Here, in almost-eastern Europe, everything seems surprising.
A spider bigger than a fingernail, an animal older than a human, tolerance, a human wiser than a God.
The moderate climate isn’t limited to the weather, because every tiny element of our lives is moderate. Never too good or too bad, always in the middle of every scale of oddities.
If somebody found, let’s say, a five-toed chicken in some random village, the local world would explode with gossip and dial tones. The president would ask the entire government to debate the topic of poultry, which would soon grow to become the most important things to talk about during family dinners.
So why, for the love of god, isn’t anyone talking about the ostrich legs?
Every foreigner who’s ever stepped a foot on the Polish lands starts describing this damned half-entity.
They talk so much, that out of sheer curiosity (and lack of other things to do) I got up at three fifty-seven and went to the forest, to look for the ostrich legs.
I’ll say just one thing. It was a horrible experience.
Cold, dark, and so damn uncomfortable to squeeze through the bushes in my slippers. I managed to smoke five cigarettes and fall asleep under a tree.
When I woke up, I gathered myself and headed home. I was just about to cross the final line of the fallen leaves, when the passage stopped being a passage.
My path got blocked by, and I’m not joking, two ostrich legs. They looked just like they were supposed to look.
Dark, because it was dark, with a yellowish glow. Bird-like, two toes. Let loose, two separate legs. Nothing more and nothing less.
But how terribly loud they were behaving! Even standing in one place, they were constantly stomping like crazy, pulverizing the leaves, the twigs, crushing small bugs, whose calls for help were way to quiet to get through this horrible noise.
I swear that if I could sue such a creature, I’d now be court in the middle of a public nuisance case with a damned pair of legs.
They stomped a few steps to the left, then a few to the right. Later, like in a duel in a low-budget movie, we circumnavigated each other, until they were in the forest, and I was in the garden. I turned around and went ahead without looking back, but shivers ran down my spine as I heard them running off. No care in the world and the grace of a truck inside a Greek temple. As loud as two ostrich legs could in a European forest.
What are we going to do with this?—I ask my neighbors, because something has to be done.
“What legs? Are you crazy?”
They’re ruining my peace of mind.
“Did something to you? Never disturbed me.”
But officer, they’re aggressive!
“Wear earplugs, don’t go out at night.”
I feel like everyday I dive deeper into the inevitable abyss of madness.
“My kid likes those nature sounds, how is he supposed to fall asleep without them?”
What nature, what sounds? Earplugs don’t even help, it stomps louder in the sun.
Did a lot, they still trample my heart. They exist, I swear to god! Nobody listens. To me, or the bugs. Travelers, professors, their heads and hearts. To said spook they don’t listen either, though it rustles and screeches all the damn time.
And I’m sitting just like that, sliding down into the void. I live in a room, three to four. Walls, no windows, those godforsaken doors. No way to think, sleep or contribute to anything with a sense and cause.
I sit, because what else is there to do when you only hear the days passing by.
And these damn ostrich legs in a European forest.
Julia is a queer self-taught writer, musician and visual artist from Poland. In her work, she explores the topics of spirituality, raw emotion and creation, with elements of fantasy. Their biggest inspirations are nature, organicism, philosophy and horror.
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