Attention: It is highly recommended that you read the novel Elantris by Brandon Sanderson before reading this story. I in no way lay claim to this fictional universe, regardless of how awesome it is. Thank you.
I lie motionless, as I always do. The sludge beneath my aching body has almost come to grow around my would-be corpse. I lie here everyday. All day. I only move at night. The creatures passing by mistake me for one of the Hoed—the very reason I lie as I do. Sometimes I let out some mumblings just to make it sound believable.
It wasn't always this way. A few years ago I was a god. Not a spiritual being, but a man with god-like powers. Back then the city had shone like a single star in the night sky. Its inhabitants were just as beautiful and full of power. All of that is gone now. Perhaps forever. Someday something random—random as in as random as the Shaod had been—might happen and randomly restore Elantris to its former glory, but that is a far away dream.
I open my eyes, just barely, and look at the city life around me. In truth I should not call it city life. City death is more fitting. Elantrians are dead, after all. Most of the non-Hoed inhabitants are either insane or on the brink of insanity. I, myself, only stay alive from hiding all day, even if it is in plain sight.
Bored of watching the same dull people walk by, I close my eyes again.
"Edoen," a voice speaks from nearby. My eyes snap open—a mistake, once I see to whom the voice belongs. A tall, broad-shouldered Dula had been watching me a short distance away. I had failed to notice him because his bald, Elantrian head had looked just like any other. The man blinks once he sees that I'm awake. Oops, I just blew my cover.
With a growl, the Dula steps forward, hateful eyes aimed in my direction, bearing into me. In an instant a hop to my feet—ignoring pain in both legs and my left thigh—grab a handful of the sludge, and hurl it at the abnormality in my day. The Dula catches the sludge and drops it to the ground as I dart away through the catacomb of streets making up the great city. I hear Duladen swearing behind me, then heavy footsteps. One pair of footsteps quickly turns into a dozen, as I am forced to run for my life—or further death, as you might say.
Suddenly, the portion of my back between my right shoulder and my neck explodes in pain. It becomes apparent that my pursuers are throwing rocks at me, any of which could be deadly and send me into the actual Hoed. Two stones zip past my head as I realize how close to the eternal pain I actually am. I keep running, however, until a huge rock slams into the back of my knee. I stumble to the ground, and the sludge, and listen as the footsteps get closer and closer. They stopped throwing rocks, because they will try to torture me, now that I'm wounded. I have one final plan, and it's ever unlikely to work. Nonetheless I wait, as the footsteps get closer, closer, closer…
My name is Edoen, and I was an Elantrian. I am still, though before long I may but just a mumbling pile of broken bones, never healing, never dying. Who am I really? How did I come to be in this situation? I will tell you someday. That is, if I can survive what will inevitably be my end.
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