The Mysterious Play of the Crimson Night
Photosyhthesis
Mother was down with the environment, fighting Mother nature's good fight. She hated human beings. We were parasites. A disease. The fact that she didn't photosynthesise was clearly humiliating for her.
Although humans tended to offend her, there were varying degrees of bad.
Tolerable humans were: The Fruit of her Loins (Toby and I)
Vegans
Eco Warriors
Heath Ledger
Improper humans were: Carnivores (including vegetarians)
Christians
Politicians
Aunty Jude
Trees were something to be hugged, not harmed. Animals were meant to roam as they pleased and to fulfil their life as nature ordained. Children followed the same principle as animals. Bad behaviour was not so much 'bad' as the demands of a wonderfully capricious soul that needed to fly free. This didn't seem to stop her from forcing us to eat our peas at dinnertime..
I could never remember a time when Father had been around. We never talked about him. Mother always insisted that I was born out of the cabbage patch in the garden and called me 'Her Little Cabbage Princess'. It made sense to me. Only cabbage babies had snubby noses like mine.
As the years wore on and primary school teachers with red faces tried to make their giggling students aware of the mechanics of sexual intercourse, I began to wonder just how I had came into being. Did Mummy and the Cabbages down the bottom of the garden love each other very much?
"Mummy? How was I born in the garden?" I asked one Sunday after our mushroom trip, my basket carrying quite an impressive yield. I was still at that age where I was far too inquisitive for my own good.
I stumbled under the weight of my basket. 'Two left feet and no common sense,' was what Mother always said. I was sure that this was another defect of being a cabbage baby.
"Moron," Toby sniggered. I didn't like that very much. It made me feel stupid for asking. Toby was a whole 3 years older than me. That made him superior somehow. It was what got him the passenger's seat in the front of the car and a larger helping of mash taters at dinner time. Older people always got the good stuff. This was another fact of life that made sense to me.
Mother cast him a cursory glance and cleared her throat whilst the gate inexplicably swung back to whack Toby in the side.
'Ow!"
That made me feel better.
"Well..." began Mother, scrunching up her eyes like she had a bad tummy ache, "You see, Princess...your Father was a fairy."
"Oh..." I remarked with a nod. Well that explained it.
Toby, who had managed to catch up with us, snorted disdainfully and rolled his eyes. I shot him a glare. The angriest glare someone so small could muster. Then pulled a face at him over my shoulder just for good measure.
He grinned and ruffled my hair before speeding on ahead with his basket. He was just jealous. His Daddy wasn't a fairy.
Mother's gaze stalked him like a cat lazily following the path of a fly, contemplating whether she should snap at it or not. She then returned her gaze to me, slipping her hand into mine.
"He was a fairy Prince...So handsome. Some say that he could cut you straight through with the sharpness of his silver eyes..." she whispered like we were sharing a precious secret. I liked that. Toby wasn't included.
"Like Prince Serda?!" I piped up happily with a wonky grin. I'd lost my two front teeth a couple of nights ago. Princess Mona had taken them whilst I was sleeping to her calcium fortified palace, leaving me two shiny 50 pence pieces beneath my pillow in return. I was very happy, and spent an entire afternoon devising plans to loosen a few others for the Princess fairy. Most of these elaborate schemes involved calling Billy Henderson a big, fat twollop at school on Monday.
Mother bent down to whisper in my ear,
"Exactly."
I beamed. Mother looked pleased with herself that she had finally divulged this critical information and pressed a finger to her lips to signal that I should be quiet about it. I was more than happy to. I wasn't going to betray my fairy Prince Father or Mummy for that matter. Not for all the cabbages in England.
My mind was filled of fairies and visions of grandeur as I went through the ritual of removing my wellies. Mother did the same, taking my basket from me lest I spilled anymore of her sacred mushrooms.
"So Mummy....how did you and the Prince make me...?"
Mother seemed not to hear me.
"TOBY! Get down off the kitchen table!" she called through the doorway to a room that I could not see. There was a thud from inside the house and the shuffle of heavy feet. I'd suddenly become invisible again. Oh well, it didn't matter. I was a Princess.
Although humans tended to offend her, there were varying degrees of bad.
Tolerable humans were: The Fruit of her Loins (Toby and I)
Vegans
Eco Warriors
Heath Ledger
Improper humans were: Carnivores (including vegetarians)
Christians
Politicians
Aunty Jude
Trees were something to be hugged, not harmed. Animals were meant to roam as they pleased and to fulfil their life as nature ordained. Children followed the same principle as animals. Bad behaviour was not so much 'bad' as the demands of a wonderfully capricious soul that needed to fly free. This didn't seem to stop her from forcing us to eat our peas at dinnertime..
I could never remember a time when Father had been around. We never talked about him. Mother always insisted that I was born out of the cabbage patch in the garden and called me 'Her Little Cabbage Princess'. It made sense to me. Only cabbage babies had snubby noses like mine.
As the years wore on and primary school teachers with red faces tried to make their giggling students aware of the mechanics of sexual intercourse, I began to wonder just how I had came into being. Did Mummy and the Cabbages down the bottom of the garden love each other very much?
"Mummy? How was I born in the garden?" I asked one Sunday after our mushroom trip, my basket carrying quite an impressive yield. I was still at that age where I was far too inquisitive for my own good.
I stumbled under the weight of my basket. 'Two left feet and no common sense,' was what Mother always said. I was sure that this was another defect of being a cabbage baby.
"Moron," Toby sniggered. I didn't like that very much. It made me feel stupid for asking. Toby was a whole 3 years older than me. That made him superior somehow. It was what got him the passenger's seat in the front of the car and a larger helping of mash taters at dinner time. Older people always got the good stuff. This was another fact of life that made sense to me.
Mother cast him a cursory glance and cleared her throat whilst the gate inexplicably swung back to whack Toby in the side.
'Ow!"
That made me feel better.
"Well..." began Mother, scrunching up her eyes like she had a bad tummy ache, "You see, Princess...your Father was a fairy."
"Oh..." I remarked with a nod. Well that explained it.
Toby, who had managed to catch up with us, snorted disdainfully and rolled his eyes. I shot him a glare. The angriest glare someone so small could muster. Then pulled a face at him over my shoulder just for good measure.
He grinned and ruffled my hair before speeding on ahead with his basket. He was just jealous. His Daddy wasn't a fairy.
Mother's gaze stalked him like a cat lazily following the path of a fly, contemplating whether she should snap at it or not. She then returned her gaze to me, slipping her hand into mine.
"He was a fairy Prince...So handsome. Some say that he could cut you straight through with the sharpness of his silver eyes..." she whispered like we were sharing a precious secret. I liked that. Toby wasn't included.
"Like Prince Serda?!" I piped up happily with a wonky grin. I'd lost my two front teeth a couple of nights ago. Princess Mona had taken them whilst I was sleeping to her calcium fortified palace, leaving me two shiny 50 pence pieces beneath my pillow in return. I was very happy, and spent an entire afternoon devising plans to loosen a few others for the Princess fairy. Most of these elaborate schemes involved calling Billy Henderson a big, fat twollop at school on Monday.
Mother bent down to whisper in my ear,
"Exactly."
I beamed. Mother looked pleased with herself that she had finally divulged this critical information and pressed a finger to her lips to signal that I should be quiet about it. I was more than happy to. I wasn't going to betray my fairy Prince Father or Mummy for that matter. Not for all the cabbages in England.
My mind was filled of fairies and visions of grandeur as I went through the ritual of removing my wellies. Mother did the same, taking my basket from me lest I spilled anymore of her sacred mushrooms.
"So Mummy....how did you and the Prince make me...?"
Mother seemed not to hear me.
"TOBY! Get down off the kitchen table!" she called through the doorway to a room that I could not see. There was a thud from inside the house and the shuffle of heavy feet. I'd suddenly become invisible again. Oh well, it didn't matter. I was a Princess.