Like a Bird in a cage- A short story

The dull metallic wires wrapped around themselves in a specific way to appear sturdy. It suspended itself high in the air. with every high-pitched squeak from the gentle breeze, the constant fear from the inevitable fall grew larger. It was a little grey birdcage, and inside of the cage sat quite awkwardly a Bluebird. Its small yet magnificent wings sat by its side as neatly folded into its light yet fluffy fur coat it had been blessed by God himself to have. Its eyes cheekily peaked around the cage trying to free itself from the rings of thick metal it had revolving around it. With a quick almost human-like, peck at the door of the cage the Bluebird brought the cage to open, flapping its small yet efficient wings through slowly becoming a small speck in the distance.

My husband always loved birds. Sadly, those days of loving and caring for them are far behind him. My focus shifted from the now-empty birdcage down to him. In his right fist was a tightly gripped baseball bat ready to wreak carnage on any object that was unfortunate to be in his path. His face was a bright red colour, and his eyes were as dark as midnight. As I stared deeply into his mean eyes a ravaging inferno began to form, tearing down anything that dared to be in its way. The fire that he had to care for people and birds as if they were himself. How I could see every one of his birds in each twinkle of his eye. My reminiscent mood had been short-lived as with a loud thump; his bat had met its next victim. The family television. Sparks flew from the television, eventually dying off on the carpet leaving nothing but a dark ash stain. My dream that I once had for an uncomplicated home lifestyle had instantly been beaten similarly to the television.

He looked up and I felt a sweat droplet run down my back as my heart pounded faster at the thought of being the next victim of the bat’s mighty swing. I wanted to run but it felt as if my feet were made from concrete. Feeling like a mere traffic cone, a wave of sickness crashed upon me as I thought about how many other people were in the same position as me. How I shared this singular feeling of disgust with so many other victims all from different walks of their lives.

“A lot of other people are sick,” I reminded myself quietly in a desperate bid to regain some confidence, but it had no effect.

He stood motionless before me.

“Order some food.” His words rang in my head.

Hurriedly, I fidgeted deep into my pocket for a phone. The numbers on the keypad stared at me like I was an alien on their planet. As my finger presses hard against the “zero” digit a loud beep filled the room. I lifted my finger leaving a drop of sweat on the phone before quickly pressing the same button. The two zeros sat nicely as if they were made for each other. I felt blood rush to my head, and a sudden wave of heat came onto me before I quickly added another zero to the previous two resulting in a calmness flooding my head. A small gap between the previous two zeros and the new zero had been formed.

“Perfect.” I thought.

I pressed the “call” button.

As the dials became increasingly louder, I could almost feel my life shifting in dynamic. As if I were grasping onto a bridge and all I needed was someone on the other side to put out their hand and help me out of this dark place I had once called home. With a quick gasp escaping my mouth the hand on the bridge soon appeared.

“Triple zero what is your emergency?” I heard as I let out a sigh of relief.

The blacksmith swiftly entered the house to rid of his wrongs. He had created a cage that was too toxic for even the people who cared for it the most to cope. The cage had let its little bird out to play before letting it in at night for its safety it promised. But all this had been a mistake gradually going downhill. As the little bird watched on to its surprise, the blacksmith scrubbed the cage down with water and soap once again making the bird feel a rush of anger. This did not sit right with the bird. They had tried cleaning it before and the only way of helping the bird was to turn the cage into scrap metal. The cage could not help but let out a cheeky grin to the bird, reminding the bird that it had fooled the blacksmith once again. The bird felt the urge to protest but soon decided against it, realising that its voice was no match for the blacksmith’s final decision. The bird perched on a branch as it thought about how it had escaped its cage only to feel empty inside once more.



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