Wednesday, December 11, 2013

broken wings

"You all know the basic facts of my abduction and absence for all these many years. I will tell you the rest".
The room fell quiet. There were no cameras, only reporters with shorthand pencil at the blank pad. One stock photo was allowed, a photographer kneeled on one knee, held steady, flash!,the small figure before them at a wooden desk blinking magpie black eyes.
"My parents, long gone, were parked at the oceanfront lookout, it was Sunday, I was in the back seat snug in my blankets asleep. An innocent scene I'm told, people strolling barefoot on the beach, children playing, friendly-like birds within arm's length, all too happy to take free handouts of morsels, vengeful grins mistakened for a light-weighted friendly photo op you'd find in a vacation brochure. Then it was over in a flash as told by my mother to police. The swarm zeroing in, a flock through the open backdoor car windows, and aloft I went on the wings of two, perhaps four giant birds, out of reach of my devastated parents. It is said my folks made no noise, no screams, at the horror of the sight of me fading towards the dazzling white horizon".

Chuckling and throat clearing scattered amongst the group of reporters. One man imitated the sound of fluttering wings, another cawed at the back of the hall. The figure at the table raised his head briefly, then fell again. He almost flew away in disgust.
"Yes", his small voice continued,"I was raised by the feather, sharp beaks probing with slimy objects forced into my mouth, naturally taught to take off and return from the flimsy branch of a two hundred foot tall tree in a way I could not teach anyone if I tried. Let me say here it is not true I have never made eye contact with my fellow humans. It just appears that way because you are trying too hard to notice. It is the defect of your large cumbersome brain against the lean brain of a bird. I have looked into distrustful and suspicious eyes. And I have flown towards the rising sun and late setting moon". He stated all this defiantly without taking a breath and found himself lightheaded. Chuckling and murmurs of 'creepy bird' washed around the room. People shook their heads and looked at one another.

It all seemed in slow motion the way the horror began. A slammed fist upon the table, scooting chair sounding like fingernails on a blackboard, overturned desk. He was above them circling, not with winged flight, but with a kind of deep-rooted willpower. They swatted at him with fists and writing pads, but he had the advantage because a person couldn't tell if he was looking at them with those big black eyes and swiveling neck. But they would overtake him eventually, crushing him with broken table legs, then vicious kicks, his wings of spirit broken, silent and motionless.


Blogger Tess Kincaid said...

Stellar writing, as always, Phil...I enjoyed this...

12/13/2013 10:20 AM  
Blogger phil said...

Thanks, Tess.
I am very glad.

12/14/2013 1:45 PM  

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