Top positive review
355 people found this helpful
on 2 May 2013
Having pulled the package from the envelope, I tore at the plastic wrapping unleashing the heady fumes of sealed plastic into the tight air of my living room. Perhaps, if I realised then what I know now, I might have stopped and put the accursed thing back in its envelope. But I was intoxicated with joy at the thought of the funny little seagull and how much it would look at home, hanging from my ceiling. And so, I inflated it...
Things went well for the first day or two. It dangled quite serenely from a corner of the ceiling; catching the occasional waft of fresh air from the open window.
I couldn't have been happier.
However, slowly but surely, over the next few days, something crept over me, like a frail shroud of fear.
It started innocuously enough - the glimpse of the seagull's plastic skin, turning slowly as I enter the room and flick on the light. A movement when there is no breeze to form it. Then, the eyes. Those once-so-welcoming orbs, which now seemed to stare at me, caught in the corner of my eye as I watch television. Never blinking. Only staring. Silent. Judging me.
It has been over a week now.
I want to take the seagull down. I need to. But something stops me.
Once, I was scared to enter the room. Now I am afraid to leave it.
What strange, mesmeric power does this thing hold over me?
Why does it stare so?
Why am I so powerless against it?
My body feels more drained with every passing moment.
I know it will come for me soon. Swoop down from that accursed corner of the ceiling which it inhabits. Feed on me as I sleep. Pluck out my eyeballs with two simple stabs of that orange beak. But I must rest soon.
I am tired. So tired. But I cannot close my eyes, nor turn my back for one second on this fiendish thing.....