Posted in Creative Writing



There was a party once. It started fashionably late. Very glamourous people gathered at an ordinary house and ate pizza. They spoke plainly about the lives of common people and unless you knew to look, you would think they were dressed as everyone did in those days. They got away with their charade for a long time; until one day they turned into peacocks. They were all male birds.

A burst of energy shot through the room. A picture fell off the wall, its glass frame crumbling on the carpet. Someone rushed to clean it up. Guests covered their mouths with their napkins. Women fell off their high heels. Two toddlers crashed into one another.

They had all turned into bright blue peacocks. Some fanned their tails right away; others slumped their long necks down to the ground, ashamed of their transformation. The brave tried to fly home across the backyard swimming pool.

As a group, they moved to the arboretum in Arcadia where they continue to wander. You will see them around the area, stomping on front lawns, still thinking themselves more special than the people who live there. They will even stop traffic in various attempts to get someone to notice their predicament, anyone who might be able to reverse the spell. But who would believe a wild peacock’s story?


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