The Party Over there

It was the singing and dancing that attracted me at first. I’d only seen humans having fun on a couple of occasions before but I instantly recognised it for what it was. The assembled group were wearing clothes that were, I assumed, smarter than their usual fare. Their hairs were brushed to either be pointing in the same direction, or deliberately in different directions, and severed in such a way that they all stopped at appropriately the same length.

I am an eager observer of human behaviour.

They had set up a number of contraptions to emit rhythmic noise which combined with the sounds of their enthusiastic verbal communication in a pleasing manner. I sniffed the air and could detect the aromas of cooked food. I wondered how that tasted.

It was then that one of them spotted me – I had become complacent, spending all of these years on my own in the woods.
‘Look. Over’er… Issa big monkey!’ he said, pointing.
‘Nah mate – tha’s a human, that is. Look he got no hair on his forehead!’
The chatter stopped but the music continued – on its own it was hollow and upsetting. I wondered what to do. They all stared at me. I drank in their gaze, enjoying the rare attention. I ran.

I knew none of them would be sober nor fast enough to catch me. I was in no danger. But as as bounded a route through gaps in trees that I knew better than anything else in my world, I felt a sadness welling in my belly.

This was as close as I’d get to being one of them.
Maybe it was close enough.

The following two tabs change content below.
David Baillie is a freelance writer and artist. Born almost thirty years ago in Scotland, he now lives and works in the East End of London.

Latest posts by davidbaillie (see all)

There are no comments

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

  
Please enter an e-mail address