While I'm Being Rescued

                I was hanging over a pit of doom as a monstrous knight with a disgusting mole hair threatened me when someone broke through the door. Now, there are two knights, Sir Mole Hair versus the new contender. His armor is super shiny. It reminds me of the skim on the top of the slop that my neighbor feeds his pigs . . . Cripes. I need a better social life.

                The new knight is taking of his helmet. Whoops! Sorry. Her helmet. And that evil knight’s jaw just hit the floor.

                “Release your prisoner,” she demands.

                He is just laughing at her. Where is all that monologuing he was doing earlier?

                She looks at me and asks if I’m okay.

                My arms feel like they are going to fall off and I need a chamber pot. The snakes and toads under me are starting to get restless. If I struggle, I might fall in. “No! All month I keep getting kidnapped, eaten, and tricked! I’m sick of it! Why does this keep happening to me?”

                The evil knight is sneering at me. “Maybe it’s the way you dress?”

                The lady knight just unsheathed a sword and shouted. “That’s it! You die now!”

                The evil lord knight is doing the same. There is a lot of clanging. It’s not as exciting as I always thought a sword fight would be. I thought there would be back-flips and parrying. Where’s all the parrying? They just keep smacking the swords together and walking a few steps back in one direction.

                Another step. Another clang. Another step. Another clang. Yawn.

                Oh, I spoke too soon. The lady knight just ducked rather skillfully in that shiny armor and rammed her whole body into Sir Mole Hair’s torso. He did not see that coming, because he is down on the ground and . . . rolled right into the vat of toads and snakes. I didn’t know so many vipers would want to bite the same man at once. He’s getting all puffy and purple. He makes for a very ugly corpse.

                The lady knight carefully lowered me down. She really doesn’t seem too disconcerted by the bloated dead man so I guess I won’t bring it up.

                “Thanks.” I tell her while straightening my tunic and resting my arms.

                My gratitude surprises her. “You don't object to being rescued by a girl knight?”

                “Why would I? I'm being rescued. That's all that matters. I just wish you’d showed up earlier this month.”

                She’s blinking at me with the strangest expression. Maybe she’s starting at the scar on my neck. Should I tell her it’s the result of cuddles from a baby griffin? “You're not going to tell me to stop trying to take down the patriarchy?’

                “What’s patriarchy?”

                “It's a socioeconomic system designed by rich, white men meant to keep everyone else at a lower status.”

                “Did the patriarchy make me a peasant?”

                “Yes, feudalism is definitely a form of patriarchy.”

                I thought over her words long and hard. “Down with the patriarchy!”

                She sheaths her sword and collects her helmet. “Do you want to help me bring down the patriarchy?”

                “I don't know. I’m really tired. I just want to go home and lock my door.”
                “Do you at least want to help me throw rotten eggs that the lord sheriff’s house?”

                “Yeah, why not.”

                As she leads me from the dungeon, she turns and asks, “Not to be gross, but did you see the hair coming out of that guy’s mole?”

While I Hang Out... Over a Pit of Doom

                I have been kidnapped. A very scary, large man in rather dark armor rode through the field yesterday, tied me to the back of a horse, and dragged me to his spooky castle where he is proceeding to torture me. This torture consists of hanging me by my arms over a vat of creepy things.

                While I respect that this evil lord does not live his life by stereo-typical gender norms, isn't he supposed to be kidnapping and torturing petite maidens with flowers in their hair? Not a 30-year-old, male peasant who were just trying to bring the wheat harvest in.

                I need to move to a new village. This one is hazardous to my health.

                My arms are tired. And this is stretching out the sleeves of my shirt! I know you must be thinking shouldn’t I be more concerned about the venomous snakes and toads slithering below me. You need to understand, I only own one shirt. I am a peasant after all.

                All of this swaying is making my stomach turn. The smell in this place doesn’t help. It smells like burnt feathers. I don’t like it and neither does my sensitive digestive system. I can’t tell if the gurgling noises I hear are coming from my stomach or from the venous toads.

                Sir Psycho is back. He’s taken off his helmet. Not to be judgmental, but he has one of those moles on his face with a long hair growing out of it. I feel it’s okay to be pointing this out since he did kidnap me. I mean, I have plague scars and I think that mole hair gross.

                “Well, sir. Do you tremble before my power? Soon, I will show the locals to fear me and they will give me control—”

                He’s ranting. I should really pay attention, but ugth! I can’t stop staring at that mole hair. Oh, when he talks, it shakes back and forth like a chapel bell rope. I have an urge to yank it out of his face.

                Oh. He’s laughing manically. And now he’s talking again. Did he just ask me if I’m ready for pie? Should I be listening more carefully?

                Ooooooo! He asked if I was ready to die. That makes much more sense.

                No! Disgusting! He’s twirling his finger around the mole hair now! Why would he do that? I’m going to be sick. I am. I am going to be—


The good news is, the serpents and toads all scattered to one side of the vat to get away from my vomit. The bad news is, if he lowers me down now, that’s what I’m going to land in. He does not look happy.

                “Sorry. Go back to your evil monologue,” I say wondering how awful my breath must be.

                He’s taking out a sword. His really angry at me. That’s not fair! I apologized. He’s coming towards the rope holding me up. The blade is starting to cut through the hemp. This is not going to be pleasant . . .

                Wait, is that knocking on the dungeon door?