Labaguette perches onto Mouton Blanc’s shoulder, looks into the creature’s eyes and smiles.  Mouton Blanc smiles back, revealing a sparkle of innocence blended with ignorance, believing that despite their differences, it, creature of some sort, prisoner, gaoler, monster, may have a friend for the first time in its long and almost never ending life and that all it takes is a mirror.

“Take a good look at yourself,” Labaguette says, “and tell me what you see.”

Mouton Blanc holds the mirror and looks at his face, observing, unflappable: there might be beauty in his features and he knows beauty when he sees it.  Then, he looks back deep into Labaguette’s eyes, imploringly, with an impending and contained sob resisting its unavoidable exit, tears welling.  There are no words, no sounds Mouton Blanc can muster to describe what he has just seen.  Hot fat tears roll down his cheeks.

A mere slight pang of guilt grabs Labaguette.  Still, this is the moment he’d been waiting for all along:

“I’m sorry, you’ll never be as famous as you’d hoped.  You can’t draw.  Admit it.”

“Why?” Mouton Blanc asks, “Why?”

“Because I’m going to be famous, you dumb, silly creature.  I’m special, I’ve been chosen.  No one ever got anywhere without a mother, proper drawing lessons and an ugly face.  You’ve no real sense of your place in this world.  Satisfied?”

“Labaguette,” Mouton Blanc pleads, “I thought…”

But the parrot’s insistent stare into the creatures eyes which are filled with an innocent expression, like that of a child who can’t understand a cruel, cruel world of some kind, interrupts any of its thoughts.

Labaguette realises for a quarter of a second that maybe, maybe only, he’s been a little over handed, a little trivial.  That’s life, he thinks finally, that’s life and life can be cruel, so what?

To be continued…


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