The Trickster

The Trickster

            The wind was howling like mad as the rain fell in waves, crashing hard against the run-down buildings and poorly maintained roads. I raced along a street lined with glass shards and discarded needles to take up shelter from the gale force winds under the old overpass. This place wasn’t my first choice to spend my night, but it's not like anyone was waiting up for me. As I sat beneath the overpass, the cold had finally hit me, a bone chilling cold pervaded the air.

            As I sat in the damp, chilling darkness I was able to vaguely recognize the figure of another shelter-taker across the way from me. The figure was crouched low to the ground, shivering in the cold. Probably just a homeless man, or someone else looking for shelter from this torrent, I thought. But suddenly the figure rose up, and though it was dark I could see it begin to make its way over to me. As the figure approached I could see it's face more clearly, though I wish I hadn’t. The figure’s appearance was ghastly, with hollow, deeply-set eyes and a twisted smile  contorted its face into a mess of flesh. It’s face had the appearance of aged parchment. A long, narrow nose protruded from its hollow, sunken face. The figure was clad in rags, walking with such boundless energy and fever as a child on Christmas morning.

            I knew what this figure was. My mother had told me stories of their kind to keep me from misbehaving when I was young. The figure approaching me was a Trickster. A mystical creature with the ability to grant any wish that you could desire for, but they always had an ulterior motive.

            “Hello, my sweet,” the Trickster spoke, it’s voice having all the allure of a spider luring prey into its trap. “Would you like to play a game with me?” it snickered.

            In that moment I was reminded of my mother’s warnings, “Never play games with Tricksters my girl, they always have the upper hand,” she would say to me, looking me deep in the eyes as if to be sure I understood.

            “What kind of a game?” I quizzed the trickster, my voice shaky and faint.

            “Why, a game of riddles of course,” the trickster answered back, producing a book of riddles from beneath his rags.

            If my mother could see me now, how disappointed she would be at how loosely I regarded her warnings. But I have always been rather good at riddles.

            “What’s in it for me trickster?” I asked, my voice more controlled now.

            “Anything your heart desires my dear,” the trickster responded, beginning to dance around in the empty street. “Perhaps what you desire is more time with that mother of yours, or maybe you’d wish for money and status to leave this place?” the trickster began, “A sweet girl like you doesn’t come to a place like this by choice, now does she?”

            I began to think about what I could possibly want from this trickster. Time with my mother he says? Why, that would still leave me stuck in this place. Money and status would be nice of course, I could leave this rotten, unsightly pit for somewhere with a little less...police tape. I had made up my mind, I would beat this trickster at his own game and be freed from my life of misery.

            “Money and status sound nice,” I spoke. “So, how does this game of yours work?”

            The trickster produced a roll of parchment from within its rags. “All you have to do,” The trickster started, a wicked smile creeping onto his face, “is sign on the dotted line.”

            And with that the trickster's game began. At the beginning, the trickster’s riddles were child’s play.

“What gets wet while it is drying?” he would ask.

“A towel,” I would reply.

For the longest time the riddles were as such, and I began to think well of my odds at beating the trickster’s game. Was this what my mother had thought she must warn me about? But then the riddles gradually became more and more difficult, but even still I answered all the riddles the trickster threw my way. Until at last the trickster reached the last page of his book. Upon flicking to that last page, a smile flickered onto his face.

“This one is my personal favorite, sweetie,” the trickster began. “This will be my last riddle, dear. Good luck.”
            I excitedly listened on as the trickster spoke the last riddle, I was almost there after all. But as the trickster spoke, my victory became less and less assured in my mind.

“This thing, all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stone to meal; Slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.”

I sat awhile in confusion at the words the trickster had spoken. Perhaps that confusion was written on my face as well, as the trickster laughed aloud.

“Not an avid reader I take it?” it spoke in a mocking tone. “Well, I suppose not, considering where you are.”

I began to struggle for an answer, but nothing would strike me. The trickster grew impatient.

“Tick tock,” the trickster spoke, tapping lightly on his wrist, “I haven’t got all day.”

As the realization that I would not be winning this game began to set in, I sighed. The rain continued to fall in waves outside of the overpass as I sat in the dark struggling for my life. No longer did I wish for money and status, merely for my life.

“Time’s up,” the trickster started, a big grin on his face. “Looks like you’re not as smart as you thought you were ay, sweetie?”

As the trickster approached closer, I fell to my knees defeated. I took one last look towards the city that had been my prison for so long. Never had it looked so beautiful before.