Literature
Stubborn Donkey
He walked through the heat, the scorching sands beneath his hooves radiating waves that shimmered like liquid gold. Each step felt ponderous, unnatural—his new donkey ears twitched at the phantom whispers carried on the furnace-like wind. The relentless sun hammered down, bleaching the dunes into a barren expanse that mirrored the hollow ache in his chest. Sweat—or was it remnants of tears?—trickled down his temples, stinging his vision. The indignity*. Where were his servants? His comfort? His right to ease? This wasn't suffering he deserved; it was an offense. A violation.
He tugged at the coarse hood of his robe, fingers trembling. The fabric scraped against his sensitive ears—those wrong, ugly ears. With a snarl of revulsion, he ripped the hood down. Instantly, the brown donkey ears sprang up, free and exposed. They twitched violently at the abrasive kiss of the hot wind. He froze, breath caught in his throat. Look at me, he raged inwardly. Mocked, reduced to this. To be seen like
