The Swallow
She stepped out onto her front porch which was bathed in searing sunshine. Blinded, she stumbled across what turned out to be an old rusty birdcage. Inside, hopping around franticly and chirping away was an inky blue swallow. She peered around, wrinkling the already wrinkly skin around her eyes and then, slowly and with a groan, bent down to pick the cage up and brought it inside. The next morning she was awakened by the swallow chirping in response to the birds outside. She found the sound sweet, yet it made her sad. If only I had such a sweet voice, she thought, than I would be thought beautiful again. As she thought about the birds sweet singing, the more appealing it became to her. She would have that voice as her own. She reached into the cage and chased the bird around with her hand until she finally grasped its tail. She dragged it out as it squawked madly, struggling and biting at her skinny fingers till they bled. Angry, yet determined she grabbed her steak knife and, grasping the birds body as tightly as possibly, its heart vibrating madly in its chest, brought the knife down hard on its neck. She plucked the satin feathers of blue and cream and then stuck its tiny pink body in the oven. As soon as she had tasted its flesh she would be the one singing sweetly, she thought. When the swallow was done cooking she seasoned it lightly and took a small bite. Then she took a second, larger bite, licking the juices off her lips. She swallowed, almost, but then realized that she could not breathe. She choked and gagged, beating on her ribcage but nothing helped. Air would not come to her lungs. Everything darkened, and seemed suddenly very far away. And all was silent.
She stepped out onto her front porch which was bathed in searing sunshine. Blinded, she stumbled across what turned out to be an old rusty birdcage. Inside, hopping around franticly and chirping away was an inky blue swallow. She peered around, wrinkling the already wrinkly skin around her eyes and then, slowly and with a groan, bent down to pick the cage up and brought it inside. The next morning she was awakened by the swallow chirping in response to the birds outside. She found the sound sweet, yet it made her sad. If only I had such a sweet voice, she thought, than I would be thought beautiful again. As she thought about the birds sweet singing, the more appealing it became to her. She would have that voice as her own. She reached into the cage and chased the bird around with her hand until she finally grasped its tail. She dragged it out as it squawked madly, struggling and biting at her skinny fingers till they bled. Angry, yet determined she grabbed her steak knife and, grasping the birds body as tightly as possibly, its heart vibrating madly in its chest, brought the knife down hard on its neck. She plucked the satin feathers of blue and cream and then stuck its tiny pink body in the oven. As soon as she had tasted its flesh she would be the one singing sweetly, she thought. When the swallow was done cooking she seasoned it lightly and took a small bite. Then she took a second, larger bite, licking the juices off her lips. She swallowed, almost, but then realized that she could not breathe. She choked and gagged, beating on her ribcage but nothing helped. Air would not come to her lungs. Everything darkened, and seemed suddenly very far away. And all was silent.
pavlovsdog:
What an uplifting story.