Jose Sanez

Idiot from: Spring 2015 to Current

The lone inhabitant of the Sahara Jungle, a bearded lion grumbles. Moments later, his

mighty roar shakes the canopy as he regurgitates a wispy, hooded figure. This silhouette of

blackness glides through the forest, watching the plants wilt and shrivel as it passes by. Coming

to a stop, it removes its hood and vaporizes, fading away into the forest. In its place stands a

toucan no larger than an American nickel. The bird realizes her destination, and takes flight.

The nine years spent doing maintenance in Norway’s largest nuclear power plant has

rendered her body nearly featherless. On the first Tuesday of October, the last feather falls from

her skin. It flutters into an abandoned pumpkin patch near the old Kristoffersen farm. While the

other kids are out dancing (as is Norwegian Tuesday night tradition), young Gerdny wanders

through the patch, mapping out the stars on her Hergen the Fjordmouse sketchpad. She

unknowingly kicks a small pile of dirt over the feather, just enough to hide it from the world.

During six months of sunshine, rain, and neglection, the feather gestates and becomes a

sapling with auburn­colored bark. On the third day of Norwegian summer, a bud appears on the

highest branch. It grows at an alarming rate, bulging and bubbling and wiggling and honestly it

looks a lot more like a chrysalis at this point. At dusk, a gooey, frail, opposable thumb breaks

through the outer skin. The cocoon then bursts open, and the human inside lets out a whimper

before tumbling to the ground. He stands. He cries out to the empty patch of pumpkins, “I AM

JOSE SANEZ.”

To which the pumpkins reply, “Welcome home, brother.”