I never really felt like I fit in with my family. I know that we were unusual, even as a group, but they were all mammals. I depended on them for warmth, while they could each provide their own. At picnics, Mom always picked Fenrir for the relay, and Hel for the three legged race. I just lay in the grass on the sideline. And, perhaps most distrublingly of all, I rarely-to-never see people like myself represented in films and on television. Sure, there’s the occasional runt, like Nagini, but no one as talented, outstanding, and encompassing as myself. It leaves me feeling like a freak: alone in a lonely world.
When I was just a baby, my mother wrapped me around her arm and took me everywhere. If there was any concern about adult subject matter, or other restrictions, she just dropped me into her bra where I’d lay still and quiet; we were always together. But, once I outgrew her cupsize‚ Mom lost interest. She had chickens to feed Fenrir, and decorating choices with Hel.
I learned to read and, well, speak—which was, I have to note, a real accomplishment given my biology—when I was just a wee serpent. It’s true that I never took on writing. Where was I supposed to put the pen?!
But, I learned history, psychology, and even mathematics: again, seriously hard. You have no idea how much easier addition is with fingers to count on. I applied myself to sports, joining the baseball team where, when not sitting under the bench, I was honoured with a brand new position: Terrorizer. I played both offence and defence. I would wait patiently just past third base and rear up, hissing, if anyone from the other team got close to third or home. I got more ‘Out’s then the rest of the team combined… but I still wasn‘t invited to the birthday parties.
And then there was the growth spurt, or the growth tidal wave, as Uncle Óðinn called it. Suddenly I was expected to mature quickly just because my body did. And it was quick. Too quick, it seemed, for some. It wasn’t long until the Æsir were at the door demanding my … what? relocation? distraction? Other kids got Teddy Bears during their awkward phases. I got a planet.
But it wasn’t just my size. I had to face it: there was no world in which I was not going to be perceived as a problem. The middle child of the trickster and the witch is not an ideal location for a well-behaved rule-abider. But that didn‘t stop me from trying.
I always got up on my own, though making the bed was a joke; I slept in a puddle. But I went to school on time, everyday, for as long as they let me. During the tidal wave, I applied for jobs, but soon I was bigger than the community. Then I just sort of gave up. At first, it was just Fenrir who didn’t want me around. He was busy being cool with Tyr. But then no one wanted me nearby. I kept knocking houses over. It’s tough being exponentially larger than the combined animal life on the planet.
But Uncle Óðinn had an idea, like he always does. It seems like no one notices that most of his ideas involve death and imprisonment. I mean, it makes sense; he’s the lord of death who feels imprisoned by his other roles. I don’t think he’s trying to be cruel. But, still… maybe we could put someone else’s ideas into action sometimes. Even dad’s are usually gentler, and that’s not saying much. But no one else wants to step up—probably because they see what happens to Uncle Óðinn and Dad.
Anyway, Uncle Óðinn thought I should be put in charge of holding the planet together. Yes, that was his idea. The planet had been holding itself together for a long time. But now, he thought, or maybe he saw with his blind eye, that it needed some cuddling to keep it content. At first, this idea seemed as terrible as it is at first glance. But then I saw its brilliance.
If I was at the bottom of the ocean, holding the Earth together, then I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore. In a way, I’d be touching everyone and everything, because they were on the planet I was holding! Sure, they wouldn’t really chat to me, like I used to think I wanted. But they never did when I was on the surface either. All anyone ever said was “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” when I got within a mile of them. At least this way, I could cuddle up to them in a way they’d never even notice.
I tell myself that I’m not lonely anymore, that I’m not being rejected; I’m being appreciated, cuddled: unconsciously, at a distance. And I’ll keep on telling myself that, until the day I don’t.