Of course! A chipmunk!
You smile brightly and nod, which makes them laugh. They turn around and lead the way. You are
careful to follow then closely so that you don't get rained on. It occurs to you that you don't know
their name, and that it may be an indication to their elusive gender. You ask them.
“My name? You can call me Blurred.”
Is that some sort of joke? To be blurred, their gender is definitely blurred. You don't dare ask them
directly what they are, afraid to appear rude towards the person who just mended your broken arm.
It's not like it's that important anyway, is it?
Instead, you ask them if they know why you are here.
They suddenly stopped and faced you, swinging their umbrella over their shoulder so that they stay
protected but you get soaked. You raise your eyes to their face with stupor and find them narrowed,
the purple of them pooling between their thick dark lashes as if they were going to strike you with
an angry lightning bolt any moment. And yet, they still have a smile on their lips.
“Aren't you a curious little chipmunk?” They ask with a tone that says 'be careful what you ask
about'.
“I…” you try to reply, but you run out of ideas.
Their eyes become normal again and their smile become wider. “Of course! A chipmunk!”
“What–”
But before you can ask of even protest, they poked you on the beak and you suddenly shrink.
Feathers change into fur, beak into pink nose, and seconds after, you are the most adorable little
thing sitting on the pavement. You don't think it's fair, but the only sounds of protest you can make
seem to enchant Blurred. They crouch next to you with a huge smile.
“Oh, look at you squeal! Do you know you are the cutest thing in a ten miles radius?” They pick
you up from the skin of the neck and bring you up to their face. From this angle, they look like a
giant that could eat you in one bite.
And let's not glance down quite yet, shall we? Your new paws paddle in the emptiness as the only
thing preventing you from falling and breaking, this time, every single bone in your little body is
the pair of fingers that are pinching rather painfully right above your shoulders. You soon grow still
and hope they will not let you go or even think about it.
“There, so much better. Let us go home now, shall we?” They chuckle at your predicament and get
up. You are now suspended in the air at a distance that it equal, now that you are small, to a seven
store building.
A glance downwards only emphasize how you do not desire to be dropped. Your dismay must be
visible on your face, for he starts laughing.
“Oh, don't worry, I'll take very good care of you...”
He lays you on his shoulder and start walking again. You lock your claws in the fabric of his clothes,
very keen on keeping yourself alive, and close your eyes. Now would be a good moment to start
praying if you have anything to pray too.
Written by Clayem on 19 March 2016
