Poppatu

In a familiar town called Normullsy, there lived a boy named Poppatu. Poppatu grew big and strong, with arms and legs that’s lean and long. Of the things in his body that grew and grew, his forehead turned out to be the longest of all.

 

With five feet long of magnificent lobe, his head stood out from the rest of the world. Like a big, red pustule on the face of a queen, Poppatu could so easily be seen. And this little fact he wouldn’t have mind, if to his harmless, long forehead the people had been kind.

But mocked, and jeered, and with rotten eggs thrown, of that quite long forehead Poppatu want to get rid. Whatever he did though it so stubbornly stuck. Poppatu wished he had different luck.

Hurt and wishing he’d never been born, Poppatu resolved to leave ‘em all. He packed some clothes, some bacon and milk, and one moonless night in that town he left.

The next day the town awoke, attacked by a fleet from the sea led by a horrifying king. Before noon the whole town was sieged. All the people face a bitter end, it seemed.

But there is hope left, for the king of the fleet said their lives would be spared if, and only if, they could present to him a sight so rare that he haven’t seen or even to think of he didn’t dare.

And so at once to Poppatu’s house, the mayor went, bringing the rest of the town. “Hurray we’re safe!” they thought with glee, only to find that of Poppatu or his forehead there was none.

So the normal town of Normullsy – so usual, so practical, with not an icky bit of weird – had nothing to present to the horrifying king. “Off with their heads!” was the last shout they heard. Woman and child, men young and old, on that bright, sunny noon met their end, ‘twas told.

And Poppatu, that lonely old boy, with five feet of weirdness atop of his head, could have saved from doom a normal town whole, if only they have not made him feel so very small.

But now Poppatu’s gone with his forehead tall; even I do not know where he is or if he lives at all. And I wish there is more to this sorry tale, than death and fools, and rejection and pain.

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2 thoughts on “Poppatu

  1. Oooo… I LOVE this. If we don’t embrace what is different, if we respond with idiocy and fear, we will, ironically, have a consequence to Really fear. That’s how I might sum it up. There’s a story by Max Lucado called, “You are loved.” This story reminds me of it a little.

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    1. Thanks, Lisa! 🙂 I haven’t read You Are Loved but I could recall reading his story You Are Special, it was about Wemmicks – little wooden people. I haven’t thought of it before but it does have similar themes with this story.

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