NOT A MONSTER

“Purple Blob”. That's what they call me. It’s what they call us! I don’t like that name. It’s not a name at all, it’s an insult, it’s bullying! But it's what I hear whenever I leave the woods where we all live (or is “hide” a better word? ). I am not safe outside, with the other Purple Men, with the other, in their unkind words, with the Purple Blobs. Whenever I have to come to town on some mission, I hear those cruel words shouted at us by the townsfolk. Mostly from their children. “Purple Blobs !! Monsters.” They yell. Sometimes rocks are thrown at me or rolled across the road toward my bottom (which is soft and easily damaged). At other times, snarling dogs are sent to chase after us just for the sport of it, to see if we can be caught, damaged, to see if we will bleed purple. Even though we are round and shaped like snowmen, we Purple Men can outpace our tormentors by rolling away at a great speed! Whoever you are, peasant, soldier, or child, please don’t throw rocks at us when you see us. Please don’t use those words! Don’t send your dogs out after us to snap at what would be our heels if we had heels! It is a show of disrespect, at the very least. I am not a monster! We are not monsters!

But what do I expect?

I am different. I am 8 feet tall and 4 feet wide, I am the color of elderberries, and I am large and round, and you see me as shapeless, but it’s just that I keep changing shape depending on how much bouncing I have to do to get from one place to another and depending of course on the terrain, and whether it is a quiet day or a day on which I am being pursued. A rocky terrain causes me to do quite a bit of shape changing. And my voice, they tell me, is squeaky, and yes, I do giggle because that’s what bouncing makes any round creature do. Yes, I am purple, and I may not be shaped like your customary warrior, but I am fearless. I' will overcome. That's what we company of Purple Men tell each other when we huddle together at night in the woods and caves.

I am what I am. I am large and I sing silly songs and I am not the color you are used to seeing in your friends and neighbors. But it is the way I have always been. And another reason not to taunt me that name I hate is that I have a name just as you do! I have a Christian name. It is Charles. But no one ever calls me Charles (except my friend Albert) because that would show too much respect for a creature most people consider just a misfit purple blob, wouldn’t it?

But I am not a monster, and we are not monsters.

We Purple folk live outside the gates of the castle, of course, not on its grounds. We live in caves mostly or in the shadowy groves. But do not dismiss us, because although we are not like the somewhat respectable minstrels or jesters or craftspeople, we can be a supportive army if the king needs us for special duty. And he has called on us, not to fight exactly, but to– how shall I say it? – to confuse the enemy! Who better to misdirect a cavalry of fighting men in armor on horseback with weapons – than a surprise appearance of a circle of eight foot tall Purple men, brave and bubbly, bouncing from rock to rock from ledge to ledge, even bouncing off the ground like magnificent balloons or big magenta bubbles, bumping into each other and singing cheery tunes the whole while, tumbling over greenery and punting across the river rapids. It is something to witness, a colorful, joyful invasion of the Purple Men!

Misdirection, that is what we are good at. So why do the townspeople laugh and send their dogs after us “monsters”? Why do they rush at us with rocks and spears and try to crush us? It is hateful, but we have each other. We Purple folk gather at night at our campfire and press our bubbly bodies together because we don’t have arms to hug. It makes a funny squeaky sound like kissing, and it keeps us warm and motivated !

When I was born, I was smaller and almost pink, but month after month, I got bigger and bigger and bigger. But I never sprouted arms and legs like a normal baby. And I never found words. Just singy songy sounds came out of the little spout I have in place of the mouth most babies have.

I was not “most babies”. I know that because my parents left me in the woods when I was half the size I am now. They never came back. I had to try to hide. Even back then, the little furry animals in the woods hissed at me and ran from me. They tried to roll me into the river when I was sleeping, but I survived somehow. By then, I knew my parents were never coming back for me.

And one day, everything changed. The prince, who was out hunting partridge, came by and found me, alone and frightened, hiding behind a boulder. “I am not a monster,” I said, for fear he would shoot me. But he laughed and pushed me into his cart and took me to the castle, where he locked me in the darkest corner of the cellar. “Maybe you, my monster, will lose that horrible shade of dried blood here in the dark and turn into something we can eat or have sport with.”

Except to feed me something dry and hard and dusty, something that we Purple Men do not eat, no one came to visit me. I sang songs in the dark, so I would not feel so alone.

One day, a young boy appeared and approached my cage. He was very small and had only one twisted arm and two club feet. He did not laugh or call me a name. He opened my cage and freed me. “I am not a monster,“ he said, pointing to himself as he opened my cage and patted me with his crippled hand. “My name is Sylvan. I am the prince’s son.”

That very day, Sylvan pushed-carried me to the grove where the Purple Men were gathered. And the Purple Men (creatures who all looked just like me) became my family that day! I was one of them. I have been one of them every day since. Before long, even the king came to visit, and he named us his Purple Guard! Now, Prince Sylvan often comes to play with me, with us. He is the one who gave me my name, Charles. I was named for his uncle, King Charles I. I am now Charles the Brave, Charles the Purple Man, not a monster!

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