The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten


Here I was: I found myself standing before the mouth o’ Osequus Cave, where legends say roams the great prophet, J. J. W. Mezun, who is said to have 1st discovered the obscure tales o’ Autumn Springer, the great thief o’ Boskeopoleon folklore.

Tho I knew this was a prophet, like many, perennially drunk on inspiration, & could be a danger to my life & soul, — when I would quiver for my life @ the thought o’ bumping into someone on domestic streets — as a prophet myself, a collector o’ all Boskeopolis’s best myths, I had no choice but to venture onward into the darkness o’ this grotto, a black hole that promised no return.

I didn’t wander long inside, with the limp light o’ my flashlight revealing li’l & my breath held tight, before I heard a voice, deep & hoarse from rare use, call out to me in a strange language that I, thankfully, in my deep studies, knew. Roughly translated, twas:

<You must be Nasrin Mohsen, the Speaker o’ the Eye>. I flushed & felt my stomach churn @ the unexpected recognition & the bizarre title they had given me. ¿How many others know who I am, & do they all call me by this odd — & undeserved — appellation? The voice continued, <I hope you can get into my lair>.

I felt my nerves shudder as I witnessed a lanky creature whose shape did not seem to fit any terrestrial being lumber out o’ the shadows — a creature o’ unknown species; but if one had to designate one, ’twould be mostly a mix o’ crustacean, tortoise, insect, & human, for, putting together all o’ the few witness accounts, they had a human head & torso, but with crablike claws, a tortoise’s shell on round their back, & long, black, thin legs like an ant’s. Since so few had seen this being & lived to conjure up a Latin name, likely referencing their favorite musician, like Prodigiosum ladygaga, the species — or e’en family, or order, or phylum, given how many their various parts encompasses — is still unnamed. But since this was likely the only instance o’ this class, it probably didn’t matter; I already knew a name for this thing: Prof. — tho in what dark subject matter they studied is unknown to all who speak — J. J. W. Mezun.

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Posted in Boskeopolis Stories, Short Stories