Hi Paul! Nice to see you flying around. I remember everything about you and suppose you would not mind me telling your story to others.
It’s not very common, I know it well and gladly share with everyone who cares to read.
You are a risk taker born in circus. As there was no room, you were born in a Lion’s cage while the Lion was performing on stage. Your Dad was talking to the Lion using ф whip and some fresh flesh.
Your Mum had to leave you in the cage as she had to perform next: she went out to the stage to swallow her daily portion of swords.
The Lion went back by the time she was free from her job — and the Lion was not any hungry… so he had no other feelings towards you, but fathered you.
So after their hard work in the circus your parents discovered they have to fight the Lion each time they want to deal with you. Changing napkins, pampering you and even feeding you has become a struggle.
Feeding especially — for the Lion shared his food with you and did not trust any porridge or vegetables. Good food is always full of energy and fast running. He thought that only fresh meat can make a real macho.
What came next? Your siblings had their lives with other animals, your cousin planned on becoming a serial killer (he failed) — and for you there was not much choice left. You had to become a hunter.
You made your first slingshot out of a goat’s bones and veins and went out of your Father’s cage at the age of three.
Your human parents had to work hard, trying to feed the rest of their children; they did not mind the Lion taking care of you. But they were surprised to find all their parrots murdered by a boy nobody even knew the name of. You haven’t been called anything by that time, which is not common in England, where people like giving names to things. The British passion for classification led as far as to British Encyclopaedia and the racism itself at it’s black side (not before the black people have been discovered). Your Mother named you after her most beloved Polly the parrot.
Well, as you’ve murdered all the parrots, but since ‘the show must go on’ — you had to become a parrot yourself. Your mother stitched all the bright feathers left after the dead birdies onto your costume and onto the stage you were placed.
Your first job was to repeat everything your human Dad would say. And you had a success. Oh, how excited the public was, bursting with ovations and dying from laughter when you repeated his favourite cursing…
Even now people keep telling the story about the talking parrot to their children and grandchildren. The last phrase he yelled to finish the performance was:
— ‘Would you please try to remember any?’
— ‘Go to bloody bed! Now!’ — remembered Paul.
And we must admit, that was the first time your real father has blushed.
For your father only spoke like that to his wife and he had no idea, that some bloody bird killer heard him every night and was going to repeat it out loud… too loud. To say the least, your father was embarrassed. He literally wanted to disappear. And so he did. That moment your interest in magic was awaken.
Next moment of your childhood you remember is your disappearance from school lessons… The headteacher appreciated the trick, for when you stayed the whole day, some teachers would eventually disappear and never come back.
— My favourite teacher was my form teacher, Mr Singleton. — Paul says.
And Mr Singleton has never disappeared. Because there was one thing your Lion Father has taught you — to appreciate those who cared for you.
You were the one to be gone. Still your cheeks remained baby-like, but your heart would not any longer be able to bear the bears and dodge the dogs around you. Whistling ‘I’d rather be a Parrot than a Snake’ you left your Father’s cage and school and all your memories behind while legging toward piracy.
Oh, I do remember some of your scariest stories! Cruel and fascinating life turned out to be. You learnt to survive, yet girls made you smile at times. And you were always able to see the point whenever one of them blew you a kiss or whatever. Nothing scary though, but honey did not last long as there always used to be a trumpet calling for another fight.
Whatever happened in your life, you never fought the girls; for they were meant to be the light of your life, and it would be just fair to pay back with generousity. So you have.
Living both with people and animals, you would not separate one from the other, but tolerated most of the creatures.
…And the girls — either singing birds or the kitties or the shrews — were not to be tolerated, but made you thinking of home.
Someday you started feeling like settling down and starting a pride of your own. That day you caught a fabulous bird.
She was an exotic girl from a faraway land. You chased her for over a year and finally got her in the best cage you could find. You were planning to build a golden one for her.
You know what? Not a single soul would be able to suggest your Sweetheart is a vampire. Perhaps there happened to be an epidemic of sort: some died, some recovered, but some have changed completely. They would not be able to live on bread and butter ever since; they needed fresh blood. Luckily, you had a lot.
So the dream of your life became true. You settled down, built a house and enjoyed your life.
Whenever you were back home from hunting — she was there singing.
She had your blood every day and looked happy. Sometimes she could not be satisfied until you were left all dried out like a mummy. But in the morning, you were back to normal. A healthy spirit in a healthy body.
You thought you were the Captain of your own ship.
Your Sweetheart got bored with the diet. She decided to kill you for the entertainment. Just out of curiousity: what would you look like in a moment when your spirit and body separate?
She hd all your blood and then strangled you. You died. She relaxed, tasting her new boredom. Was she disappointed or a different idea woke her curiousity up — we will never know. When you came back to life coughing your lungs out — she turned you into a Dragonfly. And she set you free. And smiled.
* * *
You cannot tell your story to people — they don’t understand a dragonfly. This is why I am telling it. I know who you are as I am also from that very remote land which is the end of the world for those who did not find enough of fresh blood before dawn.
I am singing for you and writing new incantations to turn you back into a man.
Don’t fly away.