Gilbert the gremlin was grumpy. The setting sun streaming through the tiny window lit his sullen face, exasperated eyes, frustrated frown. Quite frankly, Gilbert had had enough.
“The most important job in the world” the advertisement had boasted, “Invaluable to Effaeria and all of its peoples.” Set hours, no night shifts, great pay, in a beautiful and tranquil setting. He had been over-the-moon when his application was successful and he was granted the role. What Gilbert hadn’t accounted for was the miniscule workspace, the crippling boredom, and the abysmal loneliness. Three hundred years to the day he had dutifully and diligently worked in this tiny windmill, but where was his anniversary celebration? Where were his uncaring employers? Where oh where was the gratitude?
The tiring sun
