Two young women writing and sewing in an interior at Hatton, Warwickshire, attributed to the granddaughters of Dr. Samuel Parr, c. 1820-30, watercolor.
Toms Treinis dans “La Malédiction de Raven’s Hollow” de Christopher Hatton - inspiré du poème “Le Corbeau (The Raven)” d'Edgar Allan Poe (1845) - mars 2023.
The Prospector was traveling down the Lonely Mountains not too far from Moomin Valley which he had departed recently, being sick so suddenly was such a weird occurrence in hindsight, he was lucky to have such a kind family look after him like that for 2 whole weeks. All anyone could hear was, if there was anyone besides him, was the wind howling between the cliffs and ranges and the echoes of his pickaxe hitting the ground as he used it as a walking stick.
It was lonely, but peaceful, and that's how his prospecting's always been. He grew used to it, he doesn't mind it in the least. He doesn't have anyone to really worry about besides himself and his job, and nobody should ever worry about him, that's how things should go, he believes. Just a hemulen trying to find gold for someone else to collect, no gold for himself, nothing but his backpack of supplies to weigh him down. He's happy this way.
"Are you sure?" a hollow voice came suddenly, the Prospector turned around quickly to see who it could be, but nothing was there. Odd. He cautiously continued down his path, then it came again; "That seems like alot of hassle with no pay-off," it sneered from no discernable direction.
"H- Hello? Who is this? What are you talking about?" the Prospector asked, looking for anything or anywhere that the voice could come from.
"I'm Nobody," the voice said, the sound mingling with the wind "And you are?"
"I'm just a humble prospector, sir... Madam... Whatever you are."
"I meant your name," the voice replied sternly
The Prospector adjusted his hat nervously "Ha- hat- Hatton, my name is Hatton."
"No surname?"
"That's no information that I wanna give to you, I'm sorry," Hatton answered and moved along
"Ooohhh we have a Mr. Keeps To Himself over here it seems," it taunted "Funny that you don't keep anything of value for yourself, do you have any idea how much you could've made from all the gold deposits you found?"
"And how would you know about those?"
"I know lots of things, Hatton, but you know the bare minimum for your job."
"Really now?" Hatton asked nervously and quickened his pace "Look, it's been nice chattin' with you Nobody but I gotta get to business-" he jumped at the sight of a shadowy creature, one of those creeps, the species I mean, and Hatton froze at the sight of it.
"Are you really happy by yourself, prospector? No friends, no family, no ties to hold you to a home?" the creep spoke with the same voice, but still no sense of direction where it came from.
Hatton stared at the black creature and tried to avoid it "Why do you care so much?"
"I'm simply trying to make sure if you're really happy in this trap everyone built around you, sir,"
"What trap?" Hatton asked with increasing irritation.
The creep appeared before him from seemingly nowhere "The idea that you're perfectly fine on your own. Why do you think that?"
Hatton hesitated "We- well, I just... There's alot less things to worry about when you're on your own, is all, less things on your mind to worry about and make you upset..."
"And that's what they teach to make you less smart for yourself," the creep said and scurried behind the hemulen "The less you take or want for yourself the more they can have for themselves, leaving you oblivious and unrewarded for the hard work you've done. You're cheap labor."
Hatton came to a halt and turned his head to look at the creep "Ain't that every hemulen?" he asked menacingly.
"Yes, and that's the issue, you hemulens think your jobs have inherent value yet none of your work gets treated with respect as it should be, and you don't care, it's ridiculous! How are you meant to survive in society otherwise?"
"Well I don't live in a modern society,"
"And yet you still contribute by finding those gold deposits, don't you? The big guys are using you and you don't even care, any other creature would be outraged!"
Hatton turned around and spread his arms in a baffled manner "And what should I do? Quit my job?"
"Ask for better, you foolish horse! You hemulens are so job-centered that too many of you perish either from working an awful job or doing it yourself when you lose it!"
"And why do you care?"
"Because you are not! How much does it take to get it through your thick skull that you're worth more than picking away at rocks all day when you creatures are more stubborn than mules? Is it that ingrained in you that you're worthless outside of what you do?"
"Well maybe it is!" Hatton blurted out
The creep stood silent for a moment and looked down "Fine, then. Have it their way, Prospector."
The Prospector glared at the creep for a moment and rubbed his eyes, only for it to disappear when he opened them. He looked around to see where it could have go to, nowhere without dying in the process.
He stood there for a second, and turned around continue on his merry way once again.
66591 Hatton North Jn by lee
Via Flickr:
A not so colourful Freightliner Shed 591 clags through Hatton North Junction pulling a container train towards Birmingham
