It was clear what was happening. His feet had hurt for
almost four days. There was little point going to his GP or to A&E because
he knew they wouldn’t have a clue and he would be sentenced to a series of
tests that would shed no further light on his condition. Anyway, he knew what
it was. He was turning into a golden eagle.
He had little time to do all the things he needed to do
before he lost his human form. He realised that some of the jobs he needed to
accomplish would be almost impossible with wings so he just got on with things
and awaited the inevitable.
Ten days later he swept his legs from under the duvet and
sat up. As he stood he realised that the pain in his feet had gone. He shifted
his weight from the balls to his heels but nothing, not even a twinge.
That was when he realised it was possible, just possible, that
he was not going to turn into a golden eagle after all. In some ways it was a
repeat of the previous occasions when he had felt he was going become a
dolphin, a tiger, a giraffe. Disappointingly those changes hadn’t happened
either.
He drew back the curtain and stared out at the eyrie he had
built in the tree at the end of the garden. His shoulders sank. It was then
that he felt it. A light but pressing pain in his elbow. ‘It’s starting he
thought, the change is coming.’ He knew it and he realised he wasn’t destined to be
an eagle.
Suddenly he wanted kippers for breakfast. That was when
knew, he knew, he finally knew he was turning into a penguin.
