this time he wouldn’t come back.

Sil’s father looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Pfft, oh please.” He couldn’t believe that they have to go through this every time he wants his son to be a functioning adult person. “Where could he have possibly gone to?”

Sil was walking down the mountain roads kicking rocks on his way. Curious birds were chirping around him until one of them was hit by a ricocheting pebble.

“Assholes,” he said to himself.” I do not need any of them.” His face looked grim.

All of a sudden, a blunt object hit him in the back of his head. Everything turned black; he could hear one last thing before losing consciousness:

“He will make a nice deckhand,“ someone cackled. That didn’t sound good.