Revenge of the Garden Gnomes

“This is humiliating!” Plum hissed. The sun was uncomfortably hot. Less like a friendly, warming presence and more like the steady, stifling heat from an oven. “You know I have allergies, and you expect me to stand here, motionless, for hours right next to this oaf’s house?”

“You’ll keep standing there if you know what’s good for you,” Botch grumbled back. Indeed, his back was aching, sweat was gathering beneath his cone shaped hat, and worst of all, the oaf had chosen to fertilize his garden with fresh manure. “First it was the faeries, then the unicorns, and if we’re not careful, we’ll be next!”

Plum made a low noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. But Botch noted his friend’s unspoken sadness. The wistful longing that went unsaid. There was nothing for it, though. Gnomes were not the kind to fret over frivolous feelings such as loss and despair. No, if things were right with the world…

Footsteps shook the ground beneath them, loosing a plume of fresh cow dung from the earth. The stench made Botch’s stomach turn, but he knew of the danger coming. Of the towering oaf bound to exit his home at any moment. So he schooled his features into a stupid grin – one which cost him his pride as a gnome – and remained resolutely still.

Plum, however, sniffed.

Once, then again as it became clear the assault on his friend’s nose was becoming too much.

“Stop! Stop it now you idiot, unless you want us both to be killed!” Botch whisper-shouted. But it was too late. The door had opened.

A man stumbled out of his home, the clamor of his boots causing small quakes in the earth. A voice – a woman’s – shouted at him, one laced with venom. The man met her words in kind, spit flying from his lips. Like raindrops, they pelted the cobblestone and manure surrounding his house.

Botch thanked the humans for their hysterics. It bought him time to glance at Plum, whose face was twitching as though a puppeteer were pulling at strings attached to his face. It would be comical, were it not for the fact that if the man took a proper look at his garden, he’d notice at once.

Instead, the man shouted a final curse at his supposed wife before slamming the door behind him. The force of it was nearly enough to throw Botch off balance. But in the sudden explosion of noise, Plum chose his moment to sneeze.

The man was gone. And the danger had passed…for now, anyway.

“Come nightfall,” Plum spoke, his voice wet and stuffy. “We move. Find a new garden.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll grab a fistful of this cow dung and shove it so far up your ass, you’ll never be able to get rid of the smell.”

Botch pursed his lips. “Point taken.” Now that the coast was clear, he allowed himself the freedom to shake his head. The counterfeit smile slid from his face as he indeed remembered the days of old. He had Fairy friends. Unicorn Friends. Sprites and nymphs who danced in the woods at twilight, and both he and Plum would join in their hijinks and debauchery. That time…it was beautiful. Now, it was gone.

Plum’s reddened face lost some of its color as he beheld his friend. “I remember them too. We both saw what the humans did. How they razed the forest and cut the horns off the unicorns. The fairies were all captured in little bottles. You remember Tara?”

“Aye. How could I forget? She was my…my – ” Botch couldn’t finish. He felt like something was stuck in his throat.

“We couldn’t get the damn bottle open. Even after going through all the trouble of rescuing her, there was nothing we could do. We could only talk to her. Talk about the good times. Good memories. We were able to give her that, right Botch?”

Botch said nothing. But he felt something rising in his chest. An unnamed fury, as he remembered Tara’s green eyes. Her long, dark hair. Her sad smile as she said goodbye, before falling asleep only to never wake up.

They had never properly talked about Tara. But now they had, Botch realized the gaping wound in him after her passing. Her murder.

Plum’s voice was thick with emotion Botch had never heard before. Slowly, with resignation in his voice, he said, “I know that this is stupid, playing as mere garden gnomes. But if we don't make the humans think of us as harmless, then they'll wipe out our entire species, just like they did with the dragons! We’ll be just like every other magical creature, snuffed out from this life. We’ll…we’ll be just like Tara.”

Tara.

Botch looked up and saw the man returning from whatever fool’s errand he had been sent on. There was a sway in his clumsy steps, a bottle of some impairing liquid sloshing around in his hand. Tara had been captured by the man, somehow. The hand holding his alcohol filled bottle had been the very same hand which had held her prison. Her grave.

Botch pulled a small knife from his belt and looked at Plum. The two shared a gaze in which they, two clandestine gnomes hidden by the garden, finally shared their despair. Their loss.

Now, they shared their thirst for revenge.