The Tale of Ploon

This is just something I wrote when I was bored. Still, tell me want you think of it.
*******************************************************************


The Tale of Ploon

Ploon was tall and thin. His head was big which was often mocked by others, but he said nothing about that or anything for that matter. Most believed him mute, but he wasn’t. Ploon had nothing to say most of the time, and in time where he could he figured no one would care. Why would they? Why when everyone was fixated on serving God.
Every so often God would come and ask for an offering, The Offering of Brew. When those horrible days came around, everyone jumped into action. Ploon was very much part of the sequence of events, some would say the most important. For he went to God and stirred the brew for God and waited till the tribute was finished. What an honor, well…not to Ploon. He hated his lot in life and he found no joy on offering days. Unfortunately, today an offering had to be made.
Ploon stood off to the side as he watched the others work. He had just been bathe. His skin was clean and shined in the light, it brought him little comfort.
Bard was large individual; some believe he could swallow a whole ocean. No matter his size, Bard collected fare amount water. His first task done, he would proceed to bring the water to a boil, he would whistle when the water was ready to be poured into the sacred cup.
Ploon turned away from Bard and looked to the first sacrifice. Sometimes they were many, and sometimes there was one; depending how thirsty God was. Thankfully, today was only one.
Ploon didn’t know the name of the sacrifice or even if it had a name. To him they all looked the same, plump and fail. Most referred the sacrifices as Bags, nothing more and nothing less. The Bag eagerly waited for the whistle. Bags were silly creatures; they went merrily to their deaths.
Boiled alive, how can anyone be merry where such a fate lat ahead, thought Ploon. He casted a bitter look at the Bag. Bag didn’t see or didn’t care. The silly creature, thought Ploon.
Bard gave his great whistle that made Ploon’s ache at the shrill sound. Bard wobbled to the cup and poured his load. The white porcelain of the immense cup received the water, wisps of steam danced in the air. The cup was ready to receive its first offering.
The Bag bounced willingly as it was lead by the rope around its fat neck. Madness danced in its eyes as it approached. The Bag started to shake with anticipation, beginning to sing madly.
I am eager, I am gay
I will be boiled today
God be praised
My essence will be sipped away
It sung and sung till the Bag was lowered into the hot water. The creature didn’t scream, no, it something much worse. As its’ skin burned away, the Bag giggled and laughed. It wasn’t joyous; it was unearthly, horrible; like the laughing of a Banshee; shrill and echoing. It made shivers run down Ploon’s painfully thin body. He tried to block out the horrible sound, cursing the Bag in his thoughts. Wishing the foolish thing would die already so his ears would be released from the sound.
Ploon’s prayers were answered, the laughing stopped. The Bag lay motionlessly in the cup, the water having cracking the thin skin around the Bag, letting the creature’s essence seep into the water, tinting the color. The Bag would remain in the stew till God would cast aside the body, to sip the brew without hindrance.
The death of the Bag was so forgotten as all prepared for the next offering to the brew. Ploon dreaded this part. Ploon drew his large head up to look upon her, Honey.
The maid came onto the scene with grace. Ploon looked fondly upon her; she was beautiful to him, even with her worn appearance. Her once healthy body was now thin and distorted. The gold glow that she once held was now dim, only a little of the glow remained within her dying body. Honey was a Bearer. It would be a bitter end of her, but her gold essence would sweeten the brew for God. An honorable death, most would agree, all except Ploon.
Honey was not like the other Bearers. Sure the Bearers would put some of their essence into the brew and think nothing of it. In the beginning they were healthy, not all of their essence had been spent. However, they would repeat the offering again and again till their body reached the final stage. Their essence nearly depleted and death near, the Bearers would go mad. They would fight for their lives till they had to be restrained and the last of their essence forcible taken. The death of a Bearer was worse than that of a Bag, because they didn’t go willingly. However, Honey was different. She hadn’t drifted to madness, she didn’t fight. She had accepted her fate long ago and she would go peacefully.
Ploon had come to Honey days before, pleading with her to run away with him. It was the first time he spoke to someone. He had fallen in love with the Bearer and wouldn’t let her die. He had no love for this place. To him the system was stupid and barbaric. He could love Honey, she could love him, and together they could escape from God. However, Honey didn’t agree.
“Ploon, love…” she cooed “You know as I do we would never escape and my life is nearly depleted. We wouldn’t go far and my end would be painful. Best let it end as it is fated to end. I’ve always thought fondly of you, Ploon. Stay till my end, will you?” she had said.
Ploon felt betrayed. For once in his life he had spoken and he words did nothing, like he always thought they would. Best keep silent if no one will listen, Ploon thought.
Sober with dread and grief, Ploon watched as Honey make her way to the cup. Her facade didn’t waver, even as her depleted form struggled to make the last few steps.
There, exhausted from the short journey, honey fell upon the rim on the cup. Her guards gave her no time to catch her breath, as a guard clutched her tightly, ready to squeeze her remaining essence from her.
Ploon wanted to look away, he didn’t want to see his love in such a state, but Ploon felt himself transfixed, as Honey’s dim eyes caught his. Her once vivid golden eyes had dulled to a dirty gold, growing dimmer by the second. However despite her pain Honey the golden maiden, managed to smile fondly throws Ploon.
A good-bye smile, just for me, thought Ploon; his skinny frame began shaking in anguish. I could still save her! I could, thought Ploon franticly; his body itching to move. Just before making his move, an agonizing scream escaped form Honey. Gasping and shuttering, the last of her essence sprang forth from her lips, spilling into the cup.
Too late, I was too late echoed through Ploon’s thoughts. He silently watched in horror as his love, faded away, leaving an empty husk. He nearly cried out as her form was casted away like rubbish.
She was not as cheap as that, thought Ploon angrily. Once again he cursed the ritual, he cursed God.
No, no god could do this, only a demon, an evil demon, thought Ploon. I will end this madness; no more shall this crime go on.
Yes Ploon resolved himself; he would avenge his love and all the other lives that had been taken in the name of this barbaric ritual. His turn had finally come.
He shallow made his way towards the cup. It was his turn to ride along with the cup and stir its contents before offering it to the God.
His face betrayed nothing as Ploon traveled along with the offering. Away from the home he had knew, away from familiar surroundings. Across distant lands his journey continues, till finally he stood before the God.
A great hand came down and brought the cup and Ploon into the air, ever closer to the face of the God.
I will end this, I will make you pay demon, thought Ploon.
After what felt like an eternity, Ploon looked upon the face of the God. Pleased eyes looked down upon the offering. Nostrils flared inhaling the scent of the brew streaming from within the cup. Eternal eyes looked to Ploon expectedly. Ploon bowed his head and went to his task on stirring the brew.
When it takes its sip, I will make my move, thought Ploon, stirring the sickening mixture. Ploon steeled his nerves. Soon he stopped his movements, and stood aside.
The God smile at him, it made a shiver go down his spine. How dare it, he thought.
The mighty hand retuned bringing the cup to the mouth of the being, the rim ghosting the lips of the God.
For everyone, for Bard, for the silly bags, and for Honey! Drink us demon! Drink them and despair at the life you’ve forsaken for your own pleasure! Screamed Ploon, throwing himself at the being.
Started at Ploon’s action, the God fumbled the cup and the hot contents spilled upon the beings body, making the creature shrieked in pain.
A smile broke out upon Ploon’s face. Perhaps he hadn’t destroyed the demon like he had wished to, but at least he had caused the being pain. A little taste of the pain it had inflicted upon Ploon.
Ploon smiled as he fell into oblivion, the essence of the brew still clinging to him.
“A little bit of honey to come with me” he said and then nothing.

The God cursed as it wiped the hot liquid from its person. Its skin still sore from the stunt Ploon had pulled.
“Darn, I spilled all my tea and dropped the spoon”