Down the street, Tim was walking with three ripe pieces of fruit in his hands, one for himself and two for his companions, safe back at camp. He was taking in the sights of the little town when he noticed a cursed figure standing beside a small, crying girl.
Tim tried to continue his modest stroll and reasoned with himself: If I attack him and it turns out to be a misunderstanding, Ana will complain again that I'm judging based on appearances. The cursed were people who had become monsters. How was Tim supposed to not judge them? They were just aggressive and ugly monsters that happened to talk.
Tim turned around on the street and walked back toward the crying girl. The Wastelands had a culture where fights were more than frequent, and there were ruined buildings to prove it. There was no need to assume the worst... and besides, Tim would fight the cursed man for the fun of it regardless.
"Hello," Tim said to the cursed man. "Could we please fight?" Every cursed person fell under one of twelve types, but right now Tim hated this type the most. The man... if you could still call him that, was tall, with a fat belly. His hair was all but gone and his nose was almost as flat as a pig's, though a pig wouldn't look as hideous with it. The difference between this man and a fantasy orc was that orcs could at least deserve to be called people.
The man's expression was unreadable beneath the monstrousness of his face. "Of course," he said. "Sometimes I also feel like just hitting someone." Tim smiled with satisfaction. "I know we could demolish buildings during a fight, but I'd rather not cause unnecessary damage. What if we went..." The cursed man saw the hesitation as unnecessary and threw the first punch.
Tim was holding two fruits with his left arm and the third half-eaten in his right hand. Not surprised, only disappointed, he stopped the powerful blow with one hand... the left hand. The fruit fell to the ground. With notably less goodwill, he finished the sentence: "...to the fountain where there's no one around."
Aura blazed red around Tim. The fountain should be in that direction, he thought, and the only thing in the way is the bookless library. He prepared to hit back. The poor man closed his eyes and raised his arms in front of himself. Tim's punch sent him flying through the air toward the fountain.
Tim knelt beside the crying girl. "Hey there, little one. Why are you crying?" She looked up at him through tears and quietly explained: "I got lost. Today a kind lady was going to bring a book and read it to me at the library. But I don't know where it is!"
The little girl looked around. "Is the kind man alright?" Tim watched the man disappear through the library in the distance and thought to himself: I have impressively messed up.
With regret, he tried to salvage what he could. "You know, you couldn't find the library because cursed people destroyed it this morning in one of their fights." He didn't like lying, but it was still morning, and a cursed person really had destroyed a building in a fight, as they usually did. The girl only cried harder. "But they said they wouldn't fight near the fountain."
At those words, Tim froze. The library had been empty when he'd scouted around, the cursed man wasn't a concern, but the fountain... He thanked her quickly and broke into a run. A smile of pure, grateful relief spread across his panicked face. I messed up, but at least there shouldn't be too much damage.
At the ruined fountain stood Ana, unharmed, and Erik, with considerably less luck.
* * *
There are a few people who get cursed, but none who want to be. Greg was one of those people. He still is, but he will not react to that name anymore. I could explain it all, but that would be no fun.
When Greg was young, he often got into trouble the way many kids do. His father would scold him and punish him with the simple task of chopping wood. With every swing of the axe, he could relieve some stress, relieve some anger, and atone a little for his mistake.
His life was simple, his future was bright, and his father had fought for that privilege, until they were attacked. Greg was too young to understand. Was his father strong? Did he die making a difference? It mattered not, because Greg had to take care of his mother now.
After good work and good food, Greg grew strong. But after his mother got sick, he worked harder for her medicine and drowned his worries in food. This simple life was all he knew. It was all he had, all he could get, all his father could ever give. It was enough. Greg was happy.
This simple life was possible with one simple rule. "Be happy and stay happy," he said with a smile. Because why wouldn't he? To eat, to sleep, to smile and cheer... that was what his father had fought for, what he had died for. It felt wrong to not enjoy the life his father had sacrificed so much for.
* * *
A monster was walking down the street. It walked on two legs, barely moving its own weight. Its long hands carried a huge, dull axe. The tall figure approached Greg's home, where his mother still lay sick in bed.
It slowly opened the door and stepped inside. It laid the axe quietly against the wall and walked to the bedroom. The sickly lady slowly opened her eyes and smiled. "Welcome back, Greg darling." The monster slowly stepped to the bed and sat down. Who was Greg and who was the woman in front of him? Greg wouldn't know, but right there it felt good. It felt right.
Greg's hair had fallen off, his face had twisted, and yet his mother still recognised him. He grasped her hand and held her dearly, not knowing why he felt sad. She asked him with a gentle smile, her voice soft. "Have you brought me medicine?" He cried, because he had not. Because he had forgotten. Because he had failed her again.
"What am I? Am I a bad person? Irresponsible, terrible, worthless..." But his mother kept smiling gently and stopped him with a soft voice. "You made a mistake. It is alright to be a fool, that does not make you a bad person. Just promise me to try harder next time."
"I am a fool... and that is alright. I will try my best. I will save you."
* * *
It should feel like it would be obvious, the moment his life cursed him, or why. But it does not matter what Greg noticed and when, because he soon forgot how his body had ever looked. He forgot so much. His life became even simpler, but his mother became sicker.
Greg woke up early one morning and walked outside to get his mother's medicine... this time for sure. A few steps out onto the street, he began enjoying the cold morning. "It feels like nothing could go wrong on such a beautiful day," he said to himself.
On the busy morning streets he noticed a crying girl. He approached her with a smile and asked what was wrong. Why wouldn't he help? He liked helping, and he didn't feel like he had anything better to do... even though he should.
Moments later, a young man in armour stepped toward him with a few pieces of fruit in hand. After a few words, Greg forgot about the little girl and threw the first punch. The young man stopped it and murmured something Greg didn't hear. The very next moment Greg found himself flying, which made him laugh. "Woohoo! I'm flying! ...Wait, I didn't know I could fly. How will I get down?"
He flew past grey buildings and began falling back down, with a library in the way. "Oh good, I'm going down... wait, am I falling? Why am I falling?" As you may have guessed, he crashed through into the fountain. His clothes were torn, his arms and legs broken, his huge belly gushing blood from several wide wounds.
Greg sat up. He saw a severely wounded boy in dark, blood-stained clothes and an unharmed girl in brighter clothes holding the boy in an embrace. He looked around and noticed only rubble and that he was hungry.
The wounded boy was on his knees, barely breathing, making the girl panic. "Are you alright?!" she cried. Of course not, but she was very stressed. Greg's answer didn't help. "Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" He stood up and stepped closer with a smile, without a scratch on him. The girl was not in the mood to say anything meaningful. She cried out.
"Not you! YOU FOOL!!"