Donkey boy, that’s what they call me, but that’s because of my father. There was a story going around that never seemed to fade, like a label that someone is tarred with that ya just can’t shake.
The community never forgets when something strange happens that they can’t “explain”. The unexplainable is accepted if it ends in a prison sentence or the culprit leaving, but when they come back and stay. When they build a life with the air of abnormality hanging around like a bad smell, the sideways looks never really go.
My father was adopted and was real shy. Real wooden ya know. For years his father Geppetto controlled him like a puppet. When he was at school or running errands he’d imagine his father standing over him telling him what to do.
But my dad grew up, got friends. Bad friends. There was this drug, a real viral mixture of super strength psilocybin, mainlined into the cells, piggybacked on Equus africanus asinus DNA. It was a real rush apparently, full circus experience, swallowed by a whale, the whole trip.
It went down just out of town. My father and his friends went missing for days and owed their dealer big time – a particularly nasty bio-engineer called Borlaug. They stole to pay their debt and then had the decency to leave town. The parents made up stories to cover their kids crimes, unexplained, mass kidnapping, someone do something – think of the children, but my father…
After the stuff wore off he woke up in his bed, hair all over the place, real coarse gnarly hair. He rolled about on the bed for hours, sore bones and skin with a real ass of a headache. When he finally got out of bed, he looked in the mirror, then splashed water over his face and went about his day.
For years he got the blame you know what happened they said. Geppetto shut em all up. His vicious streak lashing out where needed. Things simmered down and my father got job at a mill, kept his head down and became a real member of society. One day the DNA kicked in and he sprouted fur, then ears, then a tail.
He passed that DNA down, now here I am – turning 18 and my ears are just a little too hairy for their own good.