Prompt: “How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?”

Beatles song prompts, my timed write.

Photo by lucky luciano on Unsplash

How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people? How often have you been there? I remember hearing this at a pretty young age and thinking it was interesting that people were singing about being beautiful people, about having been there. Once upon a time, once upon a time there was a frog and a snake who lived in a pond in the middle of the town at the top of the mountain where one river flowed to the east and one river flowed to the west. The frog had once been a prince and the snake had once been a priest. They kept their human costumes under a rock near the pond, though many many many years had passed and the frog’s silk jacket and breeches and the priest’s satin robes had long turned to ash and mud, but there remained the frog’s crown and the snake’s crucifix, which they nightly (when the moon was full) dragged out onto a soft, sandy place and positioned themselves as if they could still wear these golden prizes. And so they would feel their princeness and priestness. And so they would remember their human form, the sweat, the genitals, the ears — beautiful ears — and the hands — oh the hands! They would wriggle and writhe and moan. (A strange sound you may hear at night if you listen very closely at the window. Some say it’s the sound of a banshee.) They would wriggle and writhe all night long, leaving strange markings in the sand so that in the bright light of the sun passersby would remark on it and wonder what creature would make such a sign. A muskrat? An otter? A fox? A bluejay?