Sticky Situations

The world's fastest weapon, once again rendered completely useless. I tug gently, and then a little harder, but I already know it won’t work. Surprisingly, it’s not the first time, and I’m positive it won’t be the last. Creeping forward along my branch, I wind it back in, hoping as I get closer to the tangle I’ll be able to work it free. The cricket I was aiming for hops merrily beneath me, scampering away free while I try to dislodge.

Stupid cricket. Why couldn’t he just stay still?

As I meander forward, I trail the ground for something new. Something Still. Something a little less restless. All the while I’m watching the sky. That bird is back. He’s been hounding me for days, waiting for the right opportunity to zip down and carry me away. Let him try, while my tongue is all tied up in knots. He’ll probably just slingshot himself back down to earth, and then he’ll be gone for good.

But the fool hovers closer. Circling now. He’s floated down, ready to dive in for the kill. I can’t help my skin from transforming, shades of black stretching from the tip of my tail to the edge of my lips. Still, my useless tongue won’t come back. I pinch the branch between my digits and keep propelling forward. So close. Almost there.

Whoosh. I feel the air shift as the beast swoops toward me. What choices do I have? If I let myself drop to the ground, he might think I’ve died. But with my tongue still stuck, I’d only swing like a pendulum from the branches, a delicious target game for hungry attackers. Keep moving. Pinch, pull. Pinch, pull. Painstakingly slow, but the most I can manage. As the bird comes closer, a hiss escapes my throat. Ha! Fear me, infernal beast! Hear my wrath. Only hissing with my tongue tied around a branch isn’t nearly as impressive as hoped.

I puff up instead, to gain at least some sense of intimidating force, but it’s no use. One beady eye focuses on my sticky predicament, and then snip. All I feel is pain. It takes over everything until all that’s left is suffering. Surely I lie here dying. Take me already, you monster! I want to shout, but my tongue… is back inside my mouth.

A soft flutter of white beside me. Dancing along the tips of grass. Teasing me for being so weak. I’ll show him. Slap. Slurp. Swallow. Ah, it still works, though it definitely still hurts. The bird caws a humiliating laugh. They all do; all the things that creep around me know that I’m a joke. The chameleon who can’t control his tongue. What a laughingstock.

I wasn’t always this way, of course. I used to have the fastest whip in town. Step into my vision, and there’d be no chance of survival. There were myths about my abilities—legends. Well, maybe I exaggerate. The ability was there before, until that one fateful day, so long ago now. I’d come across a delicious buffet, all laid out and waiting for me to devour it. They didn’t stand a chance. In retrospect, that probably should have been a sign.

They barely even tried to get away. All kinds of delicacies, too—crispy crickets, sweet, crunchy flies. I knew it was tempting fate; they were in the man’s world. The lush span of green with no trees, no branches, no sweet little hiding spots. Just perfectly even brilliant grass for miles. I knew better, of course, we all do, but I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fill my belly.

The man likes insects dead too; dead on the ground. Perhaps he’s never slurped a squiggling worm, or he’d understand the desire. Either way, he has a mist that devours everything in its path. I was so tempted, so foolish. So hungry. I snapped up two, three, four of the insects before the thought even occurred to me they were already dying.

Within minutes, I knew I must be dying too. Barely able to keep myself upright upon my branch, my tail twitched, and my eyes refused to focus. I didn’t eat again for days. My stomach roiled with hunger, sickness and fear. My skin was blacker than death itself. I became easy prey, but even the birds knew I was a marked creature, if only I’d had that same instinct.

As the side-effects of my toxic brunch subsided, I regained control of my sight and senses. But my tongue was never the same. Perhaps it would never be again. Only time would tell, and I’d only have the time if I didn’t fall victim to a hungry beast, myself. The thought brought me back to the events at hand. The bird didn’t eat me. I swiveled an eye to focus on his flight, still hacking away in laughter high above me.

“What’s your problem then?” I ask. He lowers himself to the branch a few feet above my head—the one I’ve just taken a dive from only moments ago—and cocks his shiny black beak to the side.

“I won’t eat you.”

“Then leave already; why keep stalking me?” Isn’t it enough that I have to suffer, without being mocked as well?

“I saved you, you little twit. You can’t protect yourself out here, and I’d rather miss watching your tongue twisting escapades if you were gone.”

Those beady eyes bored into my soul, watching, waiting, hungry for my fear. Or maybe just a bit curious. “Well, okay then. I guess thank you?”

“You need to keep more safe. Hunt low to the ground, less to get all tied up around. Do you need me to catch you some things? I’m sure I could drop them right inside your mouth if you hold still enough?”

The mere idea has me bristling. Or rather, turning brown with disgust. I’m a hunter. A warrior. I don’t need to be fed like a helpless hatchling. The crow caws again, a grating laughter. He’s loving this.

“I don’t need your help, thanks. I can absolutely manage on my own.” I’ve already begun to turn, to slowly make my way up the tree, when I swivel my eye back toward him. “But, you know,” I add in a soft voice, “please feel free to hang around to…unstick me from time to time.”

I may not appreciate the jeering now, but who knows when I’ll need a hand, or a beak, again?