It’s weird when the bears go green.

Not in a “I’m going to help the environment” sort of way.

I’m talking in a literal way.

Always, around mid spring, the bears in my neighbourhood go bright, fluorescent green, as almost if they swam in the ink of all the highlighters of the school across the road.

And whenever I confront them about it they get all bothered and tense.

“Hi bear!”

“Hello.” (They say sarcastically, as they inherent a weird form of irony.)

“Could I ask you a question?”

“It depends.”

“Why are you green?”

“What did you say?” (This is where they get all tense.)

“W-why are you green?” I say a lot more nervously, because of the bead-like eyes of the bear staring me down in a way I never knew anyone could be stared down with.

“Do I ask you ‘Why are you so pale and skinny’? Hm? HM?” the bear says, unleashing it’s sass that it stored up in winter all onto my face.

I can feel the other bears glinting at my back.

Nervously, I gain back my confidence to ask the bear another question:

“Could I ask you another question?”

“If it’s as stupid as your last question, then no.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Go on.”

“Why did you kill the Tompson family?”

“WHY DO YOU THINK I DID THAT?” The bear screams.

“I DON’T KNOW!” I’m screaming as well at this point. For no reason, really. I think it might be peer pressure.

“IS IT BECAUSE I’M A BEAR?”

“NOT REALLY!”

“IS IT BECAUSE I’M GREEN?”

“DON’T TURN THIS INTO A RACE THING!” I’m getting slightly angry at this point.

“THEN WHY?” Apparently, so is the bear.

“BECAUSE I SAW YOU DO IT!” I scream.

“I SAW YOU MURDER TIMMY TOMPSON! I SAW YOU SCAVENGE AT GENEVIEVE TOMPSON’S FACE! I SAW YOU TAKE THE EYES OUT OF THOMAS TOMPSON!”

Silence falls over the street.

Mr Waterson the retired cereal mascot stands still as he waters his coco bush with his Chocolate-Water Goodness(TM).

Eider the upside down business man stops and his hat falls up.

Even the stone golem turns its head.

I run home.

* * *

Two weeks pass. No-one’s come around my house lately. Even Mrs Trupple hasn’t offered her weekly “Sunday Pavlova”.

Dad says that maybe we stink too much. But we all know why.

The bears have left Surreal Street. Of course they did. They couldn’t live with that sort of rumour about them.

It wasn’t them, by the way. It was the Carebear Psycopath. The murder on the news. He kills people in gruesome ways, puts them on a site called ‘TornHub’. He also likes the Carebears. I guess he was feeling Good Luck Bear that day. I feel sorry for the bears.