Like a droplet on a window of a car. Dripping down glass, dripping down bars.
Down, down, down!
Words, they drown.
Is the deeper they go, the deeper they mean?
Or is less more, like high-class cuisine?
Fall,
fall,
fall!
Digest it all.
Take a dive
into a poetâs
messy heart.
But look
too deep,
and the
words
fall
apart.
Apparently every princess needs an animal companion. Dacan thought that would be his in, because his cousin, princess Maes, always enjoyed feeding the wildlife. If he could gain her trust as a bird, then all heâd have to do is catch her off guard.
And then what? Well, he doesnât want to murder her. Thatâs too extreme. He wouldnât kill for the throne. If he did, he wouldnât be fit for it.
He hadnât thought this far into his plan yet, but heâs been considering convincing her to change career paths. A zooligist would be nice. Or a vet. All he knew was that she loved animals.
âBe back before the stroke of midnight, or else youâll be stuck in that form until you find true loveâs kiss.â The wizard warned him when he asked for help in the matter.
Dacan scowled at such risky rules. âWhy couldnât you just choose one fairytale toââ
âBecause I said so.â The wizard interrupted with a sassy eye roll. âHow would you feel if you made up an intricate magic system and everyone either complained or disregarded it because they canât appreciate the effort you put into dming for them?â
âDming?â
âYouâd feel horrid!â The wizard squawked, then raised his wand to shapeshift Dacan into a bird. âNow, I know you love to visit me, but you have to run along now, I have a pedicure appointment.â
âI donât love to visit you, I just met you.â Dacan replied bluntly.
âVery well.â The wizard nodded. âBut the next time you visit me, you have to shave the top of your head and wear a top hat, then go find twenty people to greet by tipping your hat to reveal your bald spot.â
And that was the last conversation he had as a human. Now that was horrid.
It would make him look stupid if he told his story to someone someday, and said that the reason he didnât make it back before midnight was because he forgot. So he decided to leave that part out.
In any case, Dacan did succeed in one thing. And that was befriending Maes as a bird. Over the course of the next few weeks, heâd visit her window every day, until she eventually decided to keep him. He exchange his freedom for free food. Who wouldnât?
He came to learn that her personality wasnât as one dimensional as he thought it was. She loved things other than animals, like ghost hunting, soap carving, and playing guitar. Well, she doesnât play guitar as much as she used to, but she would say itâs still her hobby if anyone asks her. Who wouldnât?
Dacan grew fond of her over the months. He loved sneaking around the palace in the middle of the night with her to find some ghosts. And he found the sound and smell of her soap carving to be really therapeutic.
He soon came to realize that cousins can be friends too. That should be more normalized. If it was, then he couldâve been doing all this with her as a human, and not a bird.
They lived in the same palace their whole lives, yet never spent time together like this.
And of course it was Maes who broke his curse with true loveâs kiss on the top of his feathery head.
âDacan?!â Maesâ jaw dropped. âYouâre Mr. Birdoobabirb?!â
âYes, I am. And Iâve never cared for that name, actually.â Dacan smiled as he ruffled the feathers off his head of hair.
âWhyâŠ?â
âBecause itâs actually really ridiculous.â
âNo, I mean, why were you a bird?â Maes asked in disbelief.
Dacan grimaced and shifted his gaze towards the wall. Ah, what a lovely wall to stare at when things got awkward, it even had wallpaper and everything.
He still cared about the throne, but he came to realize that she was just as good a fit for it as he was. Sure, she could be a little kooky sometimes, but all princesses were âadorkableâ these days anyways.
Plus, after all their time together, he would rather give up on his plan than give up on her.
âHonestly? âŠI wanted to gain your trust so I can convince you to step down from your duties, and I could be the king.â Dacan confessed softly.
The realization spread across Maesâ face like peanut butter on toast. Her sigh was nearly quiet, and her brows furrowed as her lips curled up into a crooked smile. âBut I have five siblings.â
âI know that! I was going to get to them after!â Dacan scoffed.
âGet to them, huh? What bird will you be next? Or will you be an imp?â Maes teased with a giggle.
âOh, shut up.â Dacan laughed, playfully nudging her lightly.
The two of them chuckled together until their laughter died down. Maes then rubbed her chin as she pondered the issue, before speaking up once more.
âYou know what? I donât actually want to be the queen, I want to do something more fun with my life. And I know my siblings are horrible, so really, youâre the best fit for the throne.â She grinned. âAnd I can make that happen.â
âReally? How?â Dacanâs eyes widened with hope.
âWell⊠how about we pay that wizard a visit?â Maes suggested.
Dacan grimaced, rolling his head as he winced. ââŠI guess I have to shave my head and find a top hat.â
âWhat?â
âNothing.â
The 8th Wonder of the World isnât a place. Itâs not something you can visit and take a picture of. Though, there is still an essence of tourism. And itâs fleeting. Itâs in the feeling of when a child suddenly realizes theyâve grown tall enough to put the star on top of the Christmas tree. Itâs in the feeling of when someone quietly smiles to themselves as they leave the cinema after watching an awe-inspiring movie. Itâs in the feeling of the end of a hangout when a person involuntarily glances back fondly to their friend as theyâre walking away. The final wonder of the world is the wonder of life itself.
I hate that you know what Iâm talking about. I never even told you, but you already know, donât you? They told you because they were âexpressing their concerns?â
I used to trust them without a single doubt. But my privacy was carelessly violated. I should be the one to tell you about it on my own terms.
I donât want to get so riled up or be so crass. But âcatching you up on all friend group loreâ my ass.
Is that all my trauma is to them? Some lore? Hot gossip to burn me with, tea of my tears to drink with, rumours to use as prompts for games of broken telephone?
Welcomes are polite but you werenât here before. Do you think youâre entitled to my privacy because you joined our friend group? I am a stranger youâve never known.
Iâll talk about it and hope to find contentment. I guess itâs better than harbouring resentment.
Your every sentence that trails off makes me think twice. When we talk like this, I feel like Iâm on thin ice.
The string of syllables doesnât know where to begin. I tighten my skate laces and then thicken my skin.
Our conversations linger, leaving its imprints. My shaky arms stick out to maintain my balance.
Years from now I hope that this wonât matter at all. But now Iâm on thin ice, and Iâm going to fall.
When Beatrice was seventeen, she was absolutely certain she met the love of her life, despite having only lived 20% of it.
But then they broke up. She spent most of her twenties dreaming about fictional men instead. And when her friends kept encouraging her to get on a dating app, she eventually did, and dated a few people here and there. But nothing lasted long enough.
It was in her thirties when her sister got married and had children. Her sister was younger than her. Beatrice adored babysitting her darling niece, and she did a lot of it, since her sister worked two jobs. Romance was no longer a priority. She told herself sheâd get around to it eventually.
Instead, Beatrice got a cat. His name was Oreo. She spent her forties watching her niece grow up and taking care of Oreo. But whenever she watched a movie or a show sprinkled with a starstruck romance, she couldnât help but sigh longingly.
In her fifties, she quit being a manager at a retail store to work at a hair salon instead. Everyone there was either married, or a starry-eyed twenty-year-old with a lot of opinions. They considered her to be the work mom. She was happier there, and it helped her cope with Oreoâs death.
Beatrice eventually adopted a new kitten and named her Omelette. Her newborn grandnephew loved to play with Omelette whenever she babysat him, and her clients at the hair salon loved to listen to stories about the antics the little ones got in together.
When Beatrice was sixty-seven, she was absolutely certain she would not meet the love of her life, because she lived almost 70% of it.
Even now, in the library she took her grandnephew to, while he was busy in the manga section, she found herself wandering to the section of romance books. At least until she was abruptly stopped.
âOomph!â Someone grunted as they bumped into her.
Before Beatrice knew it, the quiet library was grappled by the resounding noise of falling books. She fell backwards on her bum as her arms instinctively raised to shield herself from the rain of literature. It was over in two blinks of an eye.
âDĂ©solĂ©â erm, sorry!â The man in front of her stammered, gawking at the incident.
The man looked absolutely mortified. He appeared to be in his late sixties, donning a fedora that hid his receding hairling and glasses that framed his aging eyes. But when he saw Beatrice, his expression softened.
Her silky, short grey hair was curled beneath her ears. She wasnât angry or upset at allâinstead, she was smiling, with soft wrinkles under her cheekbones. Her eyes crinkled with amusement as she looked up at him, and he was taken aback by how beautiful she was.
âItâs okay.â Beatrice reassured with a soft chuckle, her voice thin and sharp with experience and use. âWas that⊠French?â She asked, referring to his apology.
The man bobbed his head into a nod. âYes, Iâm from France. I was here to sign books.â He answered with a sheepish smile, then gingerly offered his hand to her. His soft-spoken accent was soothing to hear.
âYou mean youâreâŠâ Beatriceâs voice trailed off, and she glanced over to the direction of the book signing table she recalled seeing at the front of the library. âOh my, thatâs impressive!â She grinned and took his hand. âIâve never met an author before.â
He was surprised by how firm her grim was. Her hands seemed so delicate, yet she was quite strong. He pulled her up and let his touch linger before he retracted his hand.
âAh, Iâm only the scientist behind the research, it was my friend who put it to paper. It was a collaborative effort.â The man chuckled as he adjusted his glasses.
He bent down to pick up the books he dropped. Beatrice, despite how she just got up, knelt down too so she could help. âStill impressive.â She remarked.
The man exhaled a small, amused breath through his nose, his eyes glistening with joy. He cleared his throat and looked down to the books he was picking up. âErm⊠and what brings you here?â
âIâm here with him.â Beatrice explained as she picked up a novel, and pointed to her grandnephew with the book she held.
The boy was sitting on a beanbag chair on the other side of the large room, his nose buried deep in the manga he was reading. So much so that he didnât seem to notice her fall earlier.
âYour grandson?â The man guessed.
âNo, no! My grandnephew. I donât have children.â She laughed. She was used to this assumption.
âAh, then, are you married?â The man asked before thinking.
Beatrice met his eyes when he asked this, causing him to immediately drop his gaze back to the ground. His heart hammered in his chest as a surge of embarrassment rippled through every beat. He was about to apologize for his boldness, but then she spoke up again.
âIâm not. Are you?â Beatrice asked with a pursed grin, mentally crossing her fingers.
âNo.â The man scratched his cheek and turned his head to hide his happy smile. He sighed, recollecting himself, and met her eyes again. âI⊠do not have any family. I dedicated my life to my research, but now that Iâm retired, I think it would be nice to find one.â
Beatrice bit her lip and stared at him with a hopeful twinkle in her eyes. She couldnât remember the last time she felt such a fluttery feeling in her stomach.
âUh, Iâm Pierre, by the way.â He smiled shyly.
âIâm Beatrice.â She replied gently.
Silence befell them, the air thick with hesitation and quiet giddiness. She watched his changing expression as he seemed to go through as many thoughts in his head as she was. Their minds were racing, getting so close to the finish, a line they wanted cross.
âSince youâre from France, I can show you around later if you want. Thereâs a restaurant I know.â Beatrice suggested to break the tension, and held her breath with anticipation.
Pierreâs eyes widened. He smiled so widely that his dentures couldâve fallen out, and his eyes twinkled so brightly they couldâve reflected in his glasses. He opened his mouth to reply.
âY-yes! That would be⊠that would make me happy.â
My brother doesnât want to play. Heâs on his computer every day! He said, âIt can research, buy merch, and even sing. My computer can do just about anything.â
I stomped my foot and said, âI can do all that too! Let me try then, I would be anything for you!â
âI donât think thereâs very much that you can do. Youâre no computer, youâre human through and through.â __ __ âI could be a cat or a dog. Or maybe even a hedgehog!â
âYou could not be a cat or a dog. You could not even be a rat or a frog.__ Thereâs not really all that much that you can do.__ Youâre no computer, youâre human through and through.â __ __ âI could be a princess or a knight. That would be a brilliant delight!â
âYou could not be a princess or a knight. You arenât prim or proper, and you canât fight! Really, you donât have many things you can do. Youâre no computer, youâre human through and through.â __ __ In that moment, my mind hit the floor. I couldnât think of anything more. âIâve named everything, so hear my plea! Who in the world do you want me to be?â
He laughed to himself, like it was a joke. A mere brotherly tease. And then, he spoke. âItâs okay, really, put your woes on the shelf. The only thing I want you to be is yourself.__ You could not be a cat or a dog. You could not even be a rat or a frog. You could not be a princess or a knight. You arenât prim or proper, and you canât fight! __ Sure, there may not be very much that you can do. But youâll always be my sibling, and Iâm happy youâre you.â __ __ I smiled really brightly, as bright as the sun that day. Then he grinned and finally said, âOkay, letâs play!â
Itâs been only twenty-three days since Stork quit his job, and there had already been 245 stillbirths and 31 sudden infant death syndromes.
Of course such a thing wouldnât go unnoticed, but no matter how much everyone desperately sought his whereabouts, no one thought to check a zoo. Specifically a koala exhibit, where he and Grim Reaper just arrived at.
Stork gasped so deeply it sounded like he was choking. âOh my god theyâre so fucking cute!â He yelled.
Grim smirked and took a picture. âChill, chill. Youâll scare them.â He teased.
A human walked through him as he said this, but he paid them no mind, already used to his presence being unbeknownst. He didnât really deal with humans anymore. After all, they didnât deal with him eitherânot after they discovered methods of immortality.
Grim Reaper was more focused on the doe-eyed koalas and their fluffy grey fur. Their noses looked so boop-able, and so real. They were actual, real-life koalas. It was always so astounding how everything on earth could feel so real.
Interrupting his thoughts was a sudden clamour, a door busting open. He and Stork whipped their heads to see what the commotion was. âBreathe, breathe! Youâre doing great, darling!â A man said in a panicked reassurance as he guided his pregnant wife towards the exit of the zoo.
When she passed by Stork and Grim, they both had the urge to do their jobs. It was second nature to them.
However, neither of them budged. It was her time, Grim could tell, but he couldnât take her. Nor did he want to. He quit his job too, after all, and humanity was probably all the better for it.
He couldnât help but glance at Stork though. His feathered friend was so apathetic that his attention was already directed back to the koalas.
ââŠHey, you could help them out, yâknow?â Grim reluctantly suggested.
Stork glanced back at him with a playful scoff. âAnd go back to being overworked? No thank you.â He meant it as a jest, but an accidental, defensive tone slipped out at the end.
âItâs just one more job.â Grim Reaper lightly urged with an uncertain, yet encouraging smile. âWhoâs being the lazy ass now, huh?â He then added to poke fun at him.
âEh⊠I donât really care about them all that much anymore.â Stork revealed with a grimace smile. âTheyâre so concerned with living forever, immortalizing their memory, that theyâre hardly even alive anymore. So why give life to a race thatâs barely alive? Itâs like theyâre not even real.â
Grim could only stare. He opened his mouth to reply, but his words fell short in his bony throat, and he turned to face the koalas instead. âYeah.â Was all he said in response, dropping the conversation topic.
But when Grim Reaper glanced at his friend one final time, he couldnât help but think of how his scythe might fit more comfortably in Storkâs grasp instead.
These memories are overflowing more than you can hold.
You try to shift such weighted grief, but you canât feel consoled.
Itâs gonna get easier in time, or so youâve been told.
But you think itâs not fair youâre the one who gets to grow old.
Thereâs just one thing you must remember to warm such downcast cold.
Even if your tears canât dry, tomorrow will come in bold.
The sun will still always gleam in brilliant shades of gold.