ORIGINS: In the original series, the eyes of the lion remind us of a little bird begging for food with its beak wide open and a magical being with a pointy hat and equally pointy ears. But, but, but… Here’s the thing, one of us is a picky writer. The word is DUENDE. Not elf, not gnome, or pixie, or imp. It’s DUENDE, because the connotations matter. But we are not writing in that language, so, we will settle for nameless magic.
The little bird in me is hungry. Feed me! Feed me! Feed me! That’s all I can hear. But I am not the only one. The magic in me can’t ignore the little bird’s cries. Here, have an apple. That’s what the magic says. And the hungry bird swallows that apple. Without closing his eyes, because it isn’t a goodbye kiss, at least not on his part. The hungry bird swallows. Without giving it a second thought, because he still hasn’t learned to fly, and he doesn’t know that sooner or later disappointment poisons all hearts. But that is about to change. That little bird is about to get a taste of poison. And maybe it won’t do anything to silence his appetite. But it will prepare me for what is to come. And I am grateful to my magic for not leaving me exposed. For giving me the poison I will need to survive this life without it.
Life isn’t sweet. But my little bird shouldn’t have to already be haunted by its real taste. Every child deserves a little bit of magic, to make everything easier to swallow. A gizzard stone or two, to help them grind their food. I could give my little bird those cold, hard-edged stones. I could teach him to fly, everything he would need to survive. But I don’t want him to grow up yet. I want more for him. I want him to dream, not just breathe. And even if disappointment is the price my little bird will have to pay one day, when he flies into the world, I want him to have those sugar-coated stones now, while he is still a child and the magic works.
The lesson that made me grow up? That ignorance is bliss and most things are better left unseen. But I was a child, and I thought that I knew best. I was a hungry little bird, life wasn’t enough to fill the hollow I could feel screaming inside me. My open mouth. My heart. My stomach. Life just wasn’t enough. And before I knew it, I had already started to make up my own words. Magic made me happy. It didn’t make the colors of my world brighter. It made them actually mean something. Everything. I was a child. Gluttony was my sin. I thought that I was invincible, and I kept making up words, expanding my world. I didn’t leave a single color untouched. But one day my magic stopped working. I could no longer believe my own lies. I grew up. And reality won. Like it always does.
I am a child, a hungry little bird, and this is it. It is now or never. If I don’t devour magic now, I won’t have a second chance. Grown-ups don’t believe in anything. They just breathe, adding air to the sky. They just fly, letting the emptiness of the sky eat them away. I can’t change my fate. I know that that will be me one day. But that day hasn’t come yet. I can still believe. There is magic in me. And I won’t waste a single spark. No crumbs will fall from my mouth. I will be happy. I will surround myself with beautiful colors. Because this moment in time has to make up for the rest of my life.