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Aryn woke up bleary headed and looked out over the village through bloodshot, watery eyes. Everywhere people were hustling and bustling about working happily. Some were even whistling to themselves. Jerks he thought bitterly. The only whistling coming from him was through his left nostril as it fought for air. He pulled out a several ointments and medications and took a deep breath and promptly started a coughing fit.

Once he was able to get it under control he grabbed his shovel and rake and headed out to start work. "Morning neighbor!" Someone cheerfully called as he walked by. He grumbled some greeting and stalked away into the forest.

His patch was easy to spot. It was the only one with a weed or two and undergrowth that needed thinning. He set down his shovel and rubbed his already throbbing eyes. OK I will give it an hour or so then get out of here he thought to himself. He decided to work on thinning out the undergrowth of the trees first. His breath wheezing in his chest like wind in a stove pipe, he cut and pulled for all his worth. Satisfied he decided to do the worst of it. He braced himself and started pulling the weeds. He always saved this task for last because his hands would be useless for a few hours while he itched and scratched with great intensity.

He finished up and could already feel the little bumps forming on his hands. He swore to himself and gathered up his supplies to head back home. As he was washing his hands he briefly thought of joining his brethren at the North Pole. "Humph, bunch of pansy making toys. Forget it" He scoffed. He scratched at his hands absentmindly.

He thought about crawling back into bed but could hear the cheerful bustling about of his neighbors. Oh man, he dreaded what he had to do next. He went out into his garden and between sneezes planted the flowers and herbs. By the time he was finished his head felt like it was full of rocks and his eyes were red little slits leaking tears. He decided he had had enough misery for one day and lumbered back inside making his way through the haze covering his eyes to crawl back into bed. He had one last thought as his cloudy head hit his pillow. It sucks being an Elf with allergies.

Learn more about this author, Rissa Watkins.
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