I was sweating like Craig at church, for he embodied all seven sins.
After being loaded, our sleds of corpses left deep tracks as we arrived on the edge of Goblinsville. The twinkling lights faded.
The wilderness lay ahead again. I led the reined crocodiles in a single procession, each starving thirstily at the sled of corpses carried by the one before. We made slow progress. That is until I suddenly came up with a genius move. I tied a goblin's severed rotting arm to a long stick and used it to lure the lead crocodile into a brisker pace. Sergei complained a little, sans pathos.
"How long until we hit the graveyard?" I asked. We still weren't given breakfast yet.
"Should be right ahead." Sergei lied for the third time.
"Why is it so far?" I whined.
"The dead emit pheromones that attract predators or something. I don't pay attention when Elder Garn talks," Sergei replied.
"Speaking of Garn, I thought you said the Goblins forgot about Gordon's crew." I paused, remembering the anger in that wily little green man.
"Old people have a better memory than most until they lose it," Sergei muttered.
"That figures." I concurred.
We arrived at the edge of a dark chasm. We tossed the bodies down haphazardly, listening to what could only be the sound of Greatwurms mating below. Their shrieks of pleasure flew like a Marilyn Monroe vent wind, blasting upwards toward us. We could almost smell them.
"Do you think we'll spend the rest of our lives here doing this?" I asked, breaking the human silence.
"Dear God, I hope not. I promised to take the boys to a strip club on me." Sergei faked a smile, dreaming of a life irl.
"How many of them do you think will make it?"
"I don't think the government will let us live," Sergei stated. Like a polar bear in a flock of penguins or a cougar in a college bar, the Imitator was too perfect a predator.
Wait. What if Sergei is wrong? The Imitator might not be a part of this landscape. After all, there's no fun for the circus without its freaks, and the government spent Billions on popcorn.