The Bonfire
The peasants invited me to their bonfire by way of a letter. The letter contained a scrawled note in what looked like a child’s writing. On reading the note I looked down from my hilltop to regard the scarcely treaded path that lead up to my castle from their slums. There was no movement, save for autumnal leaves that danced mockingly in the wind.
Yes, they invited me, even though I was not of their kind. Being of a superior race, the peasants were required by natural law to pay me levy as well as harvest. Even disregarding my family name, my superiority could be confirmed by a quick phrenological examination, but the infamy of my lineage negated any requirement for such an examination to be carried out.
I seemed to recall my father telling me that these bonfires of theirs involved the burning of unused harvest from the year before. Their simple beliefs supposed that if they still had food left from the previous year, then the gods would not provide them with more food for the year forthcoming.
I decided to attend this spectacle on the basis that as their lord, I had a vested interest in the peasants reaping plenty of corn.
On the night itself, there was a carnival atmosphere, the sounds of which could be heard even before my supper had been fully served. So I descended my hilltop earlier than I intended, fully expecting the peasants to quieten as I approached, or to perhaps respectfully stand aside and allow me safe passage, but they did no such thing. Their music and gabbling only intensified, and I found myself being jostled in the throng until I was right under this towering structure of uneaten old food.
My invitation had no name on it, save for my own, so I knew not whom to present myself to. Before long a hand from the crowd thrust an ornamental goblet into my own. The goblet contained wine, so I knew then that they must have known who I was, and I supposed that they were at least affording me some degree of respect.
I began to sip from the wine as the bonfire went up. It was a captivating sight, encompassing all of the elements, the little shoots of flame flowing and lapping in and around each other, gusts of wind setting sparks flying, springing up from the earth itself. But the infernal heat did not let one forget that you were in the presence of fire.
As I was held by this captivating image, I found myself growing warmer, and I noticed that I was now standing alone. I tried to move back from the heat when I found that my legs were heavier than lead. I dropped the goblet in horror–I had been drugged.
Even as my corneas popped like eggs, and my face melted back to the bone, the gods allowed my ears to remain intact enough to hear the peasants storming my familial castle to reap a harvest of their own, knowing as they did that my disfigurement now condemned me to the lowest of their caste system, in the lowest of their slums.
