|
|
|
Something short I wrote really fast last night. Oddly written and unedited. I didn't even read through it this morning, just fixed the spelling errors. Just... keep the premise in mind and think more about it than you read. ;;
--
He looked down at the little bird with wonder. This lasted only a second before his eyes widened and his mouth fell open, gasping in a short breath of air with the realization. Horror was spread all across his face, and he didn't bother trying to hide it. He quickly glanced around, but his siblings were gone, farther up the path. Moving swiftly and trying to hide his fear with the reassuring thought that yes, he could fix it, he coddled the little brown bird in his hands and gingerly placed it in his backpack. He decided it would be safest in the pocket where he was keeping his wildflowers.
They'd been out biking, his siblings and him, on a low dirt trail. Their mother had sent them out to play while he cooked, and they decided to bike the foothills. He promised his mama he'd pick some pretty flowers that grew along the way so they could be the showplace of the dinner table, and they set out. He fell behind to pick some particularly eye-catching hierba centella, and sped up to reach his siblings before they left him. In his haste, he managed to run down a baby sparrow, he knew it was because it was in all of Papa's bird books. He could tell as soon as it was in his hands it was dead; it was so light he could have been holding nothing at all and the little head flopped unnaturally into his palm. But, he told himself, it would be okay. God would definitely forgive him, because he would fix it.
-
He snuck behind the house, into the most prosperous tomato garden Mama had, the place where everything grew. He crouched between two tall Roma tomato plants and dug a little hole. He laid the bird down to rest in its makeshift grave and scooped the soil back into place. He could tell it wasn't a proper grave, that he hadn't done very well, frowning and biting his lip at the way the bird's wing was visible in some places. So he ran and ripped some weeds out from the brush and sprinkled them on top. He smiled and nodded; now it was prettier, anyway.
He ran inside, then ran back out with a cup of water, which he poured on the bird's grave. Satisfied, he picked up his backpack and went inside to give his mama the flowers.
Every day he dutifully poured more water on the bird, and every day he grew more confident. But his observant mama stopped him one day, and he didn't have the stomach to lie. Instead, he beamed up at him and said with total certainty "I'm growing birds!"
To this, his mother frowned and ran into the garden, and he followed, confused. His mama began to dig up the grave before he could stop him, and then smiled sadly. Mama looked over and shook his head, and somehow, he understood and started to cry, and Mama held out his arms and held the weeping little boy.
 Pure Finn · Wed Dec 30, 2009 @ 05:04pm · 2 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
