I was once an outcast in a family of flamingoes. Since I was abandoned by my parents when they were killed by the first line of Decepticons, no one ever thought I was different. Sure, I grew up big and strong among the beautiful pink feathers of my all-female flamingo family, but when I reached the grand old age I’m at now, everyone shunned me and drove me away from the lake where I lived.
Luckily, I found a nearby island with no one else living on it, where I can finally be at peace and live an independent, free life. And it was there, on this day, that a miracle happened. From out of the sky, slowly fell a precious white egg. I never knew where it came from or how it was created, all these unknown beings tasked me to do was keep the egg warm and nourish it.
I dug a little nest in the sand for it, where I safely placed it in case there are any predators coming to eat it for breakfast. Well, it’s safe to say that there were no cats and foxes on this island, but I kept it warm and safe through all the time it remained a dominant little egg, still and safe as a shell of new life.
And then one day, a miracle happened. It was on a grey, rainy and stormy day, so dull in fact that you couldn’t see the mountains in the distance. It was on this day that I knew my patience was an angel, who had rewarded me for my caring, nurturing behaviour. And that was when I heard the first crack of the egg.
I leaned closer to see who could be bursting out of it. Who could it be? Perhaps it could be another flamingo….or a parrot…or a toucan. But of course no bird came out of the egg at all. From out of the egg emerged…a little paw. Then another. And another. And then, a little head. I was shocked and surprised by what I saw: it was a baby lioness cub! My patience had been extra kind to me, and I named it Furaha. After helping peel away the shell so it can wiggle its legs freely, I welcomed her into the world. But of course, a lioness can feel all sticky when it’s hatched from an egg, so I went to the nearby sea and bathed it among the rain and the water.
The way it splashed me…it was something I didn’t want to forget. Her joy and happiness melted my spark just the same way as you two melted mine in real life. It made me want to join in, for the old saying goes, “Flowers may bloom again, but a person never has a chance to be young again.” I played with the baby in the cool ocean water until she was free of the sticky stuff that covered her when she was in that magical egg.
From there, I discovered my purpose in life: to be a carer of this very magical creature.
In the days following onwards, I took great care of her, just like I said earlier. I watched over her as she heaved her way through the sand, still learning to find her feet - or, paws, as I may say. She also learnt to roll over really quickly. I was so proud of her. When she rolled over, I joined in with her too. It was such a lot of fun - and all the years I was with my flamingo family, I forgot how to have fun.
I laughed loudly as Furaha crawled all over me, her enthusiasm matching that of an excited peacock from India. I rolled over onto my chest as Furaha heaved herself across my back, her fur tickling my metallic skin. And then, just when I thought things couldn’t get any better….she climbed onto my head. Following that, I ran across the beach, giving her an absolutely thrilling ride. A flock of seagulls flew in all directions when they saw me thundering by, Furaha riding on my head.
But no sooner had I reached the other end of the beach, Furaha was sent flying through the air, but I caught her just in time. And do you know what else? She never cried. All because there was someone there to protect her - me, obviously, I AM known as a protector in real life.
A few years later, Furaha turned three, and she was like a little toddler. A little more frisky and playful as she was before - a chasing-butterflies kind of toddler who didn’t mind the freedom of the outside world. Her first steps from when she first learnt to walk were as wobbly as a shelf coming apart in a dining room, and I watched carefully as she pranced along the beach like a little crab with disjointed legs.
Not that her legs are actually disjointed, I meant she has very perfectly healthy legs. She can jump, she can run, she can walk - it doesn’t matter how she moves, or how she laughs, all I know is that she is in safe hands. Safe, enormous hands if you are an Autobot like me.
During these years, I also taught her how to catch fish in the sea. From my years of experience living with that family of pink feathers and elegant grace, they only caught fish in their beaks, but I didn’t have a beak. I only had a mouth, covered up by my all too well known faceplate. So, I only caught fish with my hands. It took skill and practice for the young cub, because unlike me, she only had paws and claws.
Speaking of claws, she tested out how sharp they are by scratching them in the sand, causing little claw marks on the soft surface of the beach. The next thing I knew it, she was scratching the bark of the trees in the forest - and the way I looked at it, she did some amazing carvings indeed. She had a talent for it - she had a talent for art. Something no other being from the skies inherited before her. There were lots of human kids on Earth that do art, especially toddlers - toddlers have a messy way of painting, but they find carving on tree bark kind of sharp if you know what I mean.
Now, if you’re asking about my old human friends, Rad, Carlos and Alexis, don’t worry. They too embrace their own forms of art, but that’s nothing compared to my little friend I’ve sworn to protect now. She is so talented she carved pictures of me and her into the bark.
And that continued when she turned six and was fully healthy, fully confident and fully playful than she ever was when she was three. However, she was into other things now. What other things, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you all about them right now.
When Furaha and I took walks in the forest, I saw how skilled she was at climbing trees. She was an excellent climber - she could climb any tree she wanted and jump from branch to branch, something anyone afraid of heights never wanted to do before. I can still remember her squeals of laughter every time she jumped every branch, and then leapt into my giant hands as I twirled her around and cuddled her. It was like I found someone as acrobatic as a lemur - yet there weren’t many lemurs on the island.
When we went for a swim in the lake, there was an enormous waterfall nearby. Being fearless and courageous as any daring six year old cub was, Furaha would climb up the waterfall - although the falling water did tickle her fur most of the time, and once she reached the very top, she did a spectacular dive right into the water. Her splashes were bigger than mine. When she emerged and shook herself, how I cheered. I knew that she had the confidence to believe she can do anything if she put her mind to it.
And when we played together - oh, just the thought of it brings tears to my optic sensors. The fun we had, the sounds of laughter, and all that running around chasing each other and tickling each other - it felt like I’ve found a new sense of energy inside both me and the one I’ve sworn to protect. We have developed a life long bond with each other, and I knew it could never be broken.
Then one rainy night, just the same as the night I found her in that egg, we came to the nest where she hatched. Furaha could see the bits of rotting shell inside that nest, which were turning blue with gold trimming. “Is this where I hatched?” she asked quietly, the noise of the rain softer than her voice. I nodded.
“That’s….where I hatched, right?” asked Furaha. I had no expression to say anything. I just nodded. “But how come I wasn’t born to other lions?” she asked. She saw the look on my face, even though I didn’t have the mouth to show it - I offline my optic sensors tight and sobbed. Tears streamed down my face, as purple as fruit juice. Furaha immediately knew how I was feeling - memories of the day she hatched came flooding back into my knowledge-filled Autobot brain, and I couldn’t hold my emotions back.
But then, Furaha approached me and said, a tinge of emotion in her voice: “It’s okay, I’ll be there for you when you cry. We’ll always be there for each other, right?” I was silent for a minute. And then, wiping my tears away from my optic sensors, I admitted: “Yes. We will.” And then, following this statement, came another: “Furaha….you are so talented in so many ways. You were born not just for art - you were born for many other things as well. All those years we’ve had together - talking, playing, laughing - all of these are so special to me. From the day you hatched, you knew you’d be my golden child. You were born from the Heavens - because every child was.”
And with that, I took Furaha in my giant, warm hands and gave her a soft, gentle hug. Now Furaha was sobbing quietly too. I had to shush her and tell her it’s okay, but through her trembling mouth, she whispered: “I love you….dad.” Those words made my spark melt like a pound of butter under a dish on a hot day. Dad. What a nice name. I think I’ll stick to that name from now on.
And in real life, you two, Furaha and Orko, are the golden children I’ve wanted today, and still are. You two are so talented in so many ways…and even though you two call me dad, I am still your carer.
And that’s what makes a family like us so special.
THE END.
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