Julie was a six-year-old girl who wanted nothing more than to be a bird. So much so that all her physical activities were devoted to building up her upper-body strength so as to hold her own weight while navigating through strong convection currents.
Depending on her mood Julie would morph into a different species of bird and respond to her circumstances accordingly:
When Julie was thirsty, she was a pelican, holding vast bodies of water in her elastic-like bill.
When Julie was hungry, she wasn’t a magpie because worms were not to her taste.
When Little Timmy threw a dodge-ball at Julies face, Julie was a bird of prey.
Julie wasn’t quite sure what attracted to her to the idea of the being a bird, she didn’t relate to Jenny from Forest Gump, she was happy at home.
She thought of her home as a nest she could comfortably grow, live and learn in.
She received enough consensual hugs and (although not regurgitated) food form her mother.
Julie was happy.
Perhaps it was the colours, or the flaunting of feathers while defending her territory, or the calls, oh the calls!
The hunting calls.
The goodnight calls.
‘THE-SUN-IS-RISING’ calls.
They made Julie happy.
The mating calls didn’t interest her so much, she was six you sicko!
By the age of thirteen Julie wanted nothing more than to be a cat.
The weird part was the transitional period...
Julie would pounce, and scratch, rub up against strangers.
She still wasn’t one of those girls who was introverted cause she thought she was fat, or was flat chested compared to Stacey Mcfree, or had a pimple on her face connecting her eye-brows.
Julie was Happy.
Julie became more patient as a cat, and slightly more voyeuristic, she would watch people. As her teenage years went on her inner-animal became more metaphorical. She hunted information for school projects. She meowed secrets to her friend-girls in class about boys. She licked her emotional wounds clean which were caused by bitchy calls made toward her in the playground.
Julie became a vegetarian.
Julie became lactose intolerant.
Julie met a boy.
The boy though he was a dog.
Julie thought that was weird.
Julie is eighty-five.
She wants nothing more than some human contact. Her only friends are Mitzy, Mittens and Snuggles. She only eats chicken. It’s not as though she has had a bad life. She’s been married with kids and achieved things and such. Really her life has been rich and full.
Julie is happy.
