Randall Runtlidge was disappointed. He had expected his life at Monongahela University to be like he had seen in the movies; parties, beautiful women, crazy drunken hijinks, great friendships, and very little ACTUAL going to class. Instead, it was a near constant stream of “go to class, study, meet with the Diversity Inclusion Department of Fairfolk Studies for sensitivity training, meet with the Anthropology and Folklore advisor”.
It wasn’t fair, all of his other classmates got to go out and have fun during Homecoming week, but he had to go to a mandated seminar all because of one stupid paper. “Bears; a reality and not just overweight sasquatches.”
“Fair-phobic” was the term, new to him, that Professor Maples had used. “Racist,” “xenophobic,” and “anti-humanist” were also present, but Fair-phobic was what stuck in his mind the most.
******************************************************
Adelange Phage scoured the campus, frowning at the overabundance of vermin, Occupiers, and thieves. How, it thought, were they able to rationalize their thuggish behavior? Would they ever do the proper thing and go back to where they came from?
“You must learn to coexist with them” the elders had said. Coexist? With the mundane depravity that theybrought with them? The basic ugliness that was a part of their regular existence? The cold, toxic iron, concrete, and salt that traveled with them wherever they went ? No. Adelange Phage, First Walker of the Woods, would never be able to tolerate the existence of, let alone exist alongside of the disgustingly short lived Rounders.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
IT was there on campus, sliding amongst the trees, for one purpose; to find others, sympathetic to the plight of the oppressed, who were willing to join The Cause and expel the Invaders. Fairfolk, self-hating Rounders, deluded Rounders who thought that they were reincarnated Fairfolk and called themselves “otherkin”, Adalange didn’t care, so long as they will willing to spill blood for the wrongs of the past.
******************************************************
It was Friday night, and FINALLY Randal was finished with the stupid seminar. Six hours of sensitivity and “cultural awareness” training had left him with only one thing on his mind; get as stupidly drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Always a good plan, except for the fact that he was only 19 and too young to go to the bars. DAMNIT! Luckily, there was always a party somewhere on Fraternity Row.
He fumbled for his phone, trying to find the location of the Delta Kappa house, and didn’t notice the large group of people congregating in the middle of the Quad until he was almost right on them.
“Go home occupier, Go home thief, Go home human, before we make you bleed.”
The weird, dumb, un-rhyming chant shattered through his brain, bringing him back to himself and dashing the idea of a pleasant night of beer-pong and flip-cup. Was this a protest? Where they people, or a group of Dusters?
“You…” a menacing voice slithered through the inexplicable darkness of the crowd, “you… Occupier… pay the toll, the fee… the retribution.” The words somehow felt slimy as he heard them.
“We demand… blood for blood…”
And with that, the strange, unnerving mass of bodies before him, the Dusters, split and, almost as one, devoured him.