The Hedgehog
by Shirley Shao
He was the most beautiful hedgehog in the
world, with fifty-three bristles poking out
of a flattened white dome. There was a
little purple ball caught on the tip of each
perfectly straight bristle, and a long, rigid
tail trailed behind him.
The hedgehog lived on a polished
slab of marble that was dappled gold
and dark gray. He sunned himself when
he could. Sometimes a warm fog drifted
through his bristles and left little droplets
clinging to his back; a spring nearby periodically
shut on and off, and occasionally a
few larger droplets splashed onto the hedgehog’s
tail.
One day, the beautiful hedgehog
woke to a clamor. (Some mornings were
like that, unfortunately.) The hedgehog sat
patiently, waiting for the sound to die down
so he could sun bathe in peace.
“Hurry up, it’s almost eight!”
The hedgehog sat quietly as the
spring was shut on and off. He suffered
the commotion patiently, until a dollop of
something green and goopy fell from the
sky. The glob caught in the hedgehog’s
magnificent bristles, and the hedgehog, who
found nothing more enjoyable than basking
in the sunshine, disliked the cold feeling
that the dollop impressed upon his bristles.
“Oh, ew! Clean that, now.”
“No.”
“Dude, now I can’t brush my hair.”
“That’s YP, not MP.”
“What?”
The dollop began to ooze from the
purple tip of the hedgehog’s bristles and
plop onto his back. The hedgehog frowned.
“Your problem, not mine!”
“Uh, you caused the problem. Clean it, before
I count to five.”
“No.”
The hedgehog sprang up from his
position on the stone slab and lunged at
the aggressor who had caused the disgusting
dollop to fall from the sky. His dirtied
bristles raked across a patch of short black
brush – there was a shriek – and then the
beautiful hedgehog was flung through the
air. He landed on a creamy white sheet
of smooth stone and stayed there as the
shrieking continued.
“And that’s YP, not MP.”
The springs roared noisily, and water droplets
pelted through the air.
Grudgingly, the hedgehog moved
towards the spring. Water flowed through
his bristles, and whatever goop that had not
been caught in the short black brush was
washed away. The hedgehog shook himself,
and rolled through a section of longer black
grass before once again settling on the gold
and gray marble. The clamor died down
and the springs quieted.
Content again, the hedgehog resumed
sunbathing.
by Shirley Shao
He was the most beautiful hedgehog in the
world, with fifty-three bristles poking out
of a flattened white dome. There was a
little purple ball caught on the tip of each
perfectly straight bristle, and a long, rigid
tail trailed behind him.
The hedgehog lived on a polished
slab of marble that was dappled gold
and dark gray. He sunned himself when
he could. Sometimes a warm fog drifted
through his bristles and left little droplets
clinging to his back; a spring nearby periodically
shut on and off, and occasionally a
few larger droplets splashed onto the hedgehog’s
tail.
One day, the beautiful hedgehog
woke to a clamor. (Some mornings were
like that, unfortunately.) The hedgehog sat
patiently, waiting for the sound to die down
so he could sun bathe in peace.
“Hurry up, it’s almost eight!”
The hedgehog sat quietly as the
spring was shut on and off. He suffered
the commotion patiently, until a dollop of
something green and goopy fell from the
sky. The glob caught in the hedgehog’s
magnificent bristles, and the hedgehog, who
found nothing more enjoyable than basking
in the sunshine, disliked the cold feeling
that the dollop impressed upon his bristles.
“Oh, ew! Clean that, now.”
“No.”
“Dude, now I can’t brush my hair.”
“That’s YP, not MP.”
“What?”
The dollop began to ooze from the
purple tip of the hedgehog’s bristles and
plop onto his back. The hedgehog frowned.
“Your problem, not mine!”
“Uh, you caused the problem. Clean it, before
I count to five.”
“No.”
The hedgehog sprang up from his
position on the stone slab and lunged at
the aggressor who had caused the disgusting
dollop to fall from the sky. His dirtied
bristles raked across a patch of short black
brush – there was a shriek – and then the
beautiful hedgehog was flung through the
air. He landed on a creamy white sheet
of smooth stone and stayed there as the
shrieking continued.
“And that’s YP, not MP.”
The springs roared noisily, and water droplets
pelted through the air.
Grudgingly, the hedgehog moved
towards the spring. Water flowed through
his bristles, and whatever goop that had not
been caught in the short black brush was
washed away. The hedgehog shook himself,
and rolled through a section of longer black
grass before once again settling on the gold
and gray marble. The clamor died down
and the springs quieted.
Content again, the hedgehog resumed
sunbathing.