Friends - A Friday Flash Short Story

A New Friend

He wasn’t such a scary fellow. Ugly maybe, but whom was I to judge him by his looks? Too many people tended to judge people by their appearance. But I knew better.
His eyes, not meeting mine for more then a second at a time, where big and full of mistrust. Hair, thick and unkempt, covered up most of his distorted face, his body bent forward in a mixture of agony and malformation. As he reached for the spindle, his broken left hand was surprisingly capable of doing the deed in front of him. Again he glanced, and again the glance ended as quickly as it had begun.

“I will do what you asked for.”
His voice, as broken as his body was soft, but determined.
“I am sure you will.”
“And you will do as promised.”, he demanded.
“As I always do.”
He paused, then nodded, continuing to work the spindle, swiftly, with a confidence that defied his outer appearance and demeanor. Two minutes later, he stopped, his crackling voice echoing through the silence “Why?”
“Why, what?”, I answered.
“Why do you watch?”
“Because I am curious.”
"Ahh"., he murmured, beginning to move again, repeating the motion that was so hard for able body me, and easy for challenged him. Another two minutes passed in utter silence. Stopping as suddenly as the first time, he glared at me longer, his green eyes darkening, as they penetrated through me, to my core.
“Why?” he asked once more.
“Why, what?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because you are interesting.”
“You have no fear?”, he questioned, surprised
“I feel no reason to fear you.”

He stroked his hair away from his misshapen cheek bones, pinning it behind his large ears, nodding, then with what was a twisted smile, that despite its broken shaped showed a kindness, apparent and deep.
“Then forgive me, my Lady. You have nothing to fear. And you owe me nothing for my work.”, his voice stronger this time, as he straightened as much as he was able to.
I smiled back at him, stretching my hand toward the old figure in front of me.
“So I shall give you my friendship, dear Sir, if you wish.”
“I would be honored indeed.”
We shook hands, swiftly, with the same efficiency, with which he had moved the spindle.
“What may I call you Sir?”, I dared to asked?
Rumplestiltskin.


© Claudia Blanton 2013