I'm Alien or a Time-Traveller... or something. (One)
#1 of An Alien
Here's a piece I started. It's not "designed" to be anything specific other than that it explores a certain inter-species creature's psyche and perception of the world around him. There's more to it than is apparent on the surface but all that will be revealed as it goes on.
Btw, no this is not written from personal experience.
Part 1
The strangest and least abject fact of my life is that I am alright. I understand. I am sad sometimes but I am not miserable.
Mr. Miyazaki across the street says that in Japan furs are not shunned or made fun because they look different; it is only behaviour that brings such unfortunate attention. He says that he laughs each time he is mistaken for a "chink".
"Goat-san' he said 'you westerners don't ask. You are too afraid to look like morons and then you ask me from which part in China I come from. And I laugh and laugh and laugh. It is too funny for me to understand you better than you understand me."
"But Mr. Miyazaki, we're not all like that." I had said, offended that he so readily threw us all over the same bough. Yet his answer to my accusation has led to a paradigm shift that, like a button, Mr. Miyazaki pressed to open my mind. I am an alien or a time traveller... but that is just my perspective and the reality is very different. I understand that.
In front of me the afternoon rugby practice is unfolding in an overtly masculine display of skill and male dominance.
A Cheshire horse, Brett Venter pulls the ball from his side of the scrum. The scrum breaks and everyone on the field prepares for Brett's pass to the fly-half. Instead Brett holds onto the ball and powers his way alongside the scrum where the other side's eighth- man had just broken off. Brett ducks his shoulder and collides with the unfortunate wolf in his way. The wolf is thrown into the air to land on his face in the grass as Brett steams forward; his new target is one of the wings. The wing starts an intercept course but seeing the Cheshire's charge in full force doesn't go in for the tackle. Brett breaks through and scores a three.
"Brett the invincible defends his unchallenged title as the most valuable player in the team." I remark to my twin sister Vanessa.
Her mouth forms an s of sadness. The delicacy of her tone says that there's no contention "Why does it bother you so much Sander?"
"He could have broken the wolf's ribs. What does Brett gain?"
Her large eyes focus on me; they seem earnest in their appraisal of my feelings. "You know what he gets from it Sander."
"Yes, I do. For him it's instinctual to run over the wolf and intimidate the rest of the players, they'll be too careful to really try and tackle him."
"And that is life,' she says looking up at the trees growing over the rusty pavilion we sit on 'the dominant get to mate."
"Or climb the corporate or social ladder. We must always trample the other beneath our feet." I lean back on my paws, my eyes following Vanessa's gaze. I am met with something akin to Vanessa's soul; the memory of perfection. Light pierces through the oak leaves made soft in the shade in which we sit. A dappled mist of dust and pollen floats in the gentle spring air bringing to us a floral scent remiss in its negligent musk.
Unlike my sister, I inherited my mother's canine nose and snout which tells me that there is a bird, dead, hidden somewhere above me. Despite the grim reminder of nature's cruelty I am intoxicated. For several minutes the sounds of other youths practicing their sports is drowned out and we lose ourselves; me, a wolf with goat horns and she a goat with sharp canines. Peace.
Something spiteful hits me hard in the chest. I startle to find a rugby ball sitting neatly in my lap as a further taunt. At the foot of the pavilion stands Brett in all his light brown and white Cheshire glory with two of his rugby buddies. Self satisfied spite radiates from them. I lean forward placing both paws on the ball and breathe a last, deep, calming breath of spring perfume.
"What do you want Brett?" I sigh. Vanessa's gentle paw falls over mine.
"For starters I want my ball back you freak." Brett says and his buddies snicker.
I keep eye contact with him "Come up here and get it."
His large nostrils flare "And why should I freak?"
"Because it got up here by your energy and I think it would be best if it went down with you energy." I say calmly into his now angry face.
He steps onto the rusted pavilion, his hard hooves playing an awful melody on the metal piano. The stench of young sweat is overpowering as he towers above me. Under the sweat there is a strong hormonal scent emanating from his crotch.
"Give me the ball." He says slowly. Then as if he had forgotten, he adds "Freak."
I turn my horned head up at him; the leaves and sunshine and beautiful dance of particles in the air is now sullied with Brett's angry and hurtful face.
"Why do you call me a freak Brett?" I ask him.
"Because you're not a goat, you're not a wolf. You're a freak of nature."
"Since we're talking about genetics Brett, do you know the quickest way to breed new characteristics into a mammalian breed?"
"Huh?" says Brett.
"They breed species incestuously because it promotes the most extreme changes in genes." I explain helpfully.
"So?" says Brett, steam-less on this battlefield of words.
"So, in 13th century Britain they ate all the livestock but needed someone to pull the plows. Cheshire's were not as big or as strong back then but they bred it into you."
"What're you saying geek?" Brett retorts to the amusement of his friends.
"I'm saying that you're strong but dumb. They bred the smart out of you." Shame falls like a heavily cloak on my shoulders. I am being unfair. I have my intellectual shoulder levelled to his midriff just like he had his levelled at that wolf.
"I'm not dumb,' he says defensively 'I'm going to college next year." The snickers from his buddies have gone silent now, they're adrift.
"Because of your school marks Brett? Or is it because of your rugby?" I ask insistently. Brett doesn't answer but his paws are clenched like he wants to hit something, probably me. I decide to level him so he falls flat on his stupid nose. "It's because you're so big and strong Brett, you're dumb and that's my point."
Brett aims a fist at my head but I stop him "Your coach might forgive you for my bloody nose and swollen eye but my sprint trainer wont." The fist hovers menacingly, frustration plays painfully over his tortured frame but I'm not concerned either way; Brett's violence has led to threats of being thrown off the team if he doesn't control his temper. If he hits me then he gets thrown off the team and his rugby and college life are snubbed. If he doesn't hit me then he'll be shamed in front of his buddies.
Like the wing, Brett decides not to tackle me. I hold the ball gingerly up to him as if offering him a fragile egg. The Cheshire snatches the ball from me and noisily departs down the pavilion.
Vanessa's disappointment is palpable "You humiliated him Sander."
"Yes I did."
"The act has sullied you, you're no better than he is." She says softly, sadly.
I turn to face her angelic eyes "He is bettered for it but I am now worse than he is. He has been taught a lesson while I have lowered myself."
The wounded wolf comes limping by in front of the pavilion. "Hey!" I call out to him and he stops looking silently up at me. "Well played today man."
"Don't talk to me gay-boy." Says the wolf and walks off.
"I think Brett's the only one who came away bettered this afternoon." Vanessa says rubbing my back empathetically.
"Yes." I agree.