A look in the Eyes of a Goblin

A Look in the Eyes of a Goblin
Offensive words are the best words. They can be used at any time, for any reason. The worst youâll get as punishment are strange looks around the room, all staring at you. Which is why Zonk used one of them as the humongous monstrosity made its way towards him after he had fired his last bullet. âThen again,â Zonk thought aloud, âIt only fires one bullet.â Slowly, the gibbering thing creeped closer to him, always saying a million things at once trying to get Zonk to lose focus on the task at hand. Zonk didnât give it much attention. He was already insane. He was thinking in the third person, fighting a glob of mouths and flesh, and was firing a gun when everyone else toted swords and magic to battle. Yes, Zonk was quite insane, but that was useful in a battle. He couldnât lose track of things if he never had it in the first place. He could never lose hope if hope had lost him years ago. But Zonk was done dwelling in the past, he had work to do.
The gibbering thing didnât move fast, at least not as fast as Zonk. As the mouther moved within range of its prey, one of its many mouths lashed out, but Zonk was prepared for this. He activated the magic imbued to his chain shirt, and suddenly the air around him turned into a thick fog. The mouther missed by inches. Zonk leveled his gun to the still open mouth of the thing, and fired a loud blast which shook the very hall he was in. Or maybe his extremely large ears were starting to go deaf. Whatever the case of his ears was, the mouther was having an even worse time. A large spray of blood erupted from one of its many mouths, and the thing stopped gibbering and started moaning. Blood and mucus were dripping onto the sandstone floor, and Zonk knew the killing blow was near.
But Zonk still needed time to reload. He dashed off to the far end of the dark hall, and heard the mouther stop moaning, but screeching. Zonk looked behind and saw the mouther was done toying with its prey. It started to gain on Zonk, murder in its twisted words. Zonk had to act fast. He furiously dumped the contents of his powder horn, and rigorously stuck a bullet down the long barrel. He turned around, barely noticing the gaping maw plunging at him from the screaming darkness. He pulled up his gun and squeezed the trigger.
Silence. Darkness. Nothing. Was Zonk dead?

Zonk pushed the mushy, bloody carcass off of his form and stood up. The mouther was lying at his feet. Lifeless, and dead. And really, really gross. Zonk grabbed his gun, began the long process of reloading it, and walked off disgusted by the dead thing. He would kill more that day. He would kill things more horrible than the mouther for the rest of his life, however short it may be. But for now Zonk was content to live on his insane life, no matter how much profanity it would take.