A man sat in a park writing a poem. He was an ordinary man. Around six feet. Athletic build. Medium flowing brown hair.
He sat writing a poem on his laptop in the park. He had done this many times. A couple of tables and chairs were strewn about the grass in front of a bushy forest. He always picked the table in the middle, a picnic table sat between him and the row of brush that he would look into sometimes between thinking of the next verse.
Black. His coffee of choice. The oil was always in a white thermos with a sticker that wrapped it
“Today, is a day. One day, that was once alive, then dead to be reborn”
He had wrote that himself.
Everyday he came to the park and wrote a poem. Sometimes it took him five minutes other times it took hours. Today was an hours day.
His eyes peered up from this laptop and into the brush in front of him. It was mix of dark and green plants smashed together. As he scanned the foray he caught something. A pair of eyes. He could barely make them out, but it was the feeling. The feeling of being watched. He sat up a bit in his chair to get a better look.
The eyes rose high above the brush line. He took a sharp intake of breath.
The thing stepped out of the brush line in a fluid motion. Long arms and legs comically swaying back and forth. What ever it was, it was unnatural. Covered in blue fur, eyes sitting on top of smiling mouth of large red lips and yellow gloved hands and feet. It looked like a child’s toy.
Then it hit him, he had seen this thing before. He looked down at his laptop and searched.
“Huggy Wuggy”
The toy came up on his screen. It was the same.
He glanced up from his screen.
Huggy was already noodling it’s way towards him with incredible speed. It’s arms grasping the picnic table to propel it forward. It’s smile opened revealing a host of needle teeth.
Maybe he would be reborn another day.
-
While I was writing one day in the backyard I got distracted. Actually this happens a lot when I look into forest or brush or just things faraway. My mind always comes up with that “What if this thing just walked out of the brush” A monster, a dinosaur, a evil blue fuzzy toy.
And it wouldn’t be like it just comes out of the brush, it would move in slow motion, fluid like, unnaturally out of the unknown and into the known.
I originally just see something out there, but this time I thought it would be funny for Huggy Wuggy from Poppy Playtimeto creep out and eat our hard at work poet. Such a serious man to be killed by an unserious creature. How poetic.