Written by: Dan Murphy / Illustrated by: Pepe Navarino
The goblins are hiding in the large head of the stone man on the hill top. The fish people are storming the waterside village. The owl faced babies have started chewing trees again. They are wasteful little angels, always using an entire tree to form a single spear, and they leave a bloody mess when they play war. The egg people are cracking, hatching the dragon dogs who are born ferocious. The old lady harbours her fruit in a satchel. She’s seen all this before. The goblins plot for too long in the stone head. They’re almost always speared by the owl faces. If they make it out the fish people eat them in two snaps.
When she was younger the old lady thought that the fish people had two pairs of legs, the one where their tails once were and a second set that grew from their mouths. Her own mother shot down this notion, grabbing her hand and marching to the parade grounds, which is what they called the place of constant war. She pointed out, directing the then much younger old lady's attention and said, “look there, don’t you recognize those shoes?” And this younger version of this old woman saw her father’s shoes, her father’s pants, leading all the way to the rope he knotted to hold his trousers up, his torso disappeared inside the wide open fish mouth covering the upper portion of his body. Where were the owl faces on that day? And why weren’t the dragon dogs setting the straw huts on fire and scaring the fishes back to the sea.
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