When it was time, I slid a Vespidae down my throat. It had sat in a marinade of dictionaries and poetic expressions, brewed over resistance for decades. I did the usual tests; said Bah! and rolled out an O! and tilted the Earth on its axis one way and then the other to ensure the wasp would not pop out and embarrass me like those scrunched up tissue-balls I once stuffed into my bra to impress the boy I fell for in university. The Vespidae had aged well. It felt ripe to unleash its formidable sting, to paralyze time if it zipped. Stood still.
When it was time, I uncorked my arms and legs. What use are limbs at state dinners anyway? Those pantomimes are so full of lumbering pimps, shake-every-hand-firmlies, too many aperitifs and altogether too many expecting curtseys. Nah! I say to custom and check my reflection in no moon. That’ll do. Just a smidgin of blurt and burp, so not to come across as too proper coz that can get a bit ugly in centuries of pretend equality. One must do what one must to be one with the masses, not too uppity, reminds my PR manager as I slide into my gown.
When it was time, the planets aligned to let the fish spread their wings, swoop up from the oceans dripping candy wrappers they had squirreled in crevices of bleached reefs.
When it was time, I slithered to my spot to rust under the shade of taro leaves.