Although Colton Barrow was well into his adult years, time had proven that age plays no positive role in the life of a Half-Brain. In fact, all that could be said about the effect of time on these people is that everyone was right about them: they functioned as if their skulls only contained half a brain. In reality, they likely also had the other half, but this particular population of people was so dim-witted that no one was ever certain.
In Colton’s case, he never learned how to keep his saliva from draining out of his mouth. He learned how to communicate by way of listening to instructions, but failed at being able to speak anything more than single-syllable moan-type noises. His eyes functioned independently from one another and moved in all directions, even in the company of others. In every way, Colton Barrow was the most unsightly creature, the presence of whom the earth had never been so cursed to accommodate. Ironically, these same characteristics made this monster a prime candidate for the role of Dump-bearer to the High King, as no one could be trusted more completely than the likes of an outcast like him.
“Pick up the pace and ready those scumholes, ya scumholes!” a one-eyed guard shouted as he clubbed one of the peasant men that was slowly approaching the stable to deposit his daily excrement at the drop-off bucket.
Colton placed the bucket into position and awaited the drop. A hot rain sprayed all over his face as the peasant man dropped his drawers and his scumhole released a steamy pocket of wind that so often precedes the main clump. In a brief moment of scalding discomfort, Colton’s face became pocked with flecks of brown, but he tried his best suppress the pain, knowing that any sound of discomfort might cause the dropper to involuntarily clench and spoil the clod. The pain suppression was successful, and in the time it took for the freckles to solidify on Colton’s face, like a stream of wax running down the side of a lit candle, the thump in the bucket had come and the peasant man’s deed had been completed.
The peasant man yelped as he took a shallow dagger jab to the left cheek. “Since when did ‘pick up the pace’ get redefined as ‘let’s hold up the line to wipe our scumholes?’” the guard said to the man, brimming with authority. “Get a move on!”
The peasant man pulled up his britches as quickly as he could, smearing residual brown clay and blood across his arse and soiling his clothes in the process. The guard gave a few additional jabs and the peasant man shielded his cheeks as he cowered away like a dog avoiding a beating. The man’s face twisted in despair as he ran off, thinking about his wife’s warning that if he came home with blackened linens ever again, she’d leave him and take the kids with her.
Colton glanced into the bucket just in time before the next scumhole appeared. It wasn’t an enormous deposit, but Colton knew just by looking at it that it’d make roughly thirty pepperonis. Or would’ve made roughly thirty pepperonis, had the next deposit not been a mess of split pea soup that destroyed the entire crop. But this kind of thing happened sometimes, and Colton could expect nothing less. He upended the bucket as the guard gifted the next dumper with a healthy club to the knee. Another spray followed, and Colton blinked fervently to get the droplets out of his wandering eyes.
__________
Drool dangled from Colton’s mouth to the table where the piles of excrement sat hot and motionless. On the right side of the table was a batch of useable mud that Colton had already tasted to ensure it was free of poison. He was, after all, the Dump-bearer to the High King, unmatched in trustworthiness. The left side of the table was dirtied with the garbage; steaks that had disguised themselves as solids, but were soggy at their core.
After working through the entire bucket, he slid the contents on the left side off the table, a loud plopping noise echoing through the Great Hall. He then took the remaining feces and began shaping it into a single length of coiled rope, removing the nuts, corn and other savory nougats and setting them aside for a post-work snack. Then, he proceeded to dice the coil with his hands with a precision and speed that created nearly a thousand impossibly thin pepperonis. Once diced, Colton arranged the peps on a silver platter to create a masterful work of beauty, fit for presentation to the High King.
Even after years of working through the pepperoni process, Colton’s nerves never quite settled when it was time to bring the platter to His Majesty. He wiped his drool-soaked mouth with his forearm, walked confidently to the Royal table, then slid the brown-covered platter delicately in front of where the High King was sitting. As he always did, the High King furrowed his brow as everyone in the room stared in a pregnant silence. He wafted the odor toward his nose and shuddered as the stench filled his lungs. The room was painfully quiet, then, “This is a mighty fine batch you’ve cooked up, Colton Barrow.”
A dozen people released their breath – Colton most of all – and everyone looked at each other to express their relief. The High King raised his hand for silence once more. “A fine batch indeed, and one that I would thoroughly enjoy if I had the appetite.”
The High King tipped the platter on its end and all of the guests watched while the pepperonis lost their shape and crashed to the ground. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes! Let the dinner begin!” the High King finished without a further glance in Colton’s direction, and a trio of lyre players strummed up a tune.
Colton’s shoulders sunk. Another day of working hard to serve and impress the High King, and he yet again couldn’t bring himself to even taste the hardened gravy slices. He’d never tasted them, in fact. As Colton’s eyes wandered creepily, he began wondering if he ever would. And if he wouldn’t, what was all of this for? Why suffer through all of this just for some tasty corn and a disinterested King’s blessing?
So Colton devised a plan. His lights upstairs may have been dimmer than most, but it turned out that he had developed a taste for payback, and his vengeful streak was beginning to shine brighter than ever. He stalked out of the High King’s court and grinned widely as he drew a swampy peanut from his pocket toward his mouth.
The next day, Colton awoke to a ruptured eardrum as a jester’s trumpet blasted in his ear. “The High King needth pepperoneeth thith very inthtant!” he lisped enthusiastically, and although Colton couldn’t say it, he raised an eyebrow and wondered why the High King would use a jester to deliver this news. Nevertheless, Colton’s own enthusiasm bubbled up as he realized that his devious plan would come to fruition much sooner than he expected. He quickly decided between two of his best outfits and chose the one he felt would match the setting for a most malicious occasion.
Before the excrement collection commenced, Colton made an effort to greet each and every peasant that was lined up for their daily drop-off, offering them cups of fresh-pressed apple cider made of apples from the orchard outside the Great Wall and a drop of deadly oil extracted from the stomach of an Ancient Foal. The poison, known for its speedy effectiveness, flowed through the peasants’ digestive tracts within seconds, leaving the resulting loaves sufficiently poisoned and potent enough to kill even the highest of the High Kings. With his best outfit now turned to a complete swamp, and ignoring the shouts that the one-eyed guard was belching as dozens of peasants dropped dead at his feet, Colton made his way to the kitchens.
Colton earnestly worked the batch, taking care to dispose of the unwanted tomato peels and artichoke leaves that had made their way into the mix. He kneaded the putty until it was an even texture, then rolled his best coil and diced with the most joy he’d ever felt in his life. He sweat and drooled and let his eyes wander until the final product was complete: an immense pyramid made up of an array of different colored pepperonis that the High King was sure to swoon over.
Colton held his chin up as he strolled into the Dining Hall, eagerly awaiting the best moment of his life, but froze when he saw that the High King was accompanied by a beautiful woman. The High King gave an enormously exaggerated laugh as he finished his own joke and it was clear that he was trying to impress her, but to no avail. Despite his efforts, the High King’s behavior was no more kingly than were the jesters’ that were prancing about the floor before them.
Colton drew the pepperonis closer, trying to devise a way for the High King to devour the platter. The woman rubbed at her neck, sore from the smile she’d been wearing for as long as she’d been in the presence of His Majesty. The High King met Colton’s eyes and, louder than was needed, shouted, “Colton, my boy! My most trusted Dump-bearer and closest friend.”
The woman rolled her eyes, clearly knowing that the Dump-bearer wasn’t his closest friend. Colton simply smiled and swung the platter just beneath the High King’s greying beard, as he had a thousand times before.
“No, no, my boy. This is a most special occasion, can’t you see? We are in the presence of absolute and incomparable beauty! And she deserves nothing but the best! I can’t have her stuffing her gorgeous face with this, this…shit!”
Colton staggered back, bruised by the High King’s words. What was he talking about? He couldn’t be referring to the masterpiece he had worked so hard on! But it’s been said that being a Half-Brain has its setbacks, speaking being one of them, and Colton couldn’t say a word in defiance.
The High King’s face suddenly brightened to a shocking red hue as he beamed, “Why I have a grand idea! We’re all in such a good mood, having such a great time together,” he looked merrily at the woman who was now wincing in annoyance. “Why don’t you eat it?” he looked back at Colton. “You’ve certainly earned it, my dear friend, and I’ve just realized I’ve never shown my appreciation for your fealty!”
Colton swallowed what felt like a boulder and beads of sweat began spotting his forehead.
“My boy?” the High King frowned at Colton’s frozen state. His own temperature began to rise, as did his level of embarrassment in front of the woman he was trying so hard to impress. He stood and lowered his voice. “Would you defy your High King?”
Silence, then a deep sigh as Colton shook his head and took the top pepperoni from the pyramid into his hand. He looked at the High King, at the woman, then at the jesters who were still dancing with their music and balancing plates on sticks. He slipped the pep into his mouth, accepting his fate and knowing that he’d soon be the most entertaining circus act in the room.
The High King smiled, “Don’t stop there, my boy! Eat your fill!”
Colton realized that the High King still had no idea that the pyramid was riddled with poison and he was genuinely encouraging Colton to celebrate his hard work throughout the years. So Colton continued to eat, and the sound of the jesters’ accordions filled the empty half of his skull. The poison began its quick work and soon his surroundings faded to a blur and he collapsed, striking the platter with his arm and making the pungent ordure spill all over him.
The jesters hooted and hollered ever the louder, and Colton looked up one last time to see a look of dread on his High King’s face. He then heard the faintest of giggles. It was the voice of the woman as she locked arms with the High King. The High King looked admirably at the woman and his horror turned to excitement. Giggles became laughter, and laughter became a roaring good time as Colton faded to permanent darkness.
