That dragonfly story

The other morning I was walking up to the little roundabout at the top of Park Avenue North, you know the one – just at the entrance to the park up from the clubhouse – not St Paul’s Avenue at all. It was a lovely day and I had taken my cardigan off to better enjoy the pleasant morning sunshine. In the park, just a short hop over the traffic island across the road, joggers and dog walkers were staggering and strolling through the sunshine and shadows. A pity to spoil such a day with a trip to the office, but there you are.

I could hear a sound, like a distant motorbike so I slowed to look both ways. There was no motorbike. I looked up to cross the road safely. Then I saw it.

It was enormous.

It was coming straight for me.

It was obviously a giant killer dragonfly as normal dragonflies don’t have bodies the size footballs and the wing span of a light aircraft. It was olive green in colour, as though it were wearing camouflage gear, and in the time it took me to make these brief observations it had surged closer, in a head on attack.

I stopped and did the sidewalk shimmy. The one I do when approaching I’m someone else on the pavement and I don’t know which way they’re going to move and don’t want to bump into them. In case I catch something. The giant killer dragonfly just adjusted it flight path and headed straight for me.

Five seconds till impact.

Four seconds till impact.

Three seconds till impact.

I hit the ground, my bag spilling, keys tumbling into the gutter. It was still coming for me.

Two seconds till impact.

One second till impact.

...

And then it had gone.

Now, there are two possibilities here:

1. I hallucinated a giant killer dragonfly and over ten assorted joggers and dog walkers saw me hurl myself on to the pavement for no reason at all and lie there flapping my limbs and gums for a minute and a half.

2. A giant killer dragonfly has entered my body somehow and is still inside me buzzing around and around, getting the way of all my major organs preventing them from functioning correctly and working it’s evil metamorphosing power over my feeble human form and then slowly so no one will notice or possibly care I shall become iller and iller and iller until one day I try to get out of bed and find that my legs have joined together in a hideous scaly dragonfly abdomen and my arms have become long wings made of razor wire and I shall be a giant killer dragonfly then and be overcome with the terrible terrible urge to eat my family without favva beans or chianti, fine or otherwise.

Either are too awful to contemplate.