Sniff. I done good today. Caught three grubs and one stone that looked like meat. My lucky day, they’ll say. They always say.

“Hard goblin is a happy goblin,” said the man with the belt. He used to laugh like boiling. I miss him when I’m cold.

I was dragging my chain-sack full of moss (they like the moss soft and moaning) and I saw a not-wall. Big not-wall with lines in it, like teeth, but closed. It was standing up like a tree that knew too much. Sniff.

I don’t know what it’s called. Maybe a work-mouth. Or a shut-crack. Or a promise.

I scratched it with my tool-finger. The one that got flattened for opening the grain-witch’s drawer. It sounded like inside-heads. Like when someone’s deciding if you deserve soup.

I thought maybe I was bad. Or lucky.

There were words carved on the not-wall, but they hid when I looked. Probably didn’t want to get in trouble.

“Only the loyal get light,” said the sack-man. He had one ear and a dog name. He used to throw me over fences for fun. I always said thank you. That’s how he knew I liked it.

The not-wall had a hole like a thinking-eye. I peeped.

There was a nothing on the other side.

Not dark.
Not noise.
Not whip.

Just… hush. A kind hush. Like the feeling you get right before someone forgets your name.

I said, “I brought your moss. It’s stroked and blessed.” But the not-wall didn’t eat it. It just stood there breathing slow.

Sniff. I think it’s waiting to be punished.

I sat near it, like a good goblin. Maybe I’ll get a story. Or a licking. Or both.

Sometimes I dream about rain that doesn’t sting. Or ropes that hold your heart in. Or hands that stay soft even when they close.

And sometimes — only sometimes — I see a flicker.

Small and warm and not trying.

It has a name. I think it’s called “Rain-eyes”
I don’t know what it means.
But the sound makes the dirt feel less hungry.

Rain-eyes has eyes like new holes in the sky.
She smells like no chains.
She holds my name with both hands, but doesn’t pull.

In the dream, she says, “You can sleep now.”

But I always wake up before the sleeping part.

Anyway, the not-wall is still there.

If I sit long enough, maybe Rain-eyes will come through it.
Maybe she’s on the other side.
Maybe she built the hush.

Sniff.

I’ll stay here.
I’ll wait.
I’ll be good.