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The only bird left to fly

Updated on September 22, 2016

The only bird left to fly

The blackbird perches on the isolated tree. A twitch of a wing; a flush of her tail. The stone had stung and she sits still amidst the parched leaves.

Below, a lone boy stands kicking at the stones in the dust. His dirty face is streaked in tears and swelling reddens his wide eyes. He had laughed when the stone struck. A ripple of power had stung him. The stone struck: the sky surged with smoke.

The blackbird watches as the flock disappears. The blast of wind from the city beneath had blown the birds from their nests. The flit of wings had gushed into flight; the mass of feathers had formed and flew to the distant sky. Black flecks against the red, the last sight of the bird’s flock.

The lone boy looks at the skyline and wonders how one stone had done so much. His father had once told him small choices can echo beyond our control. He sees no movement of his people in the city beneath. There is only red flecks of fire amongst the soot-struck stone.

The blackbird looks to the scratched wing. The lone boy looks to his muddied hand.Smoke spread from the city below as fire seeps from its limits.

His father once told him that mistakes are healed by choices taken in reflection. He turns to the tree and stretches out his hand to the blackbird.

The blackbird looks to the outstretched hand and understands. Her talons release from the branch and she leans to fall. Her landing is soft; the lone boy had spread his fingers wide and softened the force. The lone boy’s hand lays upon the painful wing.

The blackbird stretches out her feathers and looks to the reddened sky. No fleck of bird remains but she launches towards the space they had once been.

The lone boy walks towards the smouldering city.


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    • BasitWorld profile image

      Abdul Basit 15 months ago

      Thank you!

    • johnmariow profile image

      John Gentile 15 months ago from Connecticut

      Very intriguing story. Left me yearning for more.