Birdie - Writers Forum

Jonesy_0 · 12-13-2005, 12:40 AM

I was walking along the cliff, looking up at the empty blue sky, thinking how great it would be if I could just fly up into the sky and disappear forever. I thought about the times when Grandma would let me help her make baked apple pie in October with Golden Delicious apples straight off the tree in her back yard, or letting me lick the spoons after she mixed up peanut butter cookie batter. I could almost smell the singed apple and burning leaves, mixing together in the small sunlit kitchen. Then my attention came back as I saw something fluttering on the ground. It was a small sandy brown sparrow, kicking up dust with it’s wings. At first I thought it was taking a dirt bath, but then realized it had injured itself.
I walked over to it slowly, knelt down on my haunches, listening to it chirp away, flailing around in circles as it tried desperately to lift off the ground. I wanted to help him. I wish I could hold it in my hand and magically heal it, and it could fly away into the sunset and never return to this place.
But I couldn’t.
I slowly lowered my hands, with them cupped down toward the bird. I felt it’s small, soft feathered arms brush against my skin wildly as I scooped it up from the ground. It chirped louder and higher pitched, as if in fear, but soon realized I wasn’t malicious in intentions.
I held it in my cupped round hand tightly, feeling it’s tiny sand paper feet scratch at my fingers. It blinked, flashing across it’s liquid black, beady eyes. I used the back of my left index finger to pet the top of his silky head, soothing him. His blinks slowed to a tired look. I believed he trusted me in those minutes. I wanted to show him the view of the river, a quarter mile below the cliff. I leaned against the green guard rail that acted more like a casual caution than a guard and extended him out over the cliff, allowing him to take in the view. Then, in a quick move, I retracted my hand about half of it’s full extension, then shot it back out, opening my hand and letting the bird free. I actually believed for a split second that he might actually fly away, that I had in fact healed him and he would be free and live forever in the endless blue that lay ahead.
He didn’t.
He flapped his wings furiously, frantic to lift himself and keep from falling to tragedy, until hitting the water below. I couldn’t hear him after the first few feet of freefall, but I would like to think he died on impact. I also liked to think that I had helped him. Instead of flapping around retardedly on the ground, unable to feed himself, dying of starvation, I actually gave him one last chance to fly, to be free and forget this harsh world existed. Then, hopefully, his short life ended quickly, moving on to a better place, out of this terrible hole of desperation called life.
I clapped my hands together, in a swiping manner, shaking the light dust off my hands and continued walking. I got on my bike and rode off, the rusty chain squeaking ominously.

BookLover · 12-13-2005, 01:41 AM

I enjoyed reading your story. It is emotional and thought provoking.

When I read the part where he lets the bird fly away, I was hoping that the birdie to actually fly away.

Quote:

I wanted to help him.

Everywhere else you address the bird as 'It'. Only in this sentence you give him a gender.

Quote:

I felt it’s small, soft feathered arms brush against my skin wildly as I scooped it up from the ground.

I think it should be

Quote:

I felt its small, soft feathered arms brush against my skin wildly as I scooped it up from the ground.

I found the use of adjectives a little over done. It gives a complicated look to the otherwise sweet and simple story. This is my personal opinion, of course.

mammamaia · 12-13-2005, 12:45 PM

way too small and bunched-up to read... bump it up to a normal size, insert line breaks wherever the indents are in your original, and i'll be glad to give it a read... hugs, m

Jonesy_0 · 12-13-2005, 07:30 PM

Hopefully the size is better, plus I put in breaks at the paragraphs. I also tweaked it a little.

I was walking along the cliff, looking up at the empty blue sky, thinking how great it would be if I could just fly up into the sky and disappear forever. I thought about the times when Grandma would let me help her make baked apple pie in October with Golden Delicious apples straight off the tree in her back yard, or letting me lick the spoons after she mixed up peanut butter cookie batter. I could almost smell the singed apple and burning leaves, mixing together in the small sunlit kitchen. Then my attention came back as I saw something fluttering on the ground. It was a small sandy brown sparrow, kicking up dust with his wings. At first I thought he was taking a dirt bath, but then realized he had injured himself.

I walked over to him slowly, knelt down on my haunches, listening to him chirp violently, flailing around in circles as he tried desperately to lift off the ground. I wanted to help him. I wish I could hold him in my hand and magically heal him, and he could fly away into the sunset and never return to this place.

But I couldn’t.

I slowly lowered my hands, with them cupped down toward the bird. I felt his small, soft feathered arms brush against my skin wildly as I scooped him up from the ground. He chirped louder and higher pitched, as if in fear, but soon realized I wasn’t malicious in intentions.

I held him in my cupped hand tightly with his head sticking out the top, feeling his tiny sand paper feet scratch at my fingers. He blinked, flashing across its liquid black, beady eyes. I used the back of my left index finger to pet the top of his silky head, soothing him. His blinks slowed to a tired look. I believed he trusted me in those minutes. I wanted to show him the view of the river, a quarter mile below the cliff. I leaned against the green guard rail that acted more like a casual caution than a guard and extended him out over the cliff, allowing him to take in the view. Then, in a quick move, I retracted my hand about half of its full extension, then shot it back out, opening my hand and letting the bird free. I actually believed for a split second that he might actually fly away, that I had in fact healed him and he would be free and live forever in the endless blue that lay ahead.

He didn’t.

He flapped his wings furiously, frantic to lift himself and keep from falling to tragedy, until hitting the water below. I couldn’t hear him after the first few feet of freefall, but I would like to think he died on impact. I also liked to think that I had helped him. Instead of flapping around retardedly on the ground, unable to feed himself, dying of starvation, I actually gave him one last chance to fly, to be free and forget this harsh world existed. Then, hopefully, his short life ended quickly, moving on to a better place, out of this terrible hole of desperation.

I clapped my hands together in a swiping manner, shaking the light dust off my hands and continued walking. I got on my bike and started riding off, the rusty chain moaning and squeaking ominously

Jonesy_0 · 12-13-2005, 07:31 PM

What the hell???????

Jonesy_0 · 12-13-2005, 07:34 PM

Hopefully the size is better, plus I put in breaks at the paragraphs. I also tweaked it a little.

I was walking along the cliff, looking up at the empty blue sky, thinking how great it would be if I could just fly up into the sky and disappear forever. I thought about the times when Grandma would let me help her make baked apple pie in October with Golden Delicious apples straight off the tree in her back yard, or letting me lick the spoons after she mixed up peanut butter cookie batter. I could almost smell the singed apple and burning leaves, mixing together in the small sunlit kitchen. Then my attention came back as I saw something fluttering on the ground. It was a small sandy brown sparrow, kicking up dust with his wings. At first I thought he was taking a dirt bath, but then realized he had injured himself.

I walked over to him slowly, knelt down on my haunches, listening to him chirp violently, flailing around in circles as he tried desperately to lift off the ground. I wanted to help him. I wish I could hold him in my hand and magically heal him, and he could fly away into the sunset and never return to this place.

But I couldn’t.

I slowly lowered my hands, with them cupped down toward the bird. I felt his small, soft feathered arms brush against my skin wildly as I scooped him up from the ground. He chirped louder and higher pitched, as if in fear, but soon realized I wasn’t malicious in intentions.

I held him in my cupped hand tightly with his head sticking out the top, feeling his tiny sand paper feet scratch at my fingers. He blinked, flashing across its liquid black, beady eyes. I used the back of my left index finger to pet the top of his silky head, soothing him. His blinks slowed to a tired look. I believed he trusted me in those minutes. I wanted to show him the view of the river, a quarter mile below the cliff. I leaned against the green guard rail that acted more like a casual caution than a guard and extended him out over the cliff, allowing him to take in the view. Then, in a quick move, I retracted my hand about half of its full extension, then shot it back out, opening my hand and letting the bird free. I actually believed for a split second that he might actually fly away, that I had in fact healed him and he would be free and live forever in the endless blue that lay ahead.

He didn’t.

He flapped his wings furiously, frantic to lift himself and keep from falling to tragedy, until hitting the water below. I couldn’t hear him after the first few feet of freefall, but I would like to think he died on impact. I also liked to think that I had helped him. Instead of flapping around retardedly on the ground, unable to feed himself, dying of starvation, I actually gave him one last chance to fly, to be free and forget this harsh world existed. Then, hopefully, his short life ended quickly, moving on to a better place, out of this terrible hole of desperation.

I clapped my hands together in a swiping manner, shaking the light dust off my hands and continued walking. I got on my bike and started riding off, the rusty chain moaning and squeaking ominously