The strangest thing about it was how strange they all made it seem.
They were long and white, her claws. Strong like whale bones, fragile like a spider’s silk. Each one ended in a razor point, ten knives where fingers should be, they said. The girl was practised with her claws. She could shake a hand without drawing blood, hug a friend without ripping flesh. The claws were almost strangely inconspicuous.
Those who knew the girl best almost didn’t notice they were there. Those who saw her in passing noticed, but most kept it to themselves. No one had warned them about the girl. She had no danger signs, telling all to keep away. So the girl slipped through the sea of strangers, blending in like a well-disguised polar bear in a forest of honey-eating black bears. She was happy that way. But once in a while, the girl had to make herself known. The claws could become an inconvenience, if not a liability. They were stiff like a skeleton, curved like a rainbow. They made it difficult to hold a pencil, tie a shoe. The girl hated this. Normal enough to sing in the chorus, but never to have a solo. Normal enough to run the marathon, but never enough to win. Normal enough to swim the sea of strangers she loved to join, but only until her shoelace came untied, or she needed to hold a pencil, or a hammer. In between ordinary and extraordinary.
Sometimes she wanted to scream, “Doesn’t anybody notice? Doesn’t anybody see?” Sometimes she wanted them to ask about the claws so she could rip something – with her words or her hands. But she didn’t.
When people did notice her, they asked the strangest questions. The strangest thing about it was how strange they all made it seem.
“How did it happen?” they might ask, but the girl was smart enough to know that they never wanted the answer, only the freedom of the asking. They might ask if she needed help, when she wanted the responsibility, the invisibility of struggling alone. They might ask why she had claws, and not wings. She never pointed out that they didn’t have wings, either.
Her claws were magical like rain, and beautiful like stars. But the strangest thing about it was how strange they all made it seem.
They were long and white, her claws. Strong like whale bones, fragile like a spider’s silk. Each one ended in a razor point, ten knives where fingers should be, they said. The girl was practised with her claws. She could shake a hand without drawing blood, hug a friend without ripping flesh. The claws were almost strangely inconspicuous.
Those who knew the girl best almost didn’t notice they were there. Those who saw her in passing noticed, but most kept it to themselves. No one had warned them about the girl. She had no danger signs, telling all to keep away. So the girl slipped through the sea of strangers, blending in like a well-disguised polar bear in a forest of honey-eating black bears. She was happy that way. But once in a while, the girl had to make herself known. The claws could become an inconvenience, if not a liability. They were stiff like a skeleton, curved like a rainbow. They made it difficult to hold a pencil, tie a shoe. The girl hated this. Normal enough to sing in the chorus, but never to have a solo. Normal enough to run the marathon, but never enough to win. Normal enough to swim the sea of strangers she loved to join, but only until her shoelace came untied, or she needed to hold a pencil, or a hammer. In between ordinary and extraordinary.
Sometimes she wanted to scream, “Doesn’t anybody notice? Doesn’t anybody see?” Sometimes she wanted them to ask about the claws so she could rip something – with her words or her hands. But she didn’t.
When people did notice her, they asked the strangest questions. The strangest thing about it was how strange they all made it seem.
“How did it happen?” they might ask, but the girl was smart enough to know that they never wanted the answer, only the freedom of the asking. They might ask if she needed help, when she wanted the responsibility, the invisibility of struggling alone. They might ask why she had claws, and not wings. She never pointed out that they didn’t have wings, either.
Her claws were magical like rain, and beautiful like stars. But the strangest thing about it was how strange they all made it seem.
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Aug 13, 2021
Dogpoet, I love this strange and magical story, the world you create for this girl and her long, white claws, her inner and outer selves, the empathy you show. Marvelous tale!