The New Monsters

They tell her it is nearly time to grow up. That doesn't make it any easier. She is a wish-making, star-chasing girl.

But she has bigger things to be. A change is coming. She can feel it in the air. In the cold, morning air when the monsters wake her with a cup of tea and jam puff. In the afternoon air when she rides the monsters' backs through the jungle; the air smells like banana leaves and rain and change.

She watches expectantly, waiting for the monsters to pick her up again. But they tell her she has a new monster-family to go to. She is horribly curious.

She cannot wait to show her new monster-family her star drawings. Her drawings of the oldest monster, of his bone-smooth wings and his clip-clopping hooves.

She is not sure what to pack. The monsters gave her many things. But so many of them cannot be wrapped and put into a suitcase. So many of them cannot be carried in a bag.

The monsters cannot deliver her to her new monster-family. The new monsters are not like them, the monsters tell her. These two types of monsters can never be in the same places, unless one of them hides under the bed or in the closet.

She is ready for her new monster-family.

"Better hide your horns," the oldest monster tells her.

He gently pulls her hair over them.

"You'll fit right in," he says.

Then he leaves her to wait for her new monster-family.

Art by Anonymous

Text by Lucie MacAulay