Rodney the Parroguin is a Young Adult Fiction book written by me, Paul Carney in 1999. I’m posting the first few chapters here and hope to have the full book available on Amazon books in due time. It is the story of a penguin who wants to be a parrot. He dies and faces a battle in the afterlife with a megalomaniac tiger to find eternal salvation.

Prologue

Rodney was sat on a large rock, absorbed in the peace and tranquillity of a moment. It was a beautiful moment, he thought. Much better than most of the moments he had experienced in his life so far. This wasn’t saying much, since he was dead and he hadn’t lived that long anyway. Even when he was alive it had been a pretty miserable existence. No, he was going to enjoy this moment for as long as he could. The cherubs flying around the clouds above him didn’t help though. Far from being the epitome of peace and love, they were having a violent and bloody argument about whose turn it was to play the electric harp. It had a distortion pedal fitted, electric drums and could kick out a 1000 watts of power.

Next to him, was a large pair of golden gates. They were incredibly beautiful, mother of pearl inlaid and encrusted with precious stones. There was a sign on the gates, written on an old piece of card and fastened with string. It said: GONE FOR LUNCH.

He looked at the bell next to the gates. Underneath was a little red plaque that said: ‘No Bible or insurance salesmen.’ However, he didn’t feel much like ringing it yet. He wanted to sit and rest a while before he went inside. Besides, it would be Bedlam in there. His experience of the afterlife had taught him that the dead were all nut jobs and weirdoes. This was much more peaceful and after the journey he’d just had, peace was definitely at the top of the agenda. He could hardly believe that dying would bring so many problems. The events of the last few weeks turned over in his mind. Within minutes they were on a fast spin, demanding a repeat cycle and large dollop of fabric conditioner.

Chapter One

There is a place on earth where the sun does not rise for six months of the year. The days are black as night and blizzards howl endlessly over the bleak white landscape. The cold is so bitter it could freeze a man’s skin in minutes. No trees grow, no birds sing and no children play. This is Antarctica, the most ferocious and savage environment on the planet. The penguin is one of the few animals suited to living in frozen Antarctica. The penguin is a master fisherman, an incredible swimmer and capable of surviving the coldest weather on earth. There is no room for sentiment. Nature is a cruel taskmaster and if a penguin is weak or vulnerable, they soon perish. Young penguins must learn to adapt quickly to the elements. They do not remain under their mother’s wing for long.

Rodney was a young penguin. He lived with his mum and dad in a colony of other penguins. All of the adult penguins were getting the young penguins ready to face the harsh winter weather on their own.

“Come on Rodney, eat up all your dinner, or you won’t grow big and strong,” mother penguin said firmly.

“Fish, fish, fish. Everyday it’s always the same,” moaned Rodney. “Hi Mum, what’s for tea? Fish. Gosh Mum I’m starving. What’s for dinner? Fish. Breakfast? Fish. Supper? You’ve guessed it. Fish. Not even fish fingers! Not even cooked! Every single day – RAW FISH!”

“What on earth are you going on about Rodney?” answered dad. Of course we eat fish. That’s what penguins eat. In case you hadn’t noticed, there isn’t anything else to eat.  Unless you fancy an ice-burger. Ha Ha Ha. Ice-burger, get it?”

Rodney’s dad liked to make jokes about his son. It hid his embarrassment, for he was very ashamed of his son’s strange behaviour. He never mentioned his son to any of the penguin colony, but they mentioned him. They were always looking and laughing at Rodney. Gus, the huge colony leader was the most cruel.

“Hey Stan, how’s your lad then?” he’d giggle. “Has he eaten anything nice lately? Steak perhaps? Chicken? Or how about a nice piece of pork? I’ve heard the lamb is meant to be nice this time of year.”

The jokes would go on and on. Never ending. Always the same subject. Stan’s weird penguin son. What else could he do but laugh with them? His son WAS weird. You couldn’t argue with it. Stark staring mad. He’d tried everything he knew to sort him out. Firstly there was the incident with the swimming lessons. Everyone knew that one of the most crucial points about being a penguin was to swim. It kind of came with the job.

“Come on lad,” said dad one day. “It’s a lovely day out there, let’s go down to the waters edge and I’ll give you a swimming lesson. We can play catch up.”

“Nah,” replied Rodney. “Swimming is boring.”

“Boring?” shouted dad. “What do you mean, boring?”

“It’s all that flapping around and stuff. It just seems so pointless.”

“Pointless? How can it be pointless? We have to swim to survive,” exclaimed his father.

“Yeah, I know, but I have verrucas.”

That was the kind of thing Rodney said often. Not surprisingly, no one else knew what on earth he was going on about. He would say things that penguins shouldn’t really say. For instance he was always complaining of the cold.

“Mum, I’m f-f-freezing. Would you knit me a scarf, or a hat or something?”

“Erm, that might be a little difficult son. It’s hard to get wool around here. Not much call for sheep really. Even then, it’s a swine to grip hold of the needles with these flippers.”

Then there was the time his dad took Rodney to learn how to fish in the deepest waters.

“Come on Rodney, we’ll catch some great fish down here,” said dad.

“Ehm, I’d rather not if you don’t mind. It’s a little cruel on the fish isn’t it?”

“Cruel on the fish? How can you be cruel to fish?” replied dad. “That’s what they’re here for.”

“I bet the fish wouldn’t agree with you. I mean if we have thoughts and feelings then I bet they do too. No, I’m sorry. I can’t eat them poor little creatures anymore. I’m going to become a vegetarian.”

“VEGETARIAN! How can you become a vegetarian? There aren’t any vegetables at the South Pole! There isn’t anything else to eat but fish. You’ll starve to death!”

News quickly spread around the colony of Rodney’s new eating habits. He became the source of much gossip, in fact barely a day would go by when something else didn’t crop up. Stories and rumour abound about his antics and exploits. He had even been found trying to smother himself in fish blood because he didn’t like being penguin colour!

Then one day, Gus and the other penguins were fishing at the waters edge when they spotted Rodney on the bank. They could hardly believe their eyes. Rodney had glued seagull feathers to his body and made a sort of headdress out of the large tail feathers. He was rushing around in a demented fashion making peculiar screeching noises and waving his wings frantically. They clambered out of the water and rushed over to him.

“What on earth are you going, freak boy?” laughed their leader Gus.

Rodney glanced up to them as if noticing them for the first time. “Isn’t it obvious?” He mumbled. “I’m learning to fly.”

To the others this was music to their ears. Just when they thought he couldn’t get any weirder. “WHAT?” screamed Gus in disbelief. “ARE YOU A TOTAL RAVING NUTTER? YOU’RE A PENGUIN FOR GODS SAKE. PENGUINS DON’T FLY, THEY SWIM.”

“Maybe the reason they can’t fly is because they haven’t tried,” replied Rodney with only half his mind on what they were saying to him. He was trying to work out some calculations in his mind about flight and propulsion. But Rodney did not have time to finish his sums. Gus gave him his first practical lesson in flying. Rodney would have enjoyed it immensely if it were not for the fact that his beak had been shoved up his bum. He also quickly discovered that landing was an important consideration in any flying exercise. It was not a good idea to use an iceberg to slow you down. Not at forty miles per hour anyway.

To Gus’ chagrin however, Rodney did not stop what he was doing. He simply brushed himself down and carried on. Gus rushed over with venom in his eyes. “What’s the matter with you, you little runt? Didn’t I make myself clear? Stop the nutty talk of flying. Okay?”

But Rodney was only half listening. “I have this theory,” he rambled. “That penguins must be birds.”

Gus was turning purple with rage. “What are you going on about? How can penguins be birds? In case you hadn’t noticed, birds fly in the sky. We swim in the water, you dumb idiot.”

Rodney continued his monologue. “Yes, but we have wings don’t we? And beaks! I feel like a bird! I don’t want to be a penguin. I don’t like swimming and eating fish! I hate the cold. Why do we all have to behave in exactly the same way? There is no rule to tell us how to behave! We make the rules ourselves and we can change them. We should be free to express our inner most feelings without fear of ridicule.”

But Gus wasn’t listening anymore. He grabbed Rodney by the throat. “Now listen here, I’m getting sick and tired of you making this colony a laughing stock. Your weird games are giving the youngsters bad ideas. Before you know it there’ll be others copying you!”

“But why shouldn’t they?” spluttered Rodney. “What harm is it doing anybody?”

“BECAUSE THIS IS ANTARCTICA! IF THEY DON’T LEARN THE PENGUIN WAYS THEY WILL DIE!! DO YOU WANT THEIR DEATHS ON YOUR CONSCIENCE?”

The severity of Gus’ words hit Rodney like a ton of bricks. Their impact thundered down like a herd of wildebeest stampeding on a baby rabbits head. And Rodney’s mind, like the baby rabbit, wanted to get out of the way as quickly as possible. He pulled free from Gus’ grip, ashen faced and walked away, head down, trying to put their awful truth out of his mind.

Rodney knew now that there was no place on the colony for him. He would not have the lives of innocent babies on his conscience. Gus was right. He was not fit to be a penguin.

In the distance stood Rodney’s father. He had made no attempt to stand up for his son. In fact he hung his head in shame. Shame for the fact that he had encouraged Gus to do it. Shame because he did not want a son like Rodney. Shame for the pain that he saw his son going through. Shame that he did nothing about. But, he did not see the truth behind these emotions. He was too close to them and they provided a convenient cover under which he could hide his hurt. He believed, in this emotional moment, that the only way to rid himself of this shame was to get rid of Rodney. After all, wasn’t it Rodney that had caused all of this? With his stupid ideas and his disgraceful behaviour? He only had himself to blame. ‘I have nothing to feel guilty about,’ he said to himself. ‘I have given him everything I had to give and what has he done in return? Selfish that’s what he is.’ The more he went on like this the more and more he convinced himself that he was right to do what he did and that Rodney was wrong. In fact more than that, he convinced himself that Rodney would have to go. He knew his wife would be upset, but that was tough luck. She would get over it in the next breeding season. They would have more babies. Normal babies who would know how to behave properly. He had been too soft with the boy, that was the problem. Well he wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. All he needed to do now was to finish this little matter. Find the freak boy and get rid of him. He would hold on to these beliefs for a long time, using them as a defence in his darker moments of doubt and regret.

But at this moment in time resolved to act out his betrayal with force and venom. He found Rodney wandering beside the waters edge on a remote part of the island. His Mother was with him and they were holding flippers. Before he could reach them they stopped, turned to face each other and embraced. They were crying. He marched up to them angrily.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

But before he could pour out his anger he realised that they were not listening to him.

“I have something very important to say,” his mum said softly. “I’ve been very concerned about our Rodney. He hasn’t been himself lately…”

“LATELY? He’s never been…”

“Shut up and listen a moment, this is important. Our Rodney has finally realised what has been troubling him. He has had to face some difficult decisions about himself and it hasn’t been easy.”

“Look, will someone just tell me what is going on here?”

“Dad, I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” This was too good to be true, he thought. But he did his best to maintain his pretence of surprise. “But why?”

“Dad. I can’t hide it anymore. I’m a parrot.”

There was a long dramatic pause as the words made their way into Rodney’s dad’s mind. They made their way around dark, empty tunnels and passage ways, looking for the door marked ‘comprehension’.

“Did I hear you say parrot?”

“That’s right dear, he’s a parrot,” enthused Rodney’s mum. “Isn’t it marvellous? I’m so thrilled. We’ve never had a parrot in the family before.”

But Rodney’s dad was not so accommodating. “A PARROT? How on earth can he be a parrot? HE’S A PENGUIN!! It’s a biological fact. Penguins are chubby little things that waddle around the ice and snow and parrots are sort of multicoloured birds that live in the jungle and fly around, screeching all day. You could never get them mixed up. You would never hear someone say “Hey, look at that beautiful parrot!” only to hear the reply “I think you’re confused sir, although it’s a common mistake, but that’s actually a king penguin”. Don’t you see? They are a completely different species. You CANNOT be a parrot because you are a PENGUIN!!!”

“Oh pish,” said his mum. “Stop splitting hairs. You do go on.”

However bad his father’s mood was it did nothing to change Rodney’s mind. As far as he was concerned there was nothing that could be done. He had never liked being a penguin. He knew that he would never be able to change his ways to be what Gus and his father wanted him to be. He had never understood before why he felt the way he did. He had suffered years of being told he was a freak and a misfit. Years of knowing he was different and trying to hide it. It had come to him when he was arguing with Gus but it had not formulated properly in his mind. His precise moment of enlightenment came to him on a lonely march to the shore. He had thought of ending it all, bringing his short and miserable life to an end so that others would not suffer his oddities. But try as he might, he could not bring himself to do it.

It was true also, that try as he might, he couldn’t think of HOW to do it. There were no trains or cars to throw himself under, no guns or gas ovens, he wasn’t physically able to climb to the top of an iceberg to throw himself off. The only option was to drown himself. ‘Oh well’ he thought, ‘back to the drawing board’.

It was in his darkest moment of despair, in the depths of his inky black misery, that he heard something that was to change his life for ever. A sound emerged in his mind. It grew and grew until it burst from his mouth in an enormous syllabic explosion.

It went: ‘Squaaaawk.’

Then, a word formed in his mind. A single word that was to change the order of everything in his life. He didn’t know where it came from, but he understood its meaning.

The word was: Parrot.

The sound and the word brought knowledge to him. The knowledge nestled in the inner sanctums of his being, fluffed up the cushions and put the kettle on. He knew now. He knew everything. A single word had brought him nirvana. Everything became clear in that single moment of time and he knew his destiny. He would leave Antarctica to find somewhere he could live out his dream properly. Somewhere warm and tropical, where the sun always shone and there were birds and plants and things. Somewhere where he didn’t have to swim, where he could eat fruit and berries. Somewhere where they didn’t laugh at who he was. Where he would be free to call himself a parrot.

The next morning Rodney was at the waters edge with his mother. There was a blizzard blowing and it was getting difficult to stand in the open. The colony was stood nearby feeling very full of themselves. Gus was on fine form and loving every minute of Rodney’s new status.

“Pretty Polly, Pretty Polly.”

“Who’s a lovely boy then?”

“Give us a kiss.”

The colony burst into hysterical laughter. This was the best laugh they’d had in ages. Probably ever.

His Dad stood at the other side of the coastline, as far away from Rodney as he could be. He could not bear it any longer. All he had wanted was a normal son who he could teach the penguin ways to. A son he could be proud of. What he had ended up with was a freak. A laughing stock. Worse still, he would be forever known as the father of a penguin who thought he was a parrot. He was disgraced. He would never speak to his son again.

However hard Rodney’s dad had taken the news, his mum was determined to show her son her undying love. She could stand it no longer and pulled him into a warm embrace.

“He does love you Rodney, it’s just that he can’t understand why you are the way you are. I don’t understand it either, but I do know one thing and that is that I love you. I want you to be happy and if this is what makes you happy then so be it. Just promise me to come back one day. I want to see what a fine parrot you have become.”

Rodney burst into tears. They held each other for a long time before he had to go. His mum gave him a big kiss goodbye. As Rodney stood on the waters edge, he looked back for a final time. He had hoped to see his dad rushing toward him, but all he could see through his tears was his mum waving wildly. In the background there was a large group of senior penguins. They could barely stand up for their howls of laughter.

“Be sure to send us a postcard won’t you?” said one.

He looked all around but there was no sign of his dad. With his bravest smile he gave his mum a last wave before he plunged into the icy water, dodging floating icebergs, shoals of fishes and clumsy seals. His body ripped through the oceans currents at breakneck speeds and in an instant he was far far out to sea. Soon his old home was just a distant memory. As he swam he vowed one thing. Never again would anyone laugh at him for who he was. Now, at last he was free.

He would have been much freer if he had listened to what his father had tried to teach him about the oceans, the weather and climate. It’s a particular shame that on his navigation lesson he was trying in vain to hold a conversation with a seagull about the secret of flight.

If he had of listened to his navigation lesson he would have known that he should have followed the current in a north easterly direction and he would have reached the coast of Argentina with little effort.

There, he could have navigated along the coast north as far as Peru, and met up with other penguins who would no doubt have told him that the tropical jungles were a relatively short distance inland over the Peruvian mountains. There he would have encountered a whole host of Amazonian parrots. What he actually did was to swim against the currents north westerly, missing the coast of Argentina completely. He swam almost dead centre in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There were few places to rest and the further he swam the more tired and lost he became. He was completely unfamiliar with the territory. There were no penguins, seals or seagulls or any other animals familiar to him. Even the fish he would have normally fed on began to change appearance. They began to take on new colours and shapes, and they tasted even worse than any fish he could remember eating.

But the taste of the fish was the last thing on his mind. Months of fasting on arctic tundra and mosses began to take its toll. He had not built his strength to cope with the long journey. He tired quickly and began to swim erratically, straying off course and going round and round repeatedly.

It is true that groups of penguins can swim for weeks at a time, but they know the waters, they are strong and hunt shoals of fish together, working and resting as a group, they stay in waters that have few predators.

But Rodney had strayed into tropical oceans. His body was adapted to survive the harsh cold of Antarctica, but now he was lost in an ocean designed for a completely different type of animal. His thick, oily body coating, designed to keep heat in, was like wearing a fur coat in the Sahara desert. The further north he strayed the more perilous his journey became. The heat and made Rodney so tired and exhausted that he no longer knew where he was at all. His swimming strokes became more and more irregular, his body began to sag in the water, he didn’t realise he was swimming deeper and deeper beneath the surface. Further and further away from the air that he needed to breathe to sustain him. Warm ocean currents began to seep him further and further away from his route until finally he could resist them no longer. Down, down, down, swirling and twirling, spinning and turning, his body became limp and floppy as the strength and power began to drain away from his weary, lifeless limbs.

The once majestic, powerful manner in which he gracefully skipped along the arctic waves had deserted him. As Rodney lost consciousness, water filled his lungs and his body became like a lead weight. He sank further and further into the gloom…………

“………..what the hell are you doing lad?” It was his father. But his face was different. His eyes were cold, angry and evil.

“Not a flaming clue have you?” His father pressed his face into Rodney’s. His breath was ice and his voice had a metallic ring to it.

“Look at you. You’re pathetic. Everyone is laughing at you.” Other penguin faces from the colony surrounded him. They were laughing raucously and pointing at him. “You threw all my affection back in my face,” his father growled angrily.

“Ungrateful little runt.”

“Yeah,” shouted Gus as the penguin crowd drew closer. “You don’t deserve such a kind and loving Father. “In fact,” he said pressing his face right into his. “You don’t deserve anyone being kind to you.” The penguin colony were poking him and prodding him and laughing hysterically in a high pitched cackle. “Let’s beat him up Gus,” they said menacingly.

Above the heads of the crowd, his father’s face loomed largest of all. It was twisted and contorted with pain.

“How could you treat me like this!” he wailed. “After all I have given you. My own son!”

Tears flooded from his Fathers eyes, like an ebbing river at high tide. They covered Rodney’s face and as they did so they washed a wave of guilt and remorse over him.

“STOP!   STOP!   STOP!” screamed Rodney.

“I didn’t want any of this! I didn’t want to hurt you Dad. I can’t help it, but I’m a parrot. A PARROT I TELL YOU.”

The crowds’ faces seemed to stretch into evil grins. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. HA HA HA!!!!!”

“Squawk, squawk, squawk,” they mocked.

“Give us a kiss then.”

“How can you be a parrot?” sneered Gus’s voice. “Are you green, red, yellow, grey? Can you fly? Do you live in a tree? Do you eat nuts and berries? Have you got a plumage?”

“NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” Rodney moaned. “I’m sorry Dad. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. How stupid I’ve been. How on earth can I be a parrot? I don’t even look like a parrot. I’m sorry Dad. DAD. DAAAD. Where are you?”

“RODNEY. Rodney. Come to mummy. There there. That’s it. Hush now. Mum’s here.”

“I can’t be a parrot, mum. I’m a penguin. Aren’t I?”

His Mothers kind and loving face had replaced his Fathers angry features. She was holding him tightly in her arms. “You’re different to us Rodney. That doesn’t make you a freak. You’re not weird or strange. You’re certainly not stupid or silly. It makes you special. Right now you are just afraid of what is happening to you. Afraid and fearful of being singled out. You want to hide but you can’t. In time you will learn to accept it. Be proud. As proud as I am of you.”

“MUM? Don’t go! No, please stay, mum. I love you.”

“I love you too darling, but I have to go now. Goodbye son.”

“Mum, mum………….”

The words trailed away just as the last dregs of Rodney’s life ebbed away. In a small but precious moment, Rodney died.

Chapter Two

Contrary to popular opinion it is not comfortable to lie on a beach. It’s okay if you have a large towel, a floppy hat and sunglasses. It’s even better if you have smothered yourself in sun cream, and a pillow is a big advantage. However, see if your opinion of beaches is the same if you find yourself waking up, face down, with a mouth full of sand, after lying in the same position for forty-eight hours with the tide washing in and out over you every couple of hours. That’s not to mention the seaweed, the crabs, the seagulls, the jelly fish…….

Rodney’s head felt very painful. In fact his whole body felt pretty painful. His legs and flippers would have felt quite bad too, if he could have felt them at all. This was not one of his better days. You would have called it a bad hair day, but he didn’t have any hair.

As Rodney took his first glimpse of his new surroundings one thing became crystal clear. He didn’t have a clue where he was. But, where ever he was it was very hot. And sunny. He squinted his eyes to readjust his vision to his new surroundings. A sandy beach, topaz skies and cobalt seas, all contrasted strongly against an emerald band of vegetation that seemed to underline the dazzling diamond sun.

One thing was absolutely clear. Wherever he was, it was not the Antarctic. He tried to walk, but his legs refused permission. So he sat. At least he tried to sit. It was really more of a lie down, but you get the idea. He collected his thoughts, trying to analyse the events of the last couple of days. He remembered most things, the departure from home, the long journey, the incredible heat, the fatigue, then……..

Oh no! By all rights he should be dead. Is he dead? Is all of this just a dream? Or better still, is this heaven? Yes. That must be it. He had died. He was in heaven!

Although heaven was certainly a beautiful place he had rather hoped that it wouldn’t hurt so much. And he was hungry and tired. He had the impression you wouldn’t feel these things in heaven. This was all a bit too bodily-centric for his liking. If he hadn’t been certain that he had died then he would have thought that he had really just been washed up on a desert island. But whilst that might sound the logical answer he knew he had died. He had enough knowledge of the ocean to know that if you sink forty-fathoms in the middle of the pacific, having your life flash in front of your eyes, before you feel the last dregs of life slip away from you as your lungs fill up with water, then it was pretty good odds that you had kicked the bucket. Besides, one of his last conscious acts before his death had been to check for land. There was definitely no land in sight. Yup. He was dead. But death was not what he had expected it to be. It was all very strange.

If death seemed strange to Rodney, then what was about to follow would put the meaning of the word on a whole new level.

“What are you doing here? You can’t lie around on this part of the beach man. Get up! All visitors must report to the main entrance and sign in the visitors book. Hasn’t anyone told you? Oh never mind. Come on follow me, I expect you’re new. Lost? Yeah, yeah I know. Come on man get a move on. Lots to do you know, do you think this place looks like a paradise all by itself? Good grief no. Let me tell you, the work that goes into it, and I’m not getting any younger. Not getting any older either I’ll admit, but that’s not the point. Is it? There you go just through those gates to your left, can’t stop and talk, really busy you know, still nice meeting you, see you later, no I suppose I won’t. Don’t get into the gates myself, ah well must dash, nice meeting you. Bye.”

Rodney was unable to speak. He just watched the curious creature waddle away. He had never seen an insect that large. He had certainly never seen a preying mantis before. They didn’t get round Antarctica much. Usually, they were long, gangly, stick like insects with huge eyes but this one was wearing a pair of brown overalls and a peaked cap. It was sweeping the beach with a broom and it had a badge that said: ‘Caretaker.’ He thought it best to just wave and smile politely.

Reality was obviously still floating around somewhere in the pacific ocean, trying desperately to find a way back to his senses. Rodney tried to take a firm hold on the notion that he was dead and that strange things were bound to happen to you if you were dead. Otherwise it would be pretty boring and death must be exciting and interesting or else there would be a lot of very angry dead people.

The preying mantis was right. There was a large pair of wrought iron gates painted in a pearlescent finish. The paint was cracking and peeling off. In fact they looked as though they were about to collapse at any minute and judging by the amount of string and sticky tape wrapped around them they probably had collapsed quite a few times already. Rodney prodded them with his flipper.

“GET OFF THE GATESSSS YOU HOOLIGAN” Can’t you read the ssssign?” came a voice from behind them.

A tatty piece of card was tied to the gates. It had some very badly written lettering on it which even if Rodney had been able to make out, he would still have not been able to read it. Because he couldn’t read.

“Er, no,” answered Rodney.

A figure stepped into Rodney’s view. “Ah, yessss well, bit tricky I’ll admit. It sssays: ‘don’t touch the gatesss.’ ”

Rodney was a little confused. I mean it wasn’t everyday you had a conversation with a pig that had a woolly snake tied onto its head with old brown shoelaces.

“Why does it say that?” said Rodney, trying not to stare.

“Why? Why? because they’ll fall over sssilly,” replied the pig. He was beginning to think this penguin was stupid.

But Rodney hadn’t given up on logic just yet. “What’s the point of having gates if they’re just going to fall over?”

“They’re sssymbolic aren’t they?” replied the pig angrily. “Haven’t you ever heard of the pearly gatesss?”

“Actually yes I have,” argued Rodney, still determined to prove his point. “But aren’t they supposed to float on a bed of clouds, be made of solid pearl and gold and have cherubs flying round them? Not to mention St. Peter, harps…..”

The pig knew when he was defeated. He threw his trotters up into the air in surrender. “Yesss, yesss, all right I get the point. Like I sssaid these aren’t the real pearly gates. They’re sssymbolic. Where do you think you are, HEAVEN?”

Rodney had not learned the lesson of quitting whilst you were ahead. “Where exactly am I then, if I’m not in heaven? Hell?”

Before he had chance to say another word, the pig smacked Rodney in the face with his trotter. WHACK!! Rodney fell backwards with the force, crashed to the ground and rolled over.

“Don’t ever say that word around here, pal.”

Rodney held his beak to try to stop the pain. “Ow! There was no need to hit me. A simple no would have done.”

The pig had obviously enjoyed himself. “Nah, there’s nothing like a good sssmack on the nose to let you know your ssstill alive. Well, not actually alive as sssuch.”

“What do you mean, ‘not actually alive?’ ” said Rodney still holding his nose.

“You are the most persistent penguin I have ever met,” said the pig. “Look pal, I would have thought that sssince you came here all by yourself that you would know where it was you were coming to. You’re on Bimol Island. A place between life and death. Or purgatory as it often known on earth.”

“Bimol Island? A place between life and death? Purgatory?” repeated Rodney. This was profound news. It meant he had died in the sea but for some reason he hadn’t gone to Heaven. Or Hell for that matter.

“You like repeating thingsss don’t you?” said the pig. “Let me guessss, you want to be a parrot.” He had had a lot of practice at this.

“How did you……”

“Oh it’s not rocket ssscience pal,” said the pig smugly. He was having a lot of fun at Rodney’s expense. Most of the new members just wandered in in a daze. It took them hours, sometimes days before they were able to even speak let alone ask questions. This one was a real live wire. “I’ve never got one wrong yet. Been working on this gate all my life. I mean death, I mean….. oh well, you now what I mean.”

After watching the penguins’ sorry expression for a while, he decided that the penguin had earned a fuller explanation. He was beginning to feel sorry for him. “Bimol Island is the place you go to when you die, but when you aren’t ready for the afterlife. They can’t let you in you sssee. Sssome trade union rule or sssomething. You didn’t want to be a penguin. You wanted to be a parrot. Ssso when you died they couldn’t let you into heaven, because you weren’t at peace and how can they let you into heaven if you don’t like who you are? Ssso you come here you sssee. To learn how to be true to yourself. That’s why we have the gatesss. Not like the real thing I admit, but pretty good, all things consssidered. Picked ‘em up in a car boot sale, dirt cheap”

The penny was beginning to drop with Rodney. “So you mean that I ended up here because I didn’t die happy? And that I can’t go to heaven until I am a proper parrot?”

“Parrotsss! Repeat everything you sssay to them, I sssay, they repeat everything you sssay to them.”

Suddenly Rodney was beginning to feel better. “And every one who lives here is the same as me?”

“Absssolutely.”

‘Gosh”’ Rodney thought. ‘This is exciting.’ Then it dawned upon him. “That’s why you’ve got the woolly snake on your head. You’re a pig who wants to be a snake!”

“A sssnig. Just call me ‘Snig’ for short.”

“Snig! That’s brilliant. So that would make me………”

“A parroguin.”

Rodney felt a surge of pride. He repeated the word in true parrot fashion, over and over again in his head. Parroguin. For the first time in his life he knew who he was. Admittedly, it had taken him to die to do it, but still, he was now a parroguin. With a little time on the island learning the parrot ways, he would soon be able to convince anyone that he could be a REAL parrot. Then he could be a parrot forever and ever, in heaven, in complete parrot happiness.

“A PARROGUIN. I’m a parroguin!! Wow, I’m a parroguin! That’s so cool,” he said.

But something was on his mind.

“Bimol Island? Why B-I-M-O-L?”

“Ah, well,” Snig explained, “it sussed to be called Limbo Island but we got loadsss and loadsss of tourists turning up for dancing holidaysss. They got very annoyed when we didn’t have any sssticks for them to go under. You can’t imagine the fussss. We had tour operators on our backs, court cases, threats to close usss down, it was an awful time. Awful.”

None of that made any sense to Rodney, who had spent all his life in Antarctica. He didn’t even know what dancing was, let alone limbo dancing. Rodney couldn’t wait to go through the gates and see inside the village. But Snig had one more thing to explain. “Erm, there is jussst one other tiny matter before you can go in and meet everyone. It’sss not a big thing really, it’s just that, erm, if you don’t resssolve your parrot problem within a certain time then you kind of, well, become sssomething, or rather turn into, sssomething else. Not that you’d feel a thing. I mean you hardly know it’sss happening really. It doesn’t hurt. Over in a minute. One minute you’ll be a parroguin, the next minute you’ll be a plant. POW! It’s over, sssimple really….”

Rodney froze in his tracks “Wait a minute. Stop right there! Did you say plant? PLANT? As in green shiny thing with leaves and flowers and things?”

“Gosh, you do go on a bit don’t you? It’sss not that big a deal really.” Said Snig trying to play it down.

It wasn’t the sort of thing that Rodney took lightly. “NOT THAT BIG A DEAL? I think being turned into a plant is quite a big deal thank you very much!”

“Oooh, aren’t we the fussy one? Sssome of my best friendsss are plants thank you very much. What’ss wrong with being a plant? It’s a good life. Lot’s of fresh air, sunshine, water…..”

But Snig was not very convincing. 

“Yeah and animals weeing all over you, kids pulling your leaves off, insects crawling in all your private places…..”

“Ah, yesss well I didn’t say it was perfect.”

“I don’t like the sound of this deal anymore,” fumed Rodney. “What happens if I don’t want to enter through your gates? What can you do if I just turn around and swim away? It looks a beautiful day out there, not a cloud in sight. Could go anywhere I feel like and there’s nothing you can do to stop…………. Aaaaaaah!!!!!”

Rodney was sucked down into the sand with violent force. Like a sledgehammer raining blows on a butterfly. His body was twisted and contorted out of all natural proportion. He could feel enormous pressure on his chest, bones being crushed, his head was a violent torrent of pain. He spiralled downwards into a vacuum of despair. He was being swept into a vortex that was more scary than even his own death. This was pure fear. Desperation, dread, horror and trepidation. This was every nightmare and evil thought he had ever had, penetrating his mind like worms in a corpse. He screamed the silent scream of a lost soul, damned to eternal hell. This was the destiny was for those who had found evil on earth. This was damnation. Then a voice amongst the despair, a voice that drilled its way into Rodney’s brain, cutting and slicing into his sanity. It was a voice of pure evil.

“Come to me little one. Let me end your despair and replace it with your torment. For I am your new Master. Your destiny is mine to control. You are a freak, a misfit and an outcast. Your place is down here with us, serving as a slave in eternal HELL!!”

“NO! NO! I want to be a parrot, I CAN be a parrot. Leave me alone”

“WHY fight your destiny? It is only a question of time before you fail in your quest and you are mine! HU HA HA HA”

“You can’t take me yet, not until I’ve been turned into a plant. I’ll show you, you overgrown pixie, I WILL be a parrot.”

“INSOLENCE! Just for that I will have you NOW!!”

“Eh-hem, sssorry to butt in like this.” It was Snig. “But there are rulesss about this sort of thing Lucy my dear, asss well you know. He must have his allotted time to try to prove himssself. It’s all there, Section 3, sub-section 6, paragraph 19. If your not careful mate, you could have a ssstrike on your hands – I mean claws.”

“YES, YES, all right. I get the picture. UNIONS. Can’t do anything without their say so. Overgrown pixie indeed. Don’t worry pal, I’ll get you yet, you’ll see.”

He was back on Bimol Island.

“Sssorry about that old chap. You okay?”

The nausea of his journey remained in his thoughts, but he knew now that there were no alternatives. The message had been received loud and clear. If he couldn’t find himself here, then he could not exist anywhere. For where could a person exist it they did not have any idea who they were? Earth was full of such wretched creatures, lost to themselves, wandering in a state of confusion, they can find no meaning to their lives because they do not know how and where to look. They have been taught to believe in only those things that they can see, feel, hear or smell. The island was Rodney’s last hope of salvation. If he could not find answers here then he would be recycled back into the soil. He had to learn how to be the most perfect parrot that had ever been created. He had to be so much like a parrot that they would welcome him into the pearly gates for ever lasting peace. There was no going back to being a penguin for him.

Rodney would prove to everyone that he was a parrot.

The sheer weight of information that Rodney had just been given was preying on him mind. He felt totally miserable as he went through the second hand, imitation pearly gates and into Bimol village.

Life behind the pearly gates, however, was anything but miserable. If the threat of eternal damnation or becoming a plant was on anyone’s minds then you wouldn’t think it. As Rodney entered the island village he became aware of the most wonderful spirit of joy and happiness he had ever known. The whole place was alive with a carnival atmosphere. Creatures of every size and shape danced and sang to the most sweetest music, that swept through the air like a wisp of a cloud in a breezy sun filled sky. They were dressed in the most bizarre, eccentric and colourful of costumes, almost as though they were in competition for eyesight. There was just so much to see that his eyes could not absorb what he was looking at. It was so dazzling that it took Rodney’s breath away. He stood and filled his eyes with the awe and wonder of it all. This was not purgatory. This was heaven. Rodney’s heaven. He knew now that he had found his truth. His place of belonging. Rodney the parroguin had found his home.

“Pretty ssspecial isn’t it?” said Snig.

“Wow. Yeah. It certainly is Snig” replied Rodney. “Who are all these creatures? What are they doing? Why are they dressed like that?” A million and one questions flooded into Rodney’s mind.

“Hold on, hold on there Rodney, there’s plenty of time to answer all your questions. Right now you’re going to rest. There’s a hut you can have just over here. Come on, let’s go.” 

Snig led Rodney to a small hut on the outskirts of a small village. Rodney was too tired to take in everything that was going on around him, there was just too much going on. He let Snig ramble on about the island as they walked but he heard very little of it. I might be dead he thought to himself, but I sure feel tired. As Snig led him to his bunk in the hut he felt as though he could sleep for eternity. The last words he spoke were;

“Snig, why do I feel so sleepy?”

“It’s normal when you first cross over, a period of readjustment that’s all. You’ll be fine in a few hours and when you awake you will have your first carnival to attend. Your first carnival is the most special of all. Something you’ll never forget.” 

Rodney had heard none of this. He was already fast asleep. 

“Sleep tight, Rodney the Parroguin.” And with that Snig left the hut and shut the door.

When Rodney awoke it was nightfall. The hut was dressed in its evening robes of shadow and gloom. He was led to the door by the attraction of strange sounds that were filtering into the room. They excited him. There was a rich tapestry of musical rhythms and instruments, weaving and dancing their way into his ears. Layered onto this was an exotic smell of evening flowers mingled with fine cuisine. Rodney followed their hypnotic lead in a sleep like trance. Was this part of his dream? He was sure he had been dreaming of the cold, Gus and the others had been mocking him, it was a bad dream, hadn’t he drowned?

But when he turned the corner of the hut his doubt was swept away in a tidal wave of happiness. The visual feast that embraced his eyes was almost too much to absorb. He stood transfixed, hardly daring to blink in case he woke up and it all proved false. He was looking at a carnival of immense and beautiful proportions. Dazzling and glittering lights shone strands of colour and pattern onto unique and amazing forms, that were once mere creatures dressed in costumes. In the serene beauty of the light they became magical, mystical, unique, almost divine.

Rodney’s senses were ablaze, he had no words with which to communicate. He merely stood, soaking up every morsel he could. He watched the sights, smelled the smells and tasted the enormous feeling of happiness that was being delivered across the night air to the watching crowds. It was so strong you could almost reach out and grab it.

This was the animals parade. This was how they tried to escape the purgatory in which they were trapped. Every creature was locked in their own personal crusade to prove that they had at last conquered their insecurities and had became that to which they aspired.

Each of the animals were riding on specially decorated floats, that were made to look like different parts of the world. There was a jungle float and a countryside float. A winter float that looked a little like Rodney’s old home was being driven in front of a desert float, which in turn was riding in front of a sea float. There was every type of environment you could imagine a creature to live in and on every one there rode the animals.

The most bizarre thing about them was that they were obviously pretending to be something, or someone else. A monkey was squatting on it back legs, with his arms folded into a sort of wing shape, whilst on his head he appeared to be wearing an old glove. Over his mouth he had fastened some half coconut shells that were painted yellow. He appeared to be straining in the face almost as though he were trying to lay an egg. That’s it! Thought Rodney. He is a monkey who wants to be a chicken. How clever, he thought.

“He’s called Chickey,” said a voice next to him.

The voice belonged to a dog. To be precise it was a boxer dog. Or rather it used to be a boxer dog. It had eight large, black, metal hairy legs sticking out of his body that he seemed to be controlling by means of a lever attached to a remote control device on his body. On his face there was a mask tied with elastic. He obviously wanted to be a spider. This involved waving his legs around in the air and frightening anything that looked remotely female. He was doing a very good job of it.

“Chicken – Monkey. Chickey. Get it?” It continued.

“Yes,” said Rodney studying the strange creature in front of him. Despite his fearsome appearance he seemed to be friendly. He was beginning to understand how this game worked. “And you are a dog who wants to be a spider, so you would be a…..”

“Spiddog,” said Spiddog, before Rodney had chance to answer. “I love being a spider. It’s a great job. Get respect see. I was never respected as a dog. People kept patting me head and throwing me bones. Ridiculous. Now people think carefully when they see me. It’s the legs see? Made ‘em myself. Quite easy when you know how. Bit of electronics that’s all there is to it.”

“Gosh,” said Rodney looking around him at the multitude of creatures. “There’s so many new creatures to learn, I’ll never get the hang of them all!”

“Oh you will,” answered Spiddog kindly. “It’s amazing how you pick it up after a while. On the Safari float there’s Moleion, he’s a mole who wants to be a lion. Bit of a size problem, but he’s blind as a bat so he doesn’t realise. As far as he’s concerned the mice are terrified of him these days and that’s good enough for him. He was bullied awfully you know. Damn mice! Vermin that’s what they are. Ah! Now there’s Girrat. He’s a rat who wants to be a giraffe. Loves the high life, wants to stand out from the crowd. Sick of slumming it in the sewers, can’t stand the muck.”

There was a creature that was troubling Rodney. “What on earth is the little frog doing at the back? He seems awfully fed up and miserable.”

Spiddog turned a paler shade of black. “Yeah, he hasn’t got much longer left before he turns I’m afraid. He’s Frogopotamus and as you can appreciate it’s a little difficult. There are some obvious physical difficulties with our desires that can get in the way. He just can’t seem to make it as a hippo.”

“But Moleion and Girrat manage!” exclaimed Rodney.

“Well not exactly Rodney,” replied Spiddog. “You see they’re experiencing similar problems. They haven’t been trying as long as Frogopotamus.”

“Oh, I see. Is this common?” said Rodney, puzzled.

“What do you think? Of course it is, you numbskull!” shouted Spiddog tensely. “Oh I’m sorry. Look, this is a parade and parades are supposed to be happy aren’t they? Here’s the next float. Oh it’s one of my favourites.”

By far the most bizarre sight Rodney had ever seen greeted him. There in front of him, riding at the front of a map of Australia was an elephant. Nothing unusual about that you might imagine. Except that this particular elephant was bouncing around on a huge pair of springs, his front legs were held in front of him and on his head there were two pointy ears. His own ears were taped to the back of his head and his trunk was rolled up into a coil. Fastened to his stomach was a large square of fabric from which a small teddy bear’s head peeped.

“WHAT THE……”

Spiddog started to wave his legs around excitedly. “That’s Kangaphant man! Ain’t he just the coolest! And look there’s Cock-atoad! And Koala-Bear! He was a grizzly bear who wanted to be a Koala because no one loved him. Hey Budger, you’re looking good today!”

Budger waved back in appreciation. He was grateful for his friends support, after all it’s not easy being a budgie when you have to walk on four legs and have black and white stripes running down your body.

Scorpanda scowled and sneered at every one. He had got sick of everyone saying how cute and cuddly he was and giving him bamboo to eat all day. For him, his peace was the thrill having a venomous sting and pincer like jaws. So he had fastened a large black, coiled up tail to his bottom, which looked remarkably lifelike.

“Don’t touch it Snig,” he shouted.

“Oh,” replied Snig. “Is it poisonous?”

“No, the paint’s not dry yet.”

And so the parade went on. Each float had obviously spent an enormous amount of effort and energy to display themselves to the most spectacular advantage. The result was magnificent and hugely entertaining, but perhaps a little on the disturbing side. It seemed to Rodney that there was a hint of desperation about everyone’s performance. Almost as though they were trying too hard. The threat of spending eternity as a plant loomed heavily.

Rodent’s morbid thoughts were cut short however, by the arrival of by far the funniest and most humorous float yet.

The insect float was, as you would expect, slightly smaller than the others. In fact, it was so small that Rodney might have missed it, had it not been for the driver. Try to imagine, if you can, a tiny almost toy sized lorry, being driven by a polar bear painted black with two enormous wings made from wire and net curtains. This was difficult enough for the poor creature, but the fact that he had two green footballs fastened over his eyes was not helping his vision at all. He was veering wildly over the road which resulted in all of the occupants of the attached float being thrown around all over the place. The comical thing was that they were all attempting desperately to remain in character.

Want had spent his whole life lifting ten times his own body weight effortlessly, but coping with a yellow and black striped jumper, with a lethal sting fastened to your bottom, while trying to look pleased about it was trying his patience, just a little bit. It was agony.

Locumite offered him some advice.

“Want! Want!” she shouted as she was thrown high into the air.

“Oh! Ah! What? Can’t you – oh! – see I’m trying to – AARGH! – concentrate?”

“Perhaps it might be little more comfortable if you turn your sting the right way round.” Locumite offered.

“Oh my! Yes Yes! That’s splendid!” cried Want. “Oh thank you Locumite. Now at last I might crack this wasp business after all!”

As the float moved on, Rodney noticed something. “Hey, who’s that one?” Rodney asked. “I’m sure I’ve seen something like him before.”

“Him? Him?” shouted the spider, frantically. “Don’t’ say that too loud, that’s Doris! She’ll kill you if she hears you saying that. She’s very fussy about her looks is Doris.”

Rodney was puzzled. Try as he might, all he could see was a brown lump of skin. “But how can you tell it’s a female? It’s just a – a – a ….. what is it?”

“It’s a chrysalis. It’s obvious isn’t it?”

“Well now you come to mention it, Spiddog,” said Rodney. “Not really. We don’t get many of them at the South Pole. Don’t they turn into Butterflies?”

“Not this one Rodney,” answered Spiddog wisely. “This is Doris the Butterpillar. She loved being a caterpillar that much she wants to return. Has vertigo you see. Couldn’t stand flying. Made her ill. So she’s gone back to the chrysalis stage to see if she can turn back. Lovely woman. All the guys fancied Doris, me included. Real shame if you ask me. I’ve tried to shack up with her a few times but she’s not interested. She said I was a dog. A dog! Me a dog! Cheek!”

The spider looked genuinely upset about being called a dog, which amused Rodney greatly. He had taken to the funny creature instantly. He could tell they were going to be good friends. There was just one more thing that he wanted to know. “Now you mention it Spiddog. Why aren’t you on the insect float?”

“What!” said Spiddog looking shocked. “Are you daft? Have you seen his driving? Besides, it’s a bit on the small side for a ten stone Spider-dog isn’t it? Besides where would I sit? Nah, I’m happier on my own. I join in the parades from time to time, but never on a float. Not my style.”

‘This is interesting,’ thought Rodney. “You mean you don’t HAVE to ride in the parade? I thought it was compulsory.”

“Good grief no. The only objective is to become your new self, whatever that might be. Look at the crowds. They aren’t taking part are they? The parade is just the island’s way of trying to achieve that. They all get dressed up in their costumes and for a moment, whilst the parade lasts, they can pretend that they really are the thing that they want to be.” Spiddog gave Rodney a wicked grim. “It’s show time!”

“I still don’t understand,” said a puzzled Rodney. “I mean, what do you all do when you’re not in the parade?”

The last float had passed by and they joined on to the back of a small group of animals that were walking to the centre of the parade ground. Suddenly, the air seemed to take on a dark and dangerous edge.

“Well,” answered Spiddog nervously. “We have to practice, you know and the costumes don’t make themselves. We spend nearly all week getting ready for the Saturday night parade. Of course when we’re not doing that, we are working.”

The crowd had stopped and Rodney could see there was a lot of discussion going on amongst them. It wasn’t that they were discussing who was the best in the parade, as you might expect, they were debating in angry, hostile tones as to who was the worst.

“Working? Who do you work for?”

“HIM!”

Spiddog was pointing to a small mound of earth that was situated at the centre of the parade ground. All of the floats were riding in a circle around it. The mound was covered in exotic flowers. At the top of the mound was seated on enormous tiger. But this was no ordinary tiger. This tiger was wearing a huge headdress that was even more fearsome than his tiger head. It was made of solid steel and it had huge metallic jaws protruding outwards that were covered in razor sharp, steel teeth. His claws were covered in even larger steel blades that glinted in the sunlight. Around his neck he wore a golden amulet which held an enormous ruby in the centre. He was clearly enjoying intimidating the crow and was revelling in the fear that filled their faces. The huge smile that cracked his face, epitomised a creature that wore his power as an extension of his bitter and twisted personality. This was a very evil and dangerous animal – a tiger that wanted to be a crocodile.

Chapter Three

“TIGERDILE!”

“Blimey!” croaked Rodney.

“We all work for him,” whispered Spiddog. “When we’re not cleaning and cooking for him we work in the factory. We tend not to upset him if we can. You see, not only is he every inch as powerful as he looks, but he is also the judge of the parade. He is the one we are all trying to impress. But he doesn’t just pick the best in the parade, the crowd are trying to decide who is the worst. The losers become foliage, and it’s Tigerdile who decides. You don’t ever upset Tigerdile, not if you want to see the afterlife.”

Rodney was very intimidated by the sight of Tigerdile. He obviously wielded enormous stature and control over everyone. Never in his life had he seen a creature with such power. He had been frightened of Gus back home, but Tigerdile had moved fear onto a whole new level.

However, it wasn’t just the size and strength of Tigerdile that was frightening. This was a creature who craved servitude and desired dominance over people, someone for whom no amount of power would ever satisfy. Something was clear to Rodney. Tigerdile was not a kind ruler trying to guide and lead his people to peace and salvation, he was a mad tyrant, a cruel dictator who wielded his power with savage and cruel refrain.

Something was nagging at the back of Rodney’s mind. Something Spiddog had said. “The factory? What’s that?” said Rodney quietly, so as not to draw attention to himself.

“Over there look, behind the hill, that’s where we all work.”

“Good grief Spiddog, that’s a huge building. What are you making?” replied an astonished Rodney.

“A rocket,” answered Spiddog.

“A what? Why?……..” But Rodney had no time to finish his sentence and Spiddog no time to reply.

Tigerdile raised his arms in the air. He was holding a long staff skyward and it seemed to crackle and hiss at his command. The whole parade came to a halt. They were frozen in fear, waiting on the mighty Tigerdile’s command. Spiddog trembled as he watched.

“The staff of life is aloft! Tigerdile will judge the parade now? Kneel Rodney, KNEEL!!!”

With a slow, sadistical wave of his claw, Tigerdile gave the command for judging to begin. The whole crowd fell to their knees in unison. Rodney did not feel comfortable doing this. He had not travelled half way around the globe just to get on his knees to a power mad Tiger. But he decided that it might be better to do as he was told until he could think it out more clearly.

Tigerdile sat on his throne, purring with contentment. This was obviously something he took great pleasure from. He reclined in his massive seat and relaxed as his entourage began the proceedings. Seated at the right hand of Tigerdile there sat an enormous vulture who was speaking to the crowd through a megaphone. Being Bimol Island of course, things weren’t exactly as they should be. For a start the ‘vulture’ was really an aardvark who had become a bit sick of sucking up ants and had developed a craving for a life with a bitter and callous edge. There wasn’t much to like about Vuldark.

“NOW LITHEN HERE, LITHEN HERE. IT ITH JUDGEMENT TIME!! YOUR LORD AND MATHTER, THE MOTHT PERFECT AND POWERFUL TIGERDILE, WILL NOW ADDRETH YOU.”

Here’s a tip for you. If you’re ever thinking of taking over the world it’s a good idea to get the voice right. You can pretty much count yourself out of any plans for global domination if you have a lisp. He blamed it on a genetic defect that ran in the family, but in fact it was because he had such a massive nose that was crammed into a makeshift beak.

These were the type of things that ruined Tigerdiles’ credibility. It had been on his mind for a while now to have a change of staff. The vulture was an embarrassment. “Yea, yes, do shut up Vuldark. I really must find you a new job. You’re not doing my image much good at all.”

Tigerdile stood up and raised his arms skyward to make his announcement. “Animals of Bimol Island. I have watched your latest pathetic attempt to gain immortality and you disappoint me yet again. Do you seriously believe that the Lord will allow such an ugly bunch as you to enter His kingdom? I tell all of you that you will need to work much harder if you are to succeed. He has spoken to me personally while you paraded and I formed me there will be no new entrants into His kingdom yet again this week.” 

The crowd gave a loud groan of disappointment.

“Quiet! Do you think I enjoy being in charge of such a lousy band of misfits? The embarrassment is almost too much to bear. His Lordship has however decided there are several of you He can no longer tolerate. Frogopottamus, step forward.” 

There was howls of protest from the crowd as the little frog stepped forward. Everyone loved Frogopottamus, but there was nothing anyone could do. The Lord had spoken. And if that wasn’t convincing enough for you there was a flaming huge Tiger with a metal head full of razor sharp teeth standing over him. The frog turned to face the crowd. He was trembling with fear, but desperately trying to be brave. He began to utter his final works to his loyal and faithful friends, who were filled with tears in front of him.

“Please, please. Don’t cry for me, I’ve had a lo…………”

In an instant the little frog was gone. He hadn’t even the chance to say goodbye. In his place there was a small fern. As it happened it was quite a nice fern. Very healthy, lots of new growth with a good root system and no signs of disease. Of course you have to be careful with ferns. They like to be kept moist and in part shade…….

“Oh do be quiet. He knew the rules, just as all of you do, and let’s face it, he wasn’t exactly the most convincing hippopotamus in the world, was he?”

Vuldark laughed loudly. He had never liked the frog much. He didn’t like any of the animals much it was true, but he had a particular loathing of the frog ever since he sucked him up his nose, mistaking him for an ant. It had taken him ages to get it out and his nose was bruised for weeks.

Tigerdile glared at the vulture menacingly. He did not like being interrupted. He really would have to go. At that moment he caught sight of Snig in the crowd and a wicked plan occurred to him. Tigerdile had always thought the pig to be too cocky by half. He had never liked him. Now he could kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of two thorns in his side.

“ Next on the list is an old favourite of many of you. But as you are well aware, being popular is not automatically a step into heaven, and this little porker would need a strong pair of step ladders to get him into heaven ha ha aren’t I so funny?”

No one laughed.

“I SAID, AREN’T I SO FUNNY?”

The crowd burst in fits of false and very nervous laughter.

“Snig, step forward.”

“No!” Shouted Rodney, who was getting to his feet to protest.

Spiddog pulled him back. “Don’t be stupid Rodney. You’ll get us both terminated. He’s had his time. It’s sad, but that’s the way it is.”

“This is awful, Spiddog. Can’t you see this is wrong?”

“No. I can’t Rodney. We had our chance on earth didn’t we? We blew it. This is our last hope of finding peace. Snig couldn’t find it and neither could Frogopotamus.”

Rodney knelt back down in silence and buried his head. He would not watch his new friends’ last moments. If he had, he would have seen a huge smile on Tigerdile’s face. Rodney’s instincts were right. There was something very wrong behind the wonderful façade of Bimol Island.

Snig however, became a huge Yucca. At least he didn’t have to worry about his gates falling over again.

On the other side of the island, an aardvark with a pronounced lisp took up the post of gatekeeper to the island. Was it just a coincidence?

Morning came on the Island with spectacular abandon. Sunlight fused with all that it descended upon, breathing life into the Islands slumbering occupants. The most beautiful of wake up calls greeted Rodney. His newly opened eyes were delivered an abstract canvas of light and colour. Purples blended seamlessly into crimsons, ultramarine gave way effortlessly to golden ribbons of clouds that punctuated the morning sky. This was the inspiration that became creation. Somewhere on this paradise, thought Rodney, amongst the oceans and skies and flowers and wildlife, there was hidden the meaning of life. It wasn’t that this was anywhere different. It was simply that here it was so tantalisingly displayed.

Breakfast was a non-event. Quite literally. Rodney felt hungry and he was eagerly anticipating a whole range of new and exotic delicacies. Even a bit of fish would have done, so long as it wasn’t one of those multicoloured thingies he had eaten on his way here. It was slightly confusing to him that no one had rung a breakfast gong. There was no eating hall or tables laid. The service in this joint was terrible. Wait until he saw the manager. He’d get a piece of his mind.

He decided to go for a walk and explore his new surroundings. Who knows, he thought. I might find something to eat. He wandered to the shore, drawn by the crimson canvas that was the sky. As he stood admiring its majesty and listening to the gurgling in his stomach getting louder he heard a voice next to him.

“Beautiful morning isn’t it?” It was Spiddog. “Thought I’d come for an early morning stroll, say a few words for Snig, try to remember him and everything. You must have had the same thoughts, hey?”

“Well, no actually. I was thinking of my stomach. Is there any where to get breakfast?” replied a very insensitive Rodney.

Spiddog’s huge metallic legs began to move mechanically, creaking and groaning as they did so. For one horrible moment Rodney thought they might be coming to retaliate at the coldness of his remark, but Spiddog was too wrapped up in his own thought for that.

“What? Breakfast? Why would you need to eat? You’re dead. The dead don’t eat.”

“But,” Rodney stated alarmingly, very upset that he would never get a chance to eat all the fine food he had so long dreamed of trying, “I’M STARVING!!”

“Oh, I see, you’re one of those are you? How sad,” Spiddog replied casually.

“One of what?” Rodney was getting rather upset by now.

“A starving spirit. Very unfortunate, you see, if you were hungry when you died then those thoughts carry on in your death. At least until you get to heaven. This is purgatory you see, it’s got to be unpleasant hasn’t it?” Spiddog was looking at Rodney with a very concerned face.

“You mean I’m going to be hungry for eternity?” Rodney exclaimed.

“No.” Answered Spiddog. “You could be turned into a plant. As far as I’m aware you won’t feel anything then.”

“Oh great. This is blooming marvellous this is,” said Rodney in a very disgruntled voice. “Not only do I get to look forward to becoming a cactus, now I’m going to have to be flaming hungry all the time.”

“Sorry old chap. But count yourself lucky. I was attached by a plague of flies before I died. Can you imagine a spider being afraid of flies? It doesn’t do me any good in the heaven stakes I can tell you. I’m not exactly going to convince anyone I’m a spider when the sight of a fly makes me pass out am I? It’s no fun being a fear spirit.”

Rodney had heard enough. It was going to be a long and hard stay on the island if he was constantly thinking of food. He would have to try to take his mind off it.

“Spiddog, you were going to tell me about that factory of yours. Why are you building a sausage? I mean rocket?”

Spiddog looked dumbstruck. “Why? No one’s ever asked me that before. How should I know? Maybe Tigerdile wants to see the moon. He’s never told me and I’ve never asked. We just melt the iron ore in the furnace to make the sheets of steel and assemble it all together.”

“You’ve never asked? Isn’t that the first question you would ask, I mean it’s a pretty obvious one isn’t it?” Rodney was rambling, “If you had to draw up a list of questions about the rocket I would thought it would be right at the top of your list, along with how on earth are you going to build an engine with the capability to get out of the earth’s atmosphere and what the hell are you going to use for fuel?”

“Oh very sorry Mr Clever Clogs,” Spiddog replied indignantly. “You should have told me you were an expert on rockets. Firstly, do you have any idea what Tigerdile would do to me if I even looked at him in the wrong way? Never mind asking him why he was building the damn thing. You just don’t ask him those sort of questions. He tends to get very upset and believe me you don’t want to upset Tigerdile.”

“I’m sorry, Spiddog,” said Rodney humbly. “I’m just hangry.”

“Yeah well, speaking of the factory, I’m going to have to go to work soon, it’s nearly eight o’clock. But before I do I’ll let you know a few facts. It’s me who is building the engine to the rocket and in case you’re worried I know a lot about engines. My old master worked at NASA, the space agency. And the fuel is easy. Methane. You can make plenty of methane from rotting plants. Look around you, there is plenty of them.

It was another of those moments when Rodney’s mind was full to the brim of earth shattering questions. But before he could ask any Spiddog was disappearing on his mechanical legs.

“Don’t forget to turn up for work yourself Rodney,” he shouted back. “Manual workers start at ten o’clock.”

“But how will they know who I am?” called Rodney.

“Oh. They’ll know!”

Chapter Four

Moments later he was gone, leaving Rodney to reflect on what he had said. So, Tigerdile was making everyone work on a large rocket to take him into space and Spiddog was providing the brains to build it, but where was he getting the iron ore from? That sort of stuff didn’t just grow on trees. And was there a connection between the fact that he needed plants to make methane and that all of the failed animals turned into them? But most important of all, WHY did he want to go into space? He was just thinking that he needed to talk to some of the others when he heard a commotion on the beach in front of him.

A crowd had gathered. They were very excited and at the centre stood the unmistakable figure of Tigerdile. He was grinning from ear to ear, soaking up the praise and attention he was getting. It occurred to Rodney that if his ego got any bigger it would be seeking new premises.

He went over for a look, but when he reached the crowd he found he was too small to see anything. He searched for an opening but he could not locate one. Just then he noticed an elephant. It was Kangaphant.

Kangaphant was discovering that springs did not work too well on sand. The fact was, that this particular elephant was the most enormously overweight elephant, even by elephant standards. This was the primary reason for his inability to bounce, but the soft sand was as good an excuse as any. Rodney shuffled up to him for a chat. He tried not to get too close, since the elephant was sweating that much that all Rodney needed was a bar of soap and a shower cap and he’d be singing Taylor Swift songs.

“Hi. I’m Rodney. I’m a Parroguin.”

“Oh hello. I’m Dave, but everyone just calls me Kangaphant. Struth! It’s rough going on this sand. Think I’ll just have a break for a while and watch the show.”

Kangaphant collapsed into a ball of fat and sweat on the sand and began mopping his brow.

“Show?” Asked Rodney.

“Yeah mate,” replied Kangaphant in his best, if pathetic, Australian accent. “Tigerdile loves to plan his own type of parade. Where he is the only star! He likes to think of it as a little treat for us before we start work. Struth!”

A question was burning its way around inside Rodney’s head. It demanded to be released.

“What’s so special about Kangaroo’s? I mean elephants are pretty cool too, aren’t they?”

“Well yeah, I suppose they are if you like that sort of thing,” answered Kangaphant, still mopping his sweaty brow profusely. “But I couldn’t make the weight. It was getting me down.”

“Oh I see. I’m sorry.” Rodney suddenly felt guilty. ‘That was so insensitive of me,’ He thought to himself. ‘He’s probably struggled for years to get his weight down. It’s not his fault. He’s probably got defective glands. Still, the lack of food on the island must be helping him get slim.’

“Yup,” continued Kangaphant. “It didn’t matter how much I ate, I couldn’t put an ounce on. Like a twig I was. Some people are born like that aren’t they? Not my fault of course but the other elephants wouldn’t accept me. Jealous you see. Wandered for weeks I did, all alone, barely an iced bun to my name, when I found this place. Course, I’d wasted away by that time, just the skin and bone you see before you now.”

‘I’ve heard it all now,’ mused Rodney. ‘An overweight elephant who thinks he’s anorexic.’

“So where did the idea for the Kangaroo come from then?”

“Skippy.”

“Skippy?”

“Yeah! Skippy the bush kangaroo! Saw him on a TV show once, never forget it, thought blimey! That’s cool! Made me forget all about my weight problem I can tell you. Snig had some old springs lying around when I got here and hey presto!”

Rodney had never heard of Skippy the bush kangaroo. But it didn’t matter. As time went on on this island he was beginning to accept anything. No matter how bizarre. He decided to make his way to the front of the crowd to get a better look. Tigerdile was scanning the crowd with his piercing, blood red eyes.

“What we need is a volunteer. Ah, here is just the fellow.”

Rodney’s feathers stood on end.

“Gulp!”

If he’d looked around him he would have seen many other animals, all stood in similar poses, all frozen to the spot. Whoever Tigerdile was pointing at, he wasn’t making completely clear. He seemed to be enjoying the faces of fear before him. 

Time seemed to slow down, but the illusion was shattered by a large webbed foot.

Emutah had been working very hard on how to become a cheetah. But he was having a problem telling the words ‘cheetah’ and ‘cheater’ apart. He decided that he would help Tigerdile to make, what seemed to him to be a tricky decision. He volunteered Hyecat. ‘It might wipe the stupid grin off his face and help him to be more like a cat than a Hyena,’ thought Emutah. ‘Besides, everyone knows, a cat has nine lives. He can spare one. A gentle shove in the back, with my foot, will help him overcome his nerves.’

“Meow,” said Hyecat.

“ Step forward,” sneered Tigerdile. “ Don’t be shy. We’re going to play a little game and you’re it!”

“If I ever get through this I will never stand at the front again,” thought Hyecat. “Damn my curiosity.”

Hyecat stood trembling in the waters shallows whilst gentle waves lapped against his feet. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to burst out laughing, which he suppressed only be virtue of the fact that he was determined not to end his days laughing like an idiot. He would go like a cat. If he had known anything about cats he would have run like the clappers.

‘A cat would arch its back and hiss viciously, claws fully retracted,’ he thought to himself.

All excellent in theory of course. Great if you’re up against a dog. Useless when your enemy is twenty stones of solid muscle, with teeth and claws that make yours look like a babies’ first milkies. That was before he even attempted to consider the consequences of the optional steel extras. He closed his eyes tightly and trembled. Tigerdile waited about twenty metres away, in the deeper water, facing the crowd. He was enjoying his little game immensely.

“ Today’s game is called hunt the water buffalo,” he announced proudly.

“Mummy!”

The audience shuffled nervously. Rodney began to feel his temper rise.

“Excuse me Mr. Tigerdile, but I’m not a water buffalo,” Hyecat trembled. “Perhaps I’d better just go and sit down.”

“ Don’t worry yourself little one. For the purposes of our game, you’ll do just nicely. Stay still and wait for the game to begin.”

“Oh lordy!”

“Have you ever seen the crocodile hunting for water buffalo? Silly me of course you haven’t allow me to demonstrate.”

“Must you?”

“Oh yes! That’s the purpose of the game you see. The crocodile is only half the size and weight of the water buffalo but his skill and cunning as a hunter, coupled with the element of surprise, allow him to creep up on the buffalo as he drinks at the waters edge. He stalks his prayer with supreme stealth then-“

WHOOSH!!

“He rises out of the water in a flash and grips his victim by the head. No creature alive can break the grip of his huge jaws. He drags them kicking and screaming under the water to their doom, like this….”

Tigerdile submerged under the crystal blue water, his crocodile headpiece slicing through the waves ominously. Then he glided silently forward to make his deathly journey.

“Yes, very good. I think we’ve got the picture. You don’t need to demonstrate,” said a trembling Hyecat.

The watching crowd averted their eyes. This was going to be bloody. Emutah was filled with a mixture of guilt and relief. Kangaphant began to sweat even more, if that was possible. Tigerdile was only a metre away now. In a moment, the little hyena would be on the lunch menu. Only Rodney had the courage to do something to stop it. Tigerdiles’ jaws opened, just centimetres from their prey. At great risk to himself he leapt forward into the water, in between Tigerdile and Hyecat, thwarting the attack. Tigerdile was momentarily confused, and stopped his assault.

“What on earth are you doing?” Rodney demanded, smacking Tigercrocodile on the head. “Absolutely shocking! Call yourself a crocodile? With that swimming stroke? Outrageous!”

Tigerdile had no option but to stop his attack. If nothing else he was completely taken by surprise. No one had ever dared to stop one of his games before.

“WHAT ON EARTH!!” He roared as he rose from the water.

“Disgraceful! That wasn’t swimming,” lectured Rodney. “Why, any real crocodile would be ashamed of you! You were only doing a doggy paddle! That wasn’t swimming! What you should have been doing was using your tail more, to propel yourself through the water.”

“How dare you, spluttered a confused Tigerdile, “ how dare you interfere with my game! No one has ever dared to do that before.”

Hyecat opened his eyes. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew one thing. Some other poor sap was getting it instead of him. He turned and ran like the wind and he didn’t stop until he was well out of sight. He was finally getting the hang of being a cat.

Emutah had only a few words on his mind.

“The lucky……….”

“That’s been your problem see,” continued Rodney, as Tigerdile began to turn purple with rage. “You haven’t had any honest criticism. What you need…….”

But Rodney did not get chance to finish his sentence. Before he could, he was thrown high into the air. In his rage, Tigerdile had smashed the surface of the water with his enormous paws. The force of the blow had catapulted Rodney out of the water, over the watching crowd.

“WHERE IS HE?” Bellowed Tigerdile in fury. “BRING HIM TO ME!!”

However, no one knew where Rodney had gone. The animals scattered from the waters edge in fear of Tigerdiles’ temper, searching and searching for him, but the penguin was nowhere to be seen. Aware that his place on the island was in jeopardy, Rodney had fled. He took the only route that was open to him. Into the thick of the jungle. He didn’t stop until the roars of Tigerdile were just a distant memory.