Birds
Cool brisk air whistled through the lifeless trees lining the roadside. On a chilly late winter afternoon, my younger brother and I excitedly bounced around in our car seats anticipating our arrival home where we could rest and play without worry. To be unleashed in our own home again, to do what we wanted and to run freely after another exhausting day at school was always something we looked forward to and cherished. As the car pulled up into the driveway and we exploded out the side doors and charged towards the house, when a sight on the porch in front of us made us stop dead in our tracks and forget our excitement for a brief moment and replace it with a new flurry of intense emotions. Our faces lit up in glee as we ran towards the steel cage. We danced round and round the rectangular prison visibly overjoyed and intrigued at the new additions to the family. We stared inquiringly at the caged subjects studying them noting every movement they made and detail.
Our mother slowly approached us from behind and placed a hand on each of our shoulders to calm us down. After we had settled, she explained softly that our new pets were a pair of budgies that we had been given as a gift from a family friend and that they were living creatures too and were not to be gawked at like an object or something on the television. We nodded eagerly in agreement to the terms she had set and sat down quietly by the metal cage. We studied in awe the birds hopped, flew and explored their new surroundings in front of us. Inside my mind a silent debate raged on, trying to discover what felt to me to be an important issue concerning the birds. My conclusion in the matter after vigorous arguments was that the predominantly green one with a scattering of yellow feathers was my favorite. I smiled as I got up and energetically skipped back inside to exert my rights to precious freedom from schedule and work.
Fresh leaves crunched under my shoes as they moved slowly up the front driveway of my house and onto the porch, stopping every few steps to admire the brilliant blooming flowers that only occurred in late spring. I crept up softly and peered into my cage and my mind went blank. To me the wind grew quiet, the birds chirped softer and time drifted slower. I sprinted into the house frantically searching for someone who could explain to me what had happened. I ran in to the kitchen and shouted demands full of worry for information about my cage. Why the cage was cleaned out, where had their toys gone, and more importantly where were our birds?
When I had slowed down and stopped my distressed inquiries, I sat down on the chair and looked at the empty room around me. There was only one place left for me to check. I bolted desperately out the back door towards it, seeking answers to my questions. I hoped that they may be able to suppress my fears. As I flung the door open, I bumped into my mother nearly knocking her down as she was walked back into the house. She took one quick glance at my distraught face and silently escorted me back into the kitchen. She sat me down solemnly. My precious birds had passed on earlier that morning, they had died from mites.