Wild Stories

by Colin Thompson

  ‘And keep away from the roses until you’re grown up,’ she added. ‘They’re much too strong for a young lad like you.’

  The sun climbed above the house, sending its clear light through the branches above the pond. The air grew warmer and one by one Sid’s sisters all flew off to bite things. While his mother went down to the shops to bite a greengrocer, Sid kicked his feet in the earth and sulked under a nettle all morning. There was no way he was going to put his head inside a flower and that was final. He was going to bite a human, or at least the dog. He would even settle for a small mouse but certainly not a dandelion.

  The morning became the afternoon and Sid grew hungrier and hungrier. As his sisters came and went with tales of blood they had drunk from policemen’s necks and sparrows’ knees, Sid listened to his tummy rumble until at last he could stand it no longer.

  As soon as no one was looking, he flew off to the house next door to bite a baby.

  Noises and new smells floated out of the open windows. There were humans inside, laughing and talking and eating. Sid landed on the window sill and looked at their bare arms. There was a big pink juicy baby sitting on the floor sucking a sock. Sid was about to fly down to it when he noticed one of his three hundred and five sisters sitting on someone’s ear. As he watched, a hand flashed through the air and squashed her. Sid turned and fled.

  In the garden the dog snored gently under a deckchair and Sid decided it would be safer to start with him. He landed on the grass, tiptoed across to the sleeping animal, shut his eyes and pounced.

  The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air with a sore nose and tears streaming from his eyes.

  ‘Get out of it,’ growled an angry voice in the dog’s fur.

  ‘Yeah,’ said another, ‘or we’ll pull your wings off.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said a third.

  Sid sat up and shook his head. Something dark and horrible leapt out of the dog and landed in front of him. It was an angry flea with a mean look in its eye.

  ‘Listen sonny,’ it said, ‘that’s our dog that is, so watch it. You just push off back to the buttercups where you belong.’

  ‘Yeah, push off,’ the third flea said again from somewhere behind the dog’s left ear.

  Sid crept off into the quiet heart of a big red rose bush and hid behind a sharp thorn. He could hear the fleas all laughing but after a while the dog got up and wandered off and it was peaceful again. His nose was still very sore and he really was very hungry by then so, forgetting his mother’s advice, he stuck his tongue into the middle of a big red rose.

  His mouth was filled with a million wonderful tastes. The pollen tasted like strawberry jam, caramel pudding and black cherry ice cream all rolled into one. As he wriggled his tongue around he picked up the nectar which was even more wonderful, like thick chocolate sauce and crème eggs floating in condensed milk. Of course, Sid was only a little mosquito and had never heard of chocolate or all the other delicious things. All he knew was that what he was eating was totally amazingly completely fantastic and he was feeling sick.

  In no time at all, he was so full up he couldn’t fly. He staggered around in the grass with a silly grin on his face and finally bumped into his mother.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ he mumbled and fell flat on his back. He lay there waving his legs in the air and singing a little song.

  ‘Sidney, you’ve been in the rose bush, haven’t you?’ said his mother, pretending to be cross.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ he said again.

  ‘And what’s happened to your nose? Have you been fighting?’

  ‘Big flea bashed me,’ said Sid and fell fast asleep. Soon he was far away in the land of dreams where huge roses grew as big as flying saucers. The air was filled with raindrops only they weren’t raindrops, they were drops of nectar.

  Sid dreamt he was floating down a river of nectar in a little boat made of a rose petal. He passed a raft of grass that was sinking fast and the three nasty fleas on board couldn’t swim. They cried out for him to save them but he just poked his tongue out at them and sailed by.

  On the riverbanks, children with big soft pink arms begged him to come and bite them as he passed, but he couldn’t stop because he was on his way to a special appointment. He dreamt that the Queen of England herself had sent him a telegram requesting his presence at Buckingham Palace where he was to bite Her Majesty’s left ear, and for pudding he was to have a go at all the royal corgis.

  When Sid woke up, it really was raining. His mother had bitten off a piece of grass and covered him with it so only his feet sticking out of the bottom were getting wet. Like all insects everywhere he climbed up under a leaf to keep dry and sat next to an old spider, waiting for the rain to pass. The spider kept complaining that when she was a girl it was always nice and sunny and never rained at all.

  By the time the sky was clear again, evening was falling and Sid’s sisters began to come home. Some flew in alone, some came in twos or threes and other arrived in groups.

  Twenty-seven of the sisters hadn’t come back yet as they were biting people at a barbecue in next door’s garden. Fourteen had been squashed, twelve had discovered too late what it is that swallows swallow and one had got stuck to some sticky tape on a parcel and was on her way to Australia.

  Young lady mosquitos are horrible things. They bite anything they can get their nasty teeth into. They bite sleeping babies, happy budgerigars and even princesses. And when there’s nothing else to bite they bite each other. Sid sat quietly in the corner and listened as the girls sat around telling amazing stories.

  ‘I bit the postman three times,’ said one.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said one called Sharon. ‘I flew right into a bathroom and bit an enormous lady with no clothes on seven times and I tripped over the soap and bruised three of my knees really badly.’

  ‘Well, that’s nothing at all,’ boasted a third sister. ‘I flew into an aeroplane, went all the way to America and back and bit twenty-three first-class passengers.’

  ‘You’re all dead soft, you are,’ said the stupidest sister. ‘I’m so tough I jumped up and down inside the prickliest thistle in the whole world and bit myself twenty-seven million million times.’

  They went on for hours boasting away to each other, each sister trying to be braver and cleverer than the others. Sid listened wide-eyed to their stories. He was an honest little insect and didn’t realise they were making them all up. Even when one said she had been to the moon in a spaceship, he believed her.

  ‘And what have you been doing?’ they asked Sid. As well as biting everything, young lady mosquitos are very rude to everyone, have dreadful bad breath and lots of spots. Young boy mosquitos on the other hand, because they only eat nectar and pollen, are kind and well behaved and have perfect skin.

  ‘Have you been fighting a ferocious buttercup?’ laughed the girls.

  ‘You leave young Sid alone,’ said his mother. ‘He’s had more adventures today than any of you.’

  ‘Ooh, ooh,’ sneered the sisters. ‘Did you get slapped by a daisy?’

  ‘He got hit on the nose by some vicious fleas and doesn’t want any trouble from you lot.’

  ‘Fleas, fleas. We hate fleas,’ shouted the girls and they all flew off to fight them, except Sharon who stayed behind to rub a dock leaf on her sore knees.

  The next morning was perfect. A little cloud of soft mist hung above the pond as the sunshine crept over the trees. Birds stretched their wings and filled the air with a hundred new songs. The dragonflies flashed across the water while butterflies unfolded themselves and flew off across the nettles where busy ladybirds scuttled about. All down the little street the houses were quiet except for the clinking sound of milk bottles.

  Sid sat on a twig breathing the damp sweet air. One by one his nasty sisters staggered out from under their leaves. They wandered about swearing a lo
t. They swore at the birds for being too noisy. They swore at the sunshine for being too bright. They swore at the butterflies for being too beautiful and they swore at the humans for still being in bed when they wanted to bite them. Most of all though, they swore at each other for being mosquitos.

  Eventually they all flew off and the pond was peaceful again. Sid flew deep inside an enormous waterlily. It was like being in a great big white tent. He shared his breakfast with a couple of wasps and a family of small brown beetles. One of the wasps was called Arnold and was about the same age as Sid.

  Sid tried to tell Arnold about not being able to bite people but the wasp’s ears were completely filled up with pollen and he couldn’t hear him. Sid tried shouting.

  ‘There’s no need to shout,’ said Arnold.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What did you say?’ said Arnold.

  ‘Nothing,’ muttered Sid and flew back to his twig. Nobody seemed to be interested in a little mosquito’s problems. It wasn’t that he didn’t like pollen: it was very nice. And it wasn’t that he wanted to be off with his sisters biting people all day long. All he wanted was one little bite, just to prove he could do it. That was all.

  He decided to try again and set off towards the house next door. The curtains and windows were all open now. The people were cooking their breakfast and the cat was chasing birds round the edge of the lawn. As Sid sat on the kitchen window sill, Arnold shot past and dived head first into a jar of marmalade.

  Sid flew upstairs and into a bedroom. Inside, a small boy was getting dressed. Sid landed on his neck and tried to bite him. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and pushed and shoved and clenched his fists. His ears began to ache and he went bright red in the face but all he could do was dribble.

  The little boy went down to the kitchen and Sid sat on the bedside table and cried.

  At first there were so many tears in his eyes that he didn’t notice the little man standing next to him. Then as his tears grew less he saw him. He had his back to Sid and didn’t seem to have any clothes on. Sid tiptoed over and tried to bite him on the shoulder. To his amazement, his tiny teeth went right into the man and his mouth was filled with sugar.

  Sid jumped for joy. Then he noticed the others. There was a whole crowd of them hiding in a box. They didn’t seem to notice him at all so he went and bit every one of them. It was like sticking his head in the rose. He felt all happy and giddy. He had done it! He had actually bitten someone.

  A bit later on the little boy came back and got the box of jelly babies, but by then Sid was back at the pond telling everyone about his adventure.

  Three Sparrows

  It was a beautiful hot summer’s day and in the cluttered branches of an old apple tree three sparrows were sitting on a twig looking at a baby bird. It was a big fat creature with spiky little wings poking out of its fuzzy baby feathers. It sat hunched up in a tiny nest with a mean look in its eye.

  ‘He’s a big boy, your Andrew,’ said Gladys, the first sparrow.

  ‘Absolutely enormous,’ said Mavis, his proud mother.

  ‘In fact, he’s twice as big as you.’

  ‘Lovely, isn’t he?’ beamed Mavis. ‘Who’s Mummy’s lovely boy, then?’

  ‘He’s very big for his size,’ said Doris, the third sparrow.

  ‘Shut up, Doris,’ said Gladys.

  ‘He must eat a lot,’ she said.

  ‘Eat? Eat? I’ll say he eats. Never stops,’ said Mavis. ‘I don’t get a minute’s rest.’

  ‘And the other children?’ asked Gladys. ‘Get on all right with him, do they?’

  ‘Other children?’

  ‘Well, you had five, didn’t you?’

  ‘You know, I’d forgotten all about the others,’ said Mavis. ‘I wonder where they’ve got to?’

  ‘Probably squashed flat under your precious baby,’ muttered Doris.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, he’s very fat,’ said Doris.

  ‘No he’s not,’ snapped Mavis. ‘He’s big-boned.’

  The young bird opened his beak and let out such a great squawk that the three sparrows fell off the branch. Instinctively Mavis dived into the bushes and came out a few seconds later with a big fat worm.

  ‘I do wish he wouldn’t grab his food like that,’ said Mavis, pulling her head out of Andrew’s gigantic mouth.

  ‘He’ll swallow you if you’re not careful,’ said Gladys.

  ‘He seems a bit simple to me,’ said Doris.

  ‘Well, you should know,’ snapped Gladys.

  ‘He’s a lovely boy,’ said Mavis, hopping along the twig. ‘Who’s Mummy’s little beauty, then?’

  ‘Cuckoo,’ said Andrew.

  Ted the Flea

  There are some people who think they are better than others because they talk differently or live in an expensive house. Because they’ve got a bigger car or more money, they look down on everyone else. It’s just the same with fleas. Fleas who live on smart dogs think they are superior to fleas that live on cats. Fleas that live on rabbits think they are better than fleas that live on hedgehogs. And fleas that live on humans think they are the greatest fleas in the world.

  Ted was the humblest flea of all, for he lived on a rat. It wasn’t even a young bright-eyed rat but a wheezing old creature with two yellow teeth and only one ear that lived alone in a rusty tin down a drain.

  ‘You don’t know when you’re well off,’ said Ted’s mother. ‘There are fleas in China who would give their eye teeth to live in such luxury.’

  ‘No, there aren’t,’ said Ted.

  ‘I’ll no-there-aren’t you in a minute, my boy,’ snapped his mother.

  ‘Ungrateful, that’s what he is,’ cursed his granny. ‘When I was his age, I er, I er,’ stuttered the old flea, unable to remember.

  ‘What?’ said Ted. ‘When you were my age, what?’

  ‘Er, well, when I was your age,’ spluttered his granny, ‘I was younger.’

  ‘Shut up and drink your blood,’ said Ted’s mother.

  ‘It’s horrible,’ said Ted. ‘It tastes of dirty washing-up water and mouldy bacon.’ ‘Ungrateful, that’s what he is,’ muttered his granny again. ‘Children these days don’t know when they’re well off. When I was his age we had to live on slug dribble and glad we were to get it.’

  ‘Yes, and ant sick,’ said Ted’s mother.

  ‘Ah, the good old days,’ said Ted’s granny with a faraway look in her eyes.

  ‘But I’m a vegetarian,’ protested Ted.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ snapped his mother.

  That night Ted crept off to bed in the rat’s scabby ear feeling very sorry for himself. He fell asleep shivering under three greasy hairs in a quilt of green wax and dreamt of a better life. Up above in the outside world it was raining. Thundering water poured down the drain, splashing into the tin as it passed, and the old rat twitched and coughed in its sleep. All night long it rained, but asleep in the rat’s only ear Ted dreamt of summer fields and the sunshine that he’d never seen. While the rest of his disgusting family snored between the rat’s toes, he was far away in a magical land.

  The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky. It shone down on a field of bright red poppies and gentle grass. In the field, fluffy lambs jumped and played and deep in the wool of the prettiest lamb of all, Ted lay back as a beautiful lady flea fed him on strawberry juice.

  ‘I was offered the chance to live in a queen’s armpit,’ whispered the beautiful flea in a soft French accent. ‘But I turned it down so I could stay with you.’

  ‘Oh,’ sighed Ted.

  ‘Oh,’ sighed the pretty French flea.

  ‘Oh, you bone idle little scruffbag,’ shouted a voice, knocking him out of bed.

  Ted’s ears were still ringing an hour later from the whack his mother had given him. He sat sniffling on t
he rat’s last remaining whisker and looked out at the wet drain. The rest of his family were having breakfast in the rat’s navel but Ted just didn’t feel hungry.

  There must be more to life than this, he thought to himself.

  Suddenly, there was a scratching noise from further down the drain and a soaking mouse came scrabbling up the brickwork. Ted saw his chance and as the mouse drew level with the tin, he sprang on to its back and held on tight as the animal climbed out into the garden and the bright spring sunshine.

  ‘Hello,’ he called quietly as he explored the mouse’s fur. ‘Anyone at home?’ But there wasn’t. He searched from the end of the mouse’s tail to the tip of its nose, but there were no other fleas on board. He had the whole creature to himself.

  All morning Ted sat on the mouse’s head as it bustled around the flower beds eating seeds. There was so much to take in, so many amazing things that he’d never seen before: the grass, the trees and the wonderful sunshine.

  For the first time in his life he felt warm and happy. Birds, whose voices he had only heard as distant echoes at the top of the drain, flew in and out of the bushes singing to each other. There were butterflies, red roses, and golden dandelions, and across the lawn a big black cat that came nearer and nearer, tiptoeing towards them without a sound. It shone like polish and its sharp white teeth grew brighter and brighter and larger and larger until they suddenly disappeared into the mouse’s fur with a snap that threw Ted high into the air.

  Over and over he rolled, until he came crashing down into a world of total darkness in the cat’s fur.

  ‘Do you mind?’ said a superior voice.

  ‘Really, some people,’ said another.

  Gradually Ted’s eyes grew used to the dark and in front of him he could see the owners of the voices. They were fleas, but quite unlike the fleas he had grown up with. They were fat and shiny, not dull and skinny like Ted’s family.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘I’m Ted.’

  ‘Well, Ted,’ said the largest flea, looking down her nose at him. ‘You can’t stay here.’