Short Story Sunday-#21

   The Bird

I remember when he was here, the bird, I mean. He flew around and made the most beautiful noises. I loved him. He lived inside me.

   The first time I met him was exciting. I was bought by the man and he set me in the corner of his old house for almost a month. Then finally, the man came home with the bird. He opened me up and let the bird hop inside me. At first the bird didn't like me. He chewed on my metal bars, and squawked for freedom. 

   Eventually he got used to me, and the man brought toys for the bird to play with. Sometimes the man let him out and let him fly around the house while I was left to wait for him to return. The bird sang songs his friends taught him at the pet shop. He taught them to me. Now, I know all the songs, but cannot sing them.

   One day, the man came home with a woman. She seemed very nice and she loved the bird. The woman came home almost every day afterwards. Once, she came with piles of boxes and never left. Soon, they were children. They ran around the house like miniature monsters, annoying any one they saw, except me. They pestered the poor bird, but he still loved them. He told me so.

   I was almost replaced one day, when the youngest child chucked me down the stairs. Seven of my bars were broken, and the bird escaped. I remember the woman's hands on the bars. 'Such a shame,' she had whispered. I was almost taken to the dump and caste away to live among broken dishwashers and cars, unable to house my bird. But the man had many surprises. He was able to twist and glue my bars back in place so I could continue taking care of the bird.

   The house was always full of life with the kids, the bird, and the man with his woman. We were all happy...

   

Now I feel the emptiness biting inside me. I feel the lack of life and joy. I miss my bird. He's gone now, finally free from my cold metal bars. I sit in the corner and watch the world around me. The kids have grown up and left the house for good. The woman sits in her rocking chair humming to herself and the man just walks around the house, taking longing glances at the lack of feather inside me.

   And me? I remember the bird. That is all I can do. I remember the songs, but cannot sing.