The town-head and his council had conducted a census around the craggy hill area. They had completed the survey and had been issuing and posting census stickers on the houses of the craggy hill’s inhabitants.
Census of Housing and Population, Leopoldo Surambaw’s census reports:
The Craggy Hill is an island situated at the northeastern part. It has a total land area of 98,000 hectares and is estimated to have 148,000 inhabitants of which 45% are natives or pure locals, 15% are half-bloods and 40% are settlers. An average of abou
The story may be graphic and should not be imitated in any way or form.
“More agronomists. Agriculture is thriving,” said the town-head, Leopoldo, when his census supervisors had settled down laughing. “I agree, can’t depend just by fishing, no–?” approved Ben to the town attracting more planters. Mr. and Mrs. Bantoc loosened up with the town council’s explanation, trusting their duty in the town. Creak! And Bang! The sound of a shutting spring door-stop echoed at the rooms adjoining the common sitting space and the kitchen. The people in the living room paid no attention but their shoulders shuddered briefly and continued chatting, except for Josefina who gave her awkward daughter a heads-up and a passing warning glance to keep the noise down. “Yes, mother,” said Maria, dim
“HOY!” A little boy in red pants and buttoned, white, collarless shirt waved hello at an overweight girl entering the inner clearing, before the way divides to east and west and up north, onwards a stilted, square hut, “Grandpa, a big lady is heading this way!” Meh-eh-eh…Meh-eh-eh-eh! The worn-out, straw-hatted old man stopped what he was doing and looked on. He let go of one of the goats he had been tending. “Grrrrhhh!..Arf!..Arf! His two mongrels growled in excitement, gnashing their gnarling snouts, baring their fangs, chasing around to alert their master of a different, non-hircine scent. “She has a basket…maybe she has hotcakes!” The plump boy lively skipped and ran around after the barking mutts at the pen. &
“How does one save a lost buck?” Maria exhaled nervously. All she had was the quadruped’s leash after a big, peculiar bird had severed the rope round its nape. Her pounding heart gripped her throat. The cries of the animal rang at the forgotten crag which had been seeding. She could manage through its naturally low, rocky curb but beyond the boundary was dense. Creeping vines and leafage as thick as the countless sand on the seashore had harbored the historic cavern and sunk around the entrance. However, the awkward girl had got little time to waste sightseeing. The attacker was perhaps also still at large. She had to hide for a while until the coast was clear. Again, called the goat, Meh-eh-eh. Maria was not an expert in mutton semiotics, so she had no discer
“Bring the intruder on the higher floor to the hearth of Helia’s domicile.” Four detached petrified limbs of five red bulging fingers scattered and did as they had been ordered by the gloomy voice. They carried the heavy girl on their stumps like a flat vessel. Scuttle! Scuttle! Fast! Silently, they scuttled fast to the staircase through a trapdoor that opened outwards when unlatched beside a wicker bed in their mistress’s kitchen. “Leave the girl in the cot and tie her animal to the bedpost." The demon goat-head said to any of the petrified limbs with bulging fingers, they all look the same, and it then closed the trapdoor by yanking a thick, old twine over its wall. "Let’s wait for the Mistress to come home. No one is to leave outside her realm.”
Thud! Thud! Ben pounded a hammer to the concrete wall of his daughter’s bedroom. They had been decorating their house and had placed a crucifix above Maria’s wooden bookcase. “Maria is not home yet,” said Josefina to her husband, she had asked her daughter to get a young goat from her grandfather for mutton. “It’s still early in the afternoon, dear. She will be alright— the hillside is always quiet. Yup— it’s going to be a quiet afternoon, no—” said Ben and he continued to hammer and affixed the wooden cross. Thud! Thud! It was also a quiet afternoon at the crag to the witch’s garden. “Help me gather vegetables, Siegfried! Get your cupid’s shaving brush and the swollen fingers to pitch in and help.”
“Let Maga approach and place the seeds to Ditiori’s servant first!” cried the people of the broad plains and rolling hills. They awaited surrounded by four colossal stone pillars of absent walls. Two of these pillars had supported the roof of the altar. Shadowy faces clamored. Orange light flickered on their dark crowns and varied turbans. The lambent kindle was from the torches’ fires which were still burning that were hung from the pillars. “Gai-Dalit!” Ditiori’s beast blew a powerful sniff out. It sprang to the clump gathered before the altar. Their eyes followed the beast as it circled them. The manlike quadruped tottered. Its breath was stealthy but tense and loud while they held theirs in terror, searching on their terrified faces. &nb
“Aha, just what we wanted!” The golden stout grains were planted. Mighty sprouts emerged as the soil swallowed the grains. The desolation of a field of thistles and tumbleweeds was now a bed of perpetual succor of green to golden. The people of the broad plains and rolling hills made a joyful noise. They broke into a song and sang ballads with string instruments, the melody of the lyre, and the music of the harp. “Streams have come out of the rocks and carried water to flow like a river— All glorious the day we
An hour into a boorish repose in a godsend kip, a sweet dream of the star-blown constellations before golden caramel meadows had been swirled by a petrifying nightmarish reverie of a deity giving meat and the evil were cooks. Ditiori had no fear when the heat comes, his leaves were green; the year of the draught was no problem and he could always bear fruit. Desire and greed awakened amongst their brethren. They saw Maga in a white robe protruding with her grown belly. “Her white garment did not even fray or her feet swell.” They watched the beautiful Maga as she passed by the meadows where the community had been gleaning with the seeds that grew in a day. Maga had fallen pregnant with Ditiori’s chi