There once was a boy named Matt
Who was wearing a floppy old hat
It was awfully smelly
And a bird he’d named Nelly
Had made a fine nest where she sat
The clouds hung grey and heavy over the hill dotted haphazardly with houses. Their size varied from tiny units to massive eight bedroom, two story giants. Trees mottled the remaining space forming green organic blobs among the red square rooves. A bird sat on a TV antenna occasionally letting out a chirp calling to the other birds. Then it took off with a clatter of feathered wings. Sief held on tight to its neck feathers. If she fell her own wings were probably still not strong enough to save her from this height, even if it was only one story. The bird finally landed. Sief quickly slid to the ground. The bird ruffled its feathers and took off again. She looked up through the broccoli leaves to watch it fly away.
The apples clung to the branches in small unripe clusters. The tree was not quite leafy enough to hide them from sight. I waited expectantly for the birds to land. A crimson rosella landed, swayed for a second and tipped upside down. I leapt for its head by teeth snapped on empty air. I barked furiously as it flapped away. I lay down under the tree to wait panting a little. Another rosella landed, managing to stay upright. It sidled down the branch. I watched it carefully as the branch dipped lower under its weight. I stood up slowly muscles quivering with anticipation. I launched myself towards it jaws wide. I snapped them shut on a mouthful of feathers. I licked my mouth finding barely a trace of blood and the bird flapped away.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a bird. To fly everywhere and see the world from above. People think birds a free but really they are just confined by different boundaries than we are. We are confined by these fences and the guards with guns but even before we were here we weren’t free. That’s what we were trying to fight for but now I see freedom is all relative. You can only be free if you think you are. Maybe that’s what people are talking about then they say the birds a free. The birds just don’t know where their freedom ends yet.
This is a fictional short story fragment.
I dropped a gold coin in a well,
I watched it sparkle as it fell.
I made a wish that couldn’t come true,
I wished I could fly, in the sky so blue.
To my surprise my wish was granted,
I could fly whenever I wanted.
But I’m afraid, it wasn’t all I’d heard,
It’s over rated, being a bird,
The crocodile lay submerged.
He saw a bird and emerged.
His jaws opened wide.
The bird tried to hide
They, snapped closed.
The bird was enclosed.
Now all that is left is a feather.
Oh well that’s nature.
The magpie black and white,
One day took flight.
He flew up, into the air,
He was, without a care.
He sawed and swooped,
He twirled and looped.
The air currents, he enjoyed,
He thought he’d never be destroyed.
The gun went bang, the feathers flew,
And that was the last, that poor bird knew.
The python lay in wait for prey,
Nothing could keep that monster at bay.
It’s eyes upon a bird did land,
The bird upon the ground did stand.
It opened its mouth wide,
And caught the bird inside.
It quickly wrapped its coils around,
The bird couldn’t move or make a sound.
That poor old bird it got squeezed,
It suffocated, how could it breath?
When the bird died he was gobbled up,
If you are a bird in the air, I would stay up.