Black Bird

Deep inside the enchanted, meandering and forbidden forest, there was this one distinguished tree that stood apart from the others - weather-beaten trunk, yet supported with formidable and overpowering branches. On the highest limb that was reaching toward the sky, there laid an awkwardly-crafted nest in the twinkling of the sunlight. It's twigs and sticks entwined in the most odd fashion one would have ever seen.

Should any hollow-bone creature had seen it, nature instincts would have warned them from flying toward it. Why would anybody be that as dumb-witted to fly straight right into a trap like that? There there there, let us not get carried away. Let our heads not swell and take a good look down into this intriguing fragmentary breeding ground.

Peering in, there laid a pair of forlorn-looking eyes staring right back at me. "Chirp." It cried out. Pregnant pause. "Chirp chirp chirp!" It bellowed, flipping the enfeebled feathered wings in haste. Ah, it must have been starved. Why then is it not flying high up, cruising and scavenging food for it's survival? The pair of flappers was all right when it bellowed to me. Not at all signs of injury. Mother bird, where art thou? Had this bird been forsaken and abandoned?

"Chirp chirp." It went again, this time round a much huskier and hoarse pitch. With much caution, I picked it up gingerly. No signs of struggle. It complied to me submissively, all through the process of carrying it out from the nest to the branch. All eyes fixed on it, I waited for the bird to fly. No, there were no intentions of setting off. It stood rooted, and have it's pair of eyes peeled back at me.

Only then a tidal wave of realization engulfed me. It struck me hard. Hell, it must have been over dependent on it's parental figure. Over-reliance must be the word. Has the bird lost it's skills to fly? No. Has it been spoon-fed since birth? Why, yes! At that very fine moment, along came this blazing red six-dotted lady bug streaming down the bark of the trunk. My fist sunk into the trunk. I returned the bird back into it's home. Cupping the now spiritless bug in both hands, I dropped it to the horrendous-structured pile of twigs and sticks.

"Enjoy. My treat." The voice in my head commented. The bird looked at it fondly with relish, savoring every part of it. And now, I wonder, when would this bird have it's next meal?


Written by:
Xabryna Kek

Inspired from:
Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron & Wine