The Blemish

There was once a small town in a far-off place, where – I can say with certainty – none of you have been. This town is aesthetically pleasant, with few storms and a temperate climate. The people lack for nothing, with fresh springs of water, plenty of game nearby, and fertile soil. The locals enjoy cakes, meats, stews, and much more. As far as everyone is concerned, the town is perfect except for one small but very obvious blemish. For, you see, in this quaint town there lives a foul, hideous, mean, and brutish ogre. 

The townsfolk don’t like this savage living amongst them. The ogre butchers his meat outdoors, hanging the carcasses out in the fresh mountain air which normally is fragrant with the scent of daisies, honeysuckle, and other flowers. The ogre does not participate in town meetings, festivals, or any normal civil comradery, preferring to keep to himself. Not to mention the sense of dress and hygiene the ogre possesses leaves much to be desired. Yet, the villagers, in their kindness, tolerated the uncouth ogre. They taught the children to leave him alone, and not to throw the insults or eggs that even the adults wanted to toss at his house on occasion. Eventually, they stopped inviting the ogre to participate in community functions, much to his relief.

One day it was announced that the lord – a glorious and very affluent individual – was coming to visit the small town. It was a well-known fact that wherever the lord visited became wealthy from his very liberal donations. All the townsfolk wanted to make the place spotless and pristine, for what lord would wish to donate to a ghetto? Soon, streets were being swept, windows cleaned, animals bathed, stalls mucked, and fresh flowers in rich bouquets hung above every door. Every door but one. The ogre grumbled at the smell of fresh paint and varnishes applied to homes and fences. The ogre muttered at the noise made by the local band and choir as they tuned their instruments and polished their windpipes. The ogre scowled from his window as he watched the procession of concerned citizens begin approaching his door.

The mayor shuffled forward at the pushing and encouragement of the crowd behind. Adjusting his jacket and combing back his hair, the mayor proceeded to knock. The ogre did not respond. The murmuring outside grew louder as a small argument broke out about how to proceed before the mayor knocked again. Again, the ogre did not move from his seat beside the fire. This continued for some time. Then it continued for some days. Eventually, it continued for some weeks. By the end of the third week, the ogre and the town were at their wits’ end. 

The growing tension finally boiled over. When the villagers next came, they came with pitchforks, torches, and cudgels. To them, it was finally time, time to get rid of the blemish on their perfect little town. The ogre was no less prepared. His ancestors had settled in this valley, and although the humans had gradually forced them away, he was not about to be cast out by these squatters. The sparks of flame that alighted on his worn thatch roof had him crashing through the front door, wearing a cast iron pot on his head as a helmet and brandishing a shovel as though it were both spear and axe. The fight ensued. More torches were lit to brandish and frighten the monster, but more homes than ogre were burned that day. Yet, the villagers were determined to vanquish the monster and the ogre was too stubborn to relinquish his home. Thus the houses were left to burn until they were little more than blackened beams and lumps of coal.

A blast of trumpets brought the chaos to a halt. Just outside the smoking rubble that had once been houses at the edge of town, sat the lord. He was atop a magnificent steed and richly dressed in the finest silks. Behind him was his entourage and a wagon full of gifts that both glittered and wafted sweet scents, but the lord could see no town or townsfolk to greet him. He saw only a squabbling band of degenerates, arguing and scuffling about a pile of smoldering rubble. So the lord turned and rode away, paying no attention to the pleas of the vagabonds or brutish ogre as they tried to assume some semblance of hospitality. Now the village is not so aesthetically pleasing and lacks everything. There is one very obvious blemish in the town, and that is the people that live within it.