The Gromps and The Leaving
Welcome to the Land of the Gromps
The land of the Gromps was a peculiar and disproportionate place. The hollow was small, but with lumbering abodes set into tall hills that were in perpetual bloom. A flowering weed blanketed the ground, forming labyrinths of purple and yellow flowers for the Gromps to navigate.
As a people, the Gromps were deafeningly quiet and content to keep to themselves. They each tended to their own abode in near silence, as their language only contained about 15 words. Seemingly small in stature, the Gromps’ voices were deep and throaty as if a frog could form sentences. The bass in their voices booming over the steep crests of the hills they called home. Sometimes even awakening the birds from their otherwise peaceful rest.
Miniscule creatures, they were, with sweet, sticky skin of a nauseating pale green color. Their toadstool heads connected to their squat bodies by a wide and wrinkly neck. Their three eyes were never in sync, constantly looking in separate directions, giving them a slightly spooked look. Small, dainty legs sprouted from their rotund bodies; it was a wonder how they ever balanced.
The Gromps had no ruler and no governing body, instead they held noisy and often boisterous town councils. These were the rare times where the Gromps spoke to one another. Bickering and croaking out short quips, they hardly agreed on a single thing. Their voices knocking down pots and pans in their hillside houses. Rustling the dew off of leaves far away from the hollow. The Gromps were desperate to be heard out by one another. This was a rare occurrence especially when the subject of the leaving was proposed.
There was one Gromp in particular that had vouched with the proposal to leave. To see what lay beyond their sacred hills and weeds. The Gromp born with two eyes was a pariah amongst the town. The other Gromps waddling away as he passed, stacks of sticks in his hands from that day’s collection. He was always collecting sticks; he had capitalized on the stick market and in doing so forced the interaction of the other Gromps. They sauntered up to his door nightly, weary and desperate for sticks for their evening fires. Now, standing in front of the other Gromps, his voice trembling with a boom so vivacious it broke the hinges from the door of the town hall.
Leave, Now, Must.
He wailed this over and over, fighting to be heard amongst cries of birds, fire, and the incessant no’s of his fellow Gromps. The Gromp with two eyes knew something was coming. He could see it in the space where his third eye was supposed to be. But alas, he was met with only fear and suspicion.
Feeling ostracized he returned to his nook with a heightened sense of frustration. He was rightfully peeved at his fellow Gromps. Staring into the abyss of his bundles and bundles of sticks, the two-eyed Gromp’s rage only grew. He couldn’t help but label his fellow Gromps as ignorant and close-minded. Words that didn’t exist in his language, but he could feel in the very depths of his six-ventricle heart. He was right in his want to leave. He had seen it. He had dreamt it.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the knocks on his door began. Gromps coming from the far stretches of the hollow for his sticks. Their knocks ignited something under his sticky, sweet skin. He would wash his hands of his trade for once and for all. If they wouldn’t listen to him, he would have no choice but to disappear. He would leave tomorrow in juxtaposition of the council’s frozen non-decision. Taking the biggest bundle of sticks up in his thin arms he marched out his front door. Ignoring the line of wanting Gromps cluttering his front yard, he stomped to the right. Reaching the far corner of his land, he slung the sticks to the ground and snapped his fingers. Flames exploded along his rickety palms, fed by his inner upset he reached his hand down and lit the bundle of sticks aflame.
Watching in horror and awe, the Gromps’ heads tracked the two eyed Gromp as he went inside and out again. Each time tossing another bundle of sticks into the growing flame. It wasn’t until all his sticks were gone and his energy spent and sputtered that he returned to his abode for the last time. Closing and locking his door reverently, the two-eyed Gromp went inside to wallow before his departure. Wallow in the leaving, in the staying, and everything he knew would come upon the hollow if nothing was continued to be done.
The crowd of Gromps surrounded the flame. Some leaving. Some sitting. Others desperately trying to pull sticks from the fire. Those that tried to retrieve left soon enough, tiring quickly and finding their cause to be lost. Those that had sat, watched as the flame licked and flicked. Eating their hopes of an evening fire to accompany them as they slurped their dinners from rotten plates. One by one the Gromps stood and waddled home until one Gromp remained.
A young Gromp, relatively new to this world, stayed to watch the fire die. Stroking the ash with her withered hand she whispered the three words she couldn’t seem to rid herself of.
Leave. Now. Must