“ROOOOOAAAAAAAAR! I am the Potential Iguanodon!” said the Potential Iguanodon to the Onion. Such was his usual form of introduction. “Hey, Onion, I wrote another short story. Wanna read it?” This was not a so much question as it was an order.
The Onion, rightly sceptical based on the Iguanodon’s previous attempts, made a point of ignoring this. “What’s it about?”
“You’ll find out,” the Iguanodon persisted, so that the Onion was obliged to take the still-warm sheet of printer paper. The story went as follows:
“A pane of glass separates me from Them. It’s probably not enough to hold Them for long. Glass is like the heart; eventually, it will be broken. Trying hard to ignore my reflection – each time our eyes meet, I feel it judging me – I perceive in the dark of night a shape moving. A monster. Slinking along the garden path to get me, mumbling incomprehensibly to itself all the way. Cold-hearted with fear, I flick the switch for the outdoor lights. “Darn it!” I hear the monster shout, and then, remembering its status as a monster, a torrent of language inadvisable for anyone – of this world or otherwise. Noticing the rate at which it is decomposing in the light, the monster makes a hasty getaway. I will leave the lights on, I think, but watch in silent horror as the bulbs flicker and die, one by one, and the darkness outside brings back my reflection. “Darn it,” I whisper, restraining my more monster-like tendencies. My heart is a block of ice in my chest, able only to smash or melt away completely as more shapes pile into the garden. Perhaps time will stop if I grow colder and colder, freeze up through and through. It’s a case of sinking into my own darkness or theirs. The glass breaks, and so do I.”
The Onion carefully lowered the sheet to see the Iguanodon’s big toothy grin. “So, whaddaya think? Is it good? Deep, ain’t it?” The Onion had to admit, the quality of writing had improved since the days of “Tom And His Big Elephant That Wants To Be A Pilot But Couldn’t Because It’s Is Big And Was Heavy,” but still…
“There’s one thing I’ll never understand,” the Onion explained. “People like being depressed. They have this strange idea that depressing things are profound and that profound things must be, by nature, depressing. They think that, if you look hard enough, you’ll always end up sad. They think that naivety is being happy, and being happy is naive. That attitude is just lazy. It’s the easy way of getting through life. Don’t achieve anything, don’t strive for the good things in life. Just wave them away, saying they’re superficial and untrue.” She sighed deeply. “People want to be happy, right? You’ve got to look past all the sad things. Learn from them, but don’t let them crowd your vision. You have to actually try, to learn how to really see. Maybe it’s just easier for me, being an Onion.” She looked right at the Iguanodon and his beady eyes. “Let me tell you something deeply personal. When I’m older, I want to have lots of wrinkles. Deep ones, smile lines on either side of my mouth. Until then, I’ve just got to keep on smiling. I’ll be able to point to each one and say “This is from the time I saw a dog in a car smile at me,” and “This is from the time we saw that film and couldn’t stop laughing for hours,” and “This is from the time we walked through that restaurant dressed as pirates.” I’ll be able to point to each one and say “These make a life worth living.””
The Potential Iguanodon was stunned. “So… Does that mean you don’t like it?”
The Onion laughed, not at him, or with him, but for him. “You’ve got potential, I’ll tell you that. But for the moment, put those big teeth of yours to use and give me a smile.”
The Iguanodon did. “Onion? I want to have wrinkles too.”
“We’ll have wrinkles together.”
Quite forgetting about glass and monsters and the night, they both started laughing. “Whoa,” said the Iguanodon. “The sky sure is huge.”
“Yeah,” said the Onion. “I bet that if we tried hard enough, we could fall right into it.”
