The Bird

The hint of warmth from the first rays of the sun slowly shook her into activity from her sojourn in the land of the dead. Nudging her soft head out through the dew-laden moss, she took a moment to soak in the freshness of the new day. Vibrations around her told her that she, as usual, was the first one up and about. The thrill of the time she had from now till mundane activity began had kept her going all this while; and she wanted it no other way till she lasted. She lay in wait for the day’s catch.

The meagre brook that hinted at bloating into a decent stream during summers provided her with all she needed to survive; and more. Purple wild-flowers lined along this little epitome of quiet grace lent the scene an almost mystic quality. The washed out petals and slender stems carefully holding up a new era in full bloom was a setting even this low morning light, hesitantly creeping in through the big trees overhead, seemed uneager to disturb.

The flutter soon began though, she could not see them, nor hear them… but flirting around with them in this state is what she enjoyed most. She missed a part of her today but knew fully well that that part of her was already at work. She remembered the peck from a day back. It had taken her some time to recover from, but she was used to these blackouts by now – She had taught herself well. A part of her had lived beside this brook for all of the time she knew. Today too, the same scene seemed to be replayed; she felt the vibrations in the air, the ensuing peck and missed some more of herself; but curtains weren’t drawn as yet. The day’s work done, she went on her way to live for the next; she always had her brook.

Some green miles away, a bird suddenly dropped dead from its perch. In about an hour, she’d crawl out and find a new brook to call home. She was always at work.

It had not been easy in the beginning, turning a system inside out takes more undoing than doing. She had to unlearn to live a free worm and had to learn to quickly make herself a cocoon to protect her intent. She always had the inclination to let go and enjoy the freefall back then. She had to unlearn the pain of being pecked at and ripped apart day in and day out. She had to unlearn how not to ingest living tissue when she took that first morsel of bird flesh. Now she infests every goddamned brook you come across; and she always misses a part of her. All I can do is pity those early birds.

To hell with what “they” had to say – She always had been and always would be the worm that caught the early bird.

Did they ever care about her and her kind when they egged you on to be the early bird?

Wasn’t ignorance bliss? :-)