I am a crucible of hate.
I seethe with rage.
Whenever I see something good, I know immediately that I must crush it.
I am one-fifth feathers, muscle and bone, and four-fifths of pure, unadulterated loathing.
I am a Canada Goose
With my whipsnake neck I survey my kingdom. My subjects, the trees, the ducks, the small children still fear me. Good.
I waddle around my territory seeking trouble. And if I cannot find it, I will create it.
There's a hiss to my left. A mute swan. The only creature on this lake I bow to. I slink away.
I slap my feet against the muddy shore and look out across the water. There's a human family there, a child in a pushchair. She's holding a loaf of bread.
My vision tunnels. My nerves align as one.
There is only me.
And there is only the bread.
I gently set myself afloat and paddle serenely across the water. The child is released from the pushchair and toddles in my direction. A foolish mistake. But every day is a learning day.
The child reaches out a hand, offering a piece of bread in my direction, the rest of the loaf cradled in her arm.
I strike with mouth agape and tongue out, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. And I bite.
There's a high-pitched scream and a splash.
The parents shoo me away, consoling their crying child. But I have won, and the remains of the bread float around me. I slurp them up.
I am victorious.
Creative Notes
This particular work is based on something that happened to me when I was very young. For me, the best remedy for light trauma is making fun of it, and here we are. Hope you enjoy :)
~ Rachel
Words and images by Rachel Owen