July 2021: The Birds - Amelie Lattik
Sunlight pokes through the lush green barrier of the forest canopy, scattering pinpricks of light like bullet holes. The sunrise is the only good part of being up half the night. I know I need to work on the insomnia. But right now, I’m not interested in changing any habits. I just want to watch the sun rise. I lift the canvas tent flap that serves as my front door and crawl outside onto the grass, splattered with orange sunlight like paint on a canvas. My little tent isn’t much, but hey, I’ve lived through worse. I’ll just be here for a bit longer than I’m used to. As in, forever.
I’m about to stand up when a sharp cry sounds from somewhere in the trees. Instinctively, I freeze, staying low as though I’m trying to meld into the ground. After two seconds and a million thoughts, I force myself to relax. Birdsong. It’s just birdsong. I’m used to a call out of nowhere like that being…
I banish the thought. I don’t need to worry about that anymore. That part of my life is over.
Instead of standing, I adopt a cross-legged position on the rough, mossy ground. I run my fingers first through the wild, jagged blades of grass, then through my hair. The texture feels about the same. That birdsong echoes through the forest again, except this time, it is accompanied by a fluttering noise. This is my only warning before, in a flurry of black and white, a small shape bursts through the trees, flaps in a few joyous circles and rests on the ground a couple of metres away. “Someone’s a morning person,” I mutter softly to myself, being careful not to scare the bird. It takes two hops in my direction, then tilts its tiny black head my way. Its inquisitive eyes study me, as though deciding if I’m a threat. I study it, too. It makes minute adjustments to its stance, like a clockwork toy. Eventually, it decides I’m not an enemy, and pays me no mind.
I watch the bird until it shows the tell-tale signs of imminent flight. Readying of the back legs, streamlining of the tail, testing of the wings – it’s time for the bird to move on. I smile as I watch its feet leave the ground. As it soars up toward the rising sun, I wonder what it’s like to feel carefree, to feel -
BANG.
Just as quickly as the bird flew upwards, it falls to the floor, legs twitching, wings outstretched in its last bid to reach the sky. I cry out in horror. This can only mean one thing. Radio static crackles somewhere nearby, followed by a harsh bark of: “We have a visual of the target, weapons ready.” How did they find me? I ask to myself, but as six guns aim straight for my head, I wonder if they ever lost me at all.
August’s Right Left Write competition is open now - theme: Opening Nights. Enter at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/competitions.
Right Left Write’s July prompt was The Birds.