As of yet untitled. If you have any ideas, let me know.

“Don’t you agree?”
I start. Where am I? Who are these people?
“Don’t you agree?” this time with emphasis as opposed to inquiry.
A fat woman in a paisley dress and obnoxious hat is turned toward me, her fork ready with a morsel of food and her bug-eyed face contorted indignantly.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I hazily reply.
“Don’t you think it is just awful how they get on about their business down there? It’s just simply dreadful! If it were my authority to do as such, I would send the better half of the Naval Fleet to wipe those savages off the face of the Earth!”
She pops the unsuspecting food into her mouth and raises her napkin to her chest, squeezing it between her flat palm and pudgy breasts in gesticulation.
I hadn’t the faintest clue what was being said and could not for the life of me take any interest in the bastards surrounding me. I must have been at the dinner party for over an hour before it dawns on me why I hate them so.
As I avoid eye contact with the self-important dinner guests, I quickly pick up my glass of wine and seek its bottom. Failing my initiative in favor of preserving some decency, I place my glass down to meet the gaze of a young girl sitting half a dozen seats laterally from me. She slowly looks away and attends to her plate. Next to her sits my stepbrother, Ash. He perches with his legs draping over one side of his chair, his coat tails over the other, and an arm slung over the back. He lights his cigarette on the flame of a table candle. He places the cigarette to his lips and engages in apathetic conversation, occasionally running his gloved hand through the jet-black hair plastered to his head.
When dining in Colonel Herschel’s home, it is commonplace that he is at the head of the table, slapping his knees and laughing heartily until his swollen face becomes red. Tonight, his seat is vacant, though a portrait of him leers from the wall behind it. He habitually spits and tugs on his snow-white muttonchops that extend from his disheveled and thinning hair when talking excitedly. Generally dressed in full military regalia, though retired from the service some thirty years, the Old Man has to have his original uniform periodically tailored to accommodate his ever-protruding stomach. He is renowned for extravagant parties and elaborate pranks and thrives on the squeamish reactions of his guests to the various oddities he exposes them to. The Colonel talks of an established governess fainting after he showed her a jar containing a Zulu warrior’s preserved private parts as if it were a favorite war story.
Needless to say, the Colonel did well for himself during periods of warfare and everything in between. Though his practices were never questioned, he did acquire a handsome fortune in the duration of his tour of duty. He adopted me when I was fifteen from the orphanage I had resided at since I could remember – the head nun loved to recount my appearance on their doorstep as a stark naked toddler. The Colonel gave me room and board and put me through university out of his own generous pocket. The Old Man had always promised to search for my biological parents, but swore to never mention the details of his quest until after I was reunited with them. That was seven years ago. I did not mind the stipulation. I concluded that if my parents were not dead and had yet to seek me out, they really had no interest in contacting me in the first place. If this were the case, I did not care to be in contact with them either.
The saving grace of the servants’ bell could not have come soon enough. We are ushered into the ballroom, where the opportunity to mingle amongst the wealthy presents itself in abundance. I secure a drink and duck out onto the balcony instead. The sun barely shines through the clouds as a sphere of negative space. The glazed horizon lies amongst endless fields of rolling green hills encompassed by thick forest. The musk of imminent rain saturates the air. The cool breeze lightly dishevels my hair. As I turn away from the balcony and look back in through the double doors, I realize how much more I want to be out here, away, than in there. Sure, it looks like everyone is having a grand time, but each one of them is a miserable wretch. I could tell. Pick a person at random and I can tell you who is having an affair with whom, who solicits prostitutes, who embezzles from their companies – being a fly on the wall has its benefits. They all reek of wearisome lies. Their lives are shells, merely existing for cheap endeavors of self-gratification. Every last one of them is worthless.
Shit, Ash spots me. Ashton Baltimore Herschel II never had to lift a goddamn finger all of his life. I hate him with a passion. Anything he could conjure up in his precious little imagination is served to him in a gold-plated charger as an endless staff of servants wipes his ass with silk. ‘More! More!’ he would chirp. And more he would get. All of this while simultaneously preaching the ‘benefits’ of living the simple life. He wouldn’t know the simple life if it bit him on the…
“Ash! How the hell are you?”
Did that really slip out of my mouth? Christ, I didn’t even have to think about it this time. His nose turns upward as his limp, greasy hand is offered and interlocked with mine.
“Oh, Hal, really, how lewd…nevertheless, your coarseness has always been a source of entertainment.”
He speaks from the side of his martini glass and the remainder of his face is perpetually frozen in nonchalant disinterest. His sharp eyebrows only flick the instance he thinks he’s gotten under your skin.
I grin as if to say, ‘I’ve got your coarseness right here, buddy,’ but then I speak.
“Doing well then, Ash?”
“I’m tremendous, thank you.”
A tremendous asshole, you mean. A tall, slender girl appears from behind his shoulder. It’s the one I exchanged glances with at dinner. Her eyes are almond and downcast. Auburn curls leak from either side of her hat and spill onto the petticoat of her long, flowing, brown dress, framing her china-doll-like face. Her lips are thin and painted red, her button-nose is powdered; her blue-tinted eyes are bright and complemented by black eyelashes. She’s beautiful – and timid. Ash’s women always were.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, this is my fiancé, Elaine. We met in Greece this past summer on holiday. I was yachting with father, as is tradition.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Ms.?”
“Arborley. Pleased to meet you.”
She doesn’t look me in the eye, but stares at the tip of my shoe when we shake hands. I try to apply only minimal pressure, fearing I’d break her delicate hand. She recovers and meekly attempts to mend the hole she has rent into conversation.
“Ash tells me you are a writer.”
“Yes, well, that’s what they say.”
“Don’t be modest, Hal, you’re a fine novelist, just fine,” Ashton The Putrid bubbles from his drink, “At any rate, you seem to know your audience well. The Groundlings must look up to you, one of their own infiltrating the other half’s lifestyle. What fun!”
Ash peers around the balcony from his glass and wanders off to smoke a cigarette over the side railing before I can bash his ****ing face in. Elaine pipes up. Her speech is breathy; her voice is high and sweet.
“I’ve read your books, you know.”
“Have you? Then I believe we’ve met already.”
I smile warmly at her and she grins back with an impeccable set of white teeth.
“Ash thinks them to be nonsense, but I’d just as soon read them behind his back than listen to his opinion.”
“Ash thinks a lot of things are nonsense,” I sigh.
“That’s true,” she consents, adding after a contemplative silence, “Isn’t it just breathtaking out here!”
Her eyes light up as she breaths in the fresh country air as deeply as her lungs are capable.
“I agree, I’ve always loved it out here, I don’t know why. It just feels so free.”
A flock of birds fly overhead in V-formation.
“I’m almost jealous of them, they must have an even better view than ours!”
“I know what you mean,” I state, sharing her observation.
Ash turns back to us and casually brushes the lapels of his jacket, projecting to us from his grooming session.
“Well, I wonder what all the fuss is about that the Old Man would drag us out to this dreadful place?”
Elaine rolls her eyes and thinks no one notices.
“He did just get back from one of his hunting excursions, of course he’ll want to show off,” I explain and turn to Elaine, mimicking Ash’s aristocratic accent, “as is tradition.”
Elaine does her best to suppress a giggle as a deadpan Ash takes her elbow to go inside. I follow behind closely as Ash exchanges angry words with his wife-to-be.
The Old Man’s ballroom, where we were all congregated, is as lavish and large as the codger himself. A large crystal chandelier hangs low from the ceiling; classic Romanesque artwork is carved all around. Persian-style carpeting and polished oak furniture cover every inch of the main floor. Opposite from our vantage point is a terrace; to the left are bars and smaller lounging areas. To the right, two staircases lead up to large mahogany doors marking the entrance to the Old Man’s private study.
I had been in his study only once. It was stuffy and laced with the oppressing odor of pipe tobacco. Large bookcases crawled up the walls of the circular room, broken only periodically by ominously barred windows. Above the deep cherry-colored, leather-inlayed chairs and dusty pieces of taxidermy hung panes of stained glass formerly of an old English church. Caught in the right light, a peculiar hue of blue splashed onto a portrait of the Old Man’s late wife, making her puffy face appear to be a large berry.
Ashton opens his mouth to undoubtedly say something ignorant and annoying just as the Colonel bursts into the ballroom from his study, two servants flanking him on either side. He is dressed as if he has just returned from safari, which is untrue, he had returned more than three weeks prior. His sandy desert hat and khaki shirt and pants are adorned with his military decorations. The white scarf protruding in the middle of his chest bears the red ribbon and copper medallion he received for being wounded in combat. A stray bullet had grazed the side of his armpit during a fierce campaign. He holds his hands upward from his outstretched, stout wingspan, and is met with a shower of applause from his dinner guests. The service men prepare various implements befitting the showcasing of a live animal. A thick black, cast-iron chain leading from a ring on the wall to a large shackle is laid meticulously at the Colonel’s feet.
“Thank you, thank you all. I suspect that most of you are curious as to why I have called you here. As you may or may not be aware, I recently returned from my fifth hunting party in the wild game preserves of Africa. Tonight, I would like to share with you my experiences.”
Elaine turns back to me and grins. I look down at her and raise my eyebrows, creasing my lips at the sides. Ash turns around and gives me a stern look before turning Elaine forward with a hand at the small of her back.
“There is a certain rarity I simply must share with all of you this evening,” The Colonel continues, “I came across this particular specimen in the early morning hours of our third day out. I can only assume it was scrounging outside the encampment for food scraps.”
The Colonel stands at the top of the stairs, not venturing beyond the first step to maintain an air of superiority over his guests. They look up at him like adoring children looking up to their father.
“German excavators first discovered this obscure animal in the latter half of the 18th century. It is a shape-shifting species of bird found in the expansive barren deserts of central Africa. The bird, in its natural state, has magnificent golden feathers but can imitate in appearance and vocal capacity any foreign species it is in contact with down to the minutest detail. Upon realizing its unique ability, the Germans fondly named it the ‘Goldener Wasser-Vogel,’ meaning, quite fittingly, ‘Golden Water-Bird.’ However, the Golden Wasser is not completely alien to our own native soil. Allegedly, some two decades ago, a young Wasser bird was brought back to the city from the Dark Continent in hopes of studying the species. The bird escaped from the local zoo and has never been seen or heard from since.”
The Colonel dramatically pauses and holds up his hand to hush the murmuring audience.
“That is, until now. It is my intention to use the specimen I have brought back to root out and retrieve the lost Wasser, if it has remained in the city and learned to live quietly amongst us as is speculated,” The Colonel presses on amidst loud applause, “Now, the Wasser can hold mimicry indefinitely until it feels it is being threatened. It is a nomadic and independent race widely feared for its short temper and explosive strength…but do not worry, ladies and gentlemen, everything is entirely under control.”
A broad smile crosses the face of The Colonel as the crowd buzzes excitedly.
“The specimen I have in my possession is a nineteen year-old female. We’ve been monitoring her diet, though her primary sustenance is unclear, and we are quite positive she is capable of flight. Without further ado, I will introduce you to her. But, first, I will need a volunteer. Ah, yes, Ms. Arborley.”
Elaine appears surprised, not having raised her hand, but in good humor hands off her glass to Ash and ascends the stairs, keeping her dress from being trampled under foot with one dainty hand. Colonel Herschel extends his fat fingers to help her up to the summit.
“Here we are, darling. Right, this is, as most if not all of you have come to know, Ms. Elaine Aborley, my son’s fiancé. Undoubtedly some of you have conversed with her and become acquainted with this delightful young lady. Gentlemen, if you will.”
The servants that traipsed in behind the Colonel now quickly restrain a defenseless Elaine and clamp the large shackle around her neck. They then proceed to strip her of her hat, petticoat, dress, and under garments, despite her horror and protests – leaving her to cover her nakedness with only her bare limbs. The audience writhes with discomfort.
“Don’t be frightened, everyone, nothing to fear,” The Colonel calls out.
I can feel my features contort in consternation and my grip increase twice fold inside of my sweaty fist. I move to wrangle the brutes from the innocent girl, but Ash puts out an arm to tell me to stay where I am. I turn to him as he looks on fixedly, a snide grin overcoming his lips as gorillas molest his future bride. He continues to drink his martini.
“Please hold still, dear,” the Colonel addresses Elaine before stating to the audience, “Ms. Elaine Arborley here is nothing more than a fabrication – an experiment that my son and I have been undertaking in the science of controlled animalistic behavior and programming. Especially in the case of the Golden Wasser bird, we’ve been able to manipulate the added element of subconscious imprinting. We have impressed upon her a completely convincing false identity, training her to believe herself to be one Ms. Arborley.”
Some of the men in the audience give a laugh or a holler, some of the women gasp in astonishment and whisper amongst themselves. The fat paisley woman faints, causing a man probably half her size to throw his scotch on the rocks in her face and vainly attempt to pull her up by her oversized arm. The rest look on in amusement.
“Please, somebody help me!” Elaine shouts.
“We released Elaine amongst you for the sake of illustrating the Wasser’s impeccable ability to adapt. As you can plainly observe, the specimen retains its façade flawlessly, perpetuating the illusion even under duress. She genuinely considers herself to be a person. Notice her skill is only matched by her beauty,” The Colonel admires.
I shove Ash to one side.
“I’ve had enough, release her!” I yell with conviction.
The Colonel appears surprised.
“Why, Hal, surely being an educated fellow you can appreciate the more fantastic side of the animal kingdom. Discovering and researching the unknown is only natural. After all…”
“You call this natural!? Have you all lost your minds!?” I squawk, turning to the awed audience, “This is a woman, a human woman, and you’re making a horrible spectacle of her! Her name is Elaine Arborley!”
“That is merely a false moniker, my dear boy. Elaine is the middle name of my beloved wife, and Arborley the surname of one of Ash’s primary school mistresses. As I recall, you had the same instructor yourself. Surely you remember.”
“She’s read my books!”
“Actually, friend,” Ash speaks from his glass, “That was my own little contribution of a joke. No one in their right mind would read your books.”
The crowd collectively bursts into laughter and applause. Ash raises his hands in triumph.
I storm to the top of the stairs and witness the tears streaming down Elaine’s angelic face. She reaches out to me.
“Hal, please…” she sobs.
“Let her go!” I demand, furious.
“I will not,” The Colonel states firmly, crossing his arms, “For sake of the safety of everyone in this room.”
“Oh, piss off, old man!” I snap.
My attempt to unshackle Elaine is met by one of the service men grabbing my wrist. I release the rage I’ve built up inside of me and lash out at him. My blow strikes him clear from the steps to the wall, cracking his head against the mahogany doors.
“Yes! There, you see…” The Colonel ejaculates, spitting and tugging at his facial hair, then adding softly, “Astounding.”
He points to my hand. I look down to find what I least expect: Golden feathers, as pure as thread spun from a fabled spinning wheel, protruding from my hand and forearm.
“Quite right. Time to act, boys!” The Colonel shouts.
One of the servants comes at me with a prod while the other gets up from the floor and splays out a net. I fly back over the audience, my arms now completely engulfed in gold, my hands disappearing into wings. Flight seems to come naturally as I hover above the crowd. My clothes have shred off my body and my shoes fall from large talons. My voice has become a shrill call.
The audience shrieks with delight or panic, I cannot tell, as I knock violently into the chandelier and spin clear of it to find Elaine unshackled. I let down my guard long enough for the injured servant to capture me. They hall me down to the floor and stick me with some sort of tranquilizer.
The crowd gathers around me. The Colonel, Ash, and a fully dressed Elaine stand over me as my vision becomes blurry.
“Yes, yes, sorry to put you all through that little inconvenience. Quite traumatizing I imagine? Yes, I saw you give a bit of a start there, Johnson, ho, ho!”
The crowd laughs in a reverberating tone.
“In the course of my research on my ward’s genealogy, I suffered various trials and tribulations, innumerable dead ends, to the point of severe frustration. After learning of the Wasser and its presence here in town, I decided to pursue the lead based entirely on the coincidence of dates. I pieced the matter together and as a result engineered this snare of a faux party, not exactly sure what would happen. As you can all see, the experiment is concluded, and I would dare say, all together successful!”
The crowd erupts in thunderous applause.
“And much thanks is due to our spirited, young actress – a woman of many fine talents – Ms. Elaine Arborley!”
The Colonel indicates to Elaine and the crowd increases their raucous applause and cheers. Elaine bows and wraps her arm around Ash’s waist. The Colonel adds over the loud audience:
“Soon to be Mrs. Ashton Herschel!”
Ash pecks Elaine on her blushing cheek. I slip into unconsciousness.
I awake to find myself in a large cage dangling from the top of the Old Man’s study. The sun is just setting and twilight streams through the bar windows, illuminating dust particles wafting like snow on an invisible breeze in the still room. My hands and feet are back to normal and my clothes, or what is left of them, are missing. I gaze down at the portrait of Lady Herschel, her blueberry countenance staring right back. A sweat seems to cover her face – the tiny shadows of raindrops gently collecting on the window outside. I sigh and glance out towards the gleaming jewel hovering just above an azure lake. Yes, I’m sure of it now – I’d much, much rather be out there, away, than in here.