This week's picture prompt was created by hungarian born, Sarolta Ban. She doesn't give this a name, but it is located in the alterego category. It's not the first time I've used one of her images. I used one on Week 28, and Week 24 . She has some exceptional images, worth checking out.
Took a while but then this story arrived sometimes you have to follow your beliefs. Just say no to caged birds.
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I pushed up on the cardboard above me, not
expecting it to give, but it did. I opened the flaps with the tip of my wing,
and pushed up, opening them out to their full wingspan. I hadn’t been able to
do that in years.
The air was thick with fog, or was that
smoke? I couldn’t be sure. I had little recollection of what fresh air smelt
like. I stepped out of the box and flexed my wings a few times. I hadn’t flown
in at least a decade.
Cage life was torture for anyone with
wings, but humans like to have you there to coo at you. They also expected you to
be grateful to have been caught in the first place and kept alone, trapped, and
living with the indignity of shitting where you eat. Some days they were lazy
and let it get really smelly. All I could do when that happened was hide in the
corner and cover my face with my wing in shame. I would hear them talk about me
as though I was some tiny toy. But mostly I was just an ornament.
They had clearly had enough of me, which is
why they had dumped me here. The novelty had finally worn off, and as I hadn’t
died in the cage, they were now going to abandon me and force me to fend for
myself in a hostile land.
I beat my wings a few times and hopped over
to a rock. I needed to get above whatever was causing this fogginess and feel
the sun on my body.
I beat them again, expecting to feel tired,
but instead I was exhilarated, my energy rising high. And with another hard
beat I rose using that energy, climbing higher and higher until the clouds
around me began to brighten.
I broke through and got my first glimpse of
sunshine and sky in … I no longer knew how long, but since I was a baby. It was
magical. I caught a thermal and glided out above the dense cloud, until I came
across a gap that showed me the ground.
It was indeed smoke. I could see patches of
the ground consumed by flame and others black from where it had passed.
I stayed high, it was easy up here, the
warm thermals keeping me buoyant, and not requiring too much wing strength.
Then I spotted a flock ahead of me, and made my way towards them. They were
white-winged like me.
I joined the tail end of their formation.
The wind drag lessened and I felt I had found my place.
I soaked in the view of the sun glistening
on the smoky clouds and imagined water, large expanses of it. And somewhere in
my mind I knew that was where we were going, and I could see the route. I hoped
my wings would hold me up that long.
But soon the light was fading and the
formation was descending, fortunately to an unburnt patch of land. I tried for
an elegant landing but I stumbled a little. Folding my wings hurt after such a
long time expanded but it was a relief too. I joined them pecking at the
ground, and followed them towards a small stream. I placed my feet in the water
and squawked with delight. They joined in. And then I saw the movement in the
water and caught up the little fish in my mouth. I’d never experienced anything
so blissful.
Then as the light left the ground, we
huddled together, and I spotted the rings on their legs, too. I wasn’t the only
one who had found freedom as the world burned.
The box was only just large enough to contain me. I could fit inside if I folded myself, crossing my arms across my chest. I had to lean forward, with my chin resting against my knees, trying not to breathe too deeply or fidget.
ReplyDeleteIt wasn’t an ideal situation.
I was one among many but knowing this did little to comfort me. In fact, it made things worse, making the air seem thinner, more contaminated, the odours of the others less tolerable.
It was difficult to know how long I’d been here. There was no frame of reference - it would have been too dark to read my watch if I’d still been wearing it, my view of the outside limited to the narrow slots of the vents which let in some air. The only light I could see was artificial and as far as I could tell it wasn’t switched on or off to a fixed routine, so I could have been here for days, weeks or even months.
I’m not sure if I could have moved now if I’d tried. My elbows and knees had seized up, the pain I’d felt having faded as it became more familiar.
But I could still think and remember and wonder what would eventually happen to me.
This episode of my life began in July. The heaths had become blighted, the toxins our oppressors sprayed each night killing every animal or plant still outside. There were still a few families who’d sneaked their pets and smaller stock animals inside, but the soldiers were becoming savvy now and were destroying every illegal creature they found.
As well as the properties of the offenders. It was a death sentence without any chance of an appeal. They would die, as surely as they’d been shot, the drones having no mercy.
And that was why I’d chosen to travel, to escape the new regime. If I could find another home in a new country, I’d be able to live again and not need to hide away.
Thanks for posting here, Mark, nice little tale.
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