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Go Back   Writers Forum - WritingForums.com > Creativity > Short Stories
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Short Stories Short Stories, usually between 500 and 2000 words.

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Old 06-29-2007, 01:37 AM   #1
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Broken legged bird

I got a sudden burst of inspiration. Sorry. There are two misspelled words there, you get a free cookie if you can find them and tell me how they're spelt.

Enjoy~

Broken legged bird


The bird looks at me from his cage. He looks at me defiantly. I gaze back with the same look.

He looks nothing like a canary with those brown feathers of his, nobody believes me when I tell them he is, so nobody buys him. He doesn't sing either, just chirp occasionally. He also has a broken leg, so we have to put him down today.

That bird has always had that broken leg, but in the three months I've been here, I haven't seen him in pain, or maybe I just don't pay attention, taking care of healthy puppies and kitties.

I open the tiny door of the cage and let my hand in, the bird looks at my fingers with interest before flying to the other side of the cage, sensing my intentions of catching him.

I grunt and try to catch him again but every time he manages to evade me, even when cornered, he escapes and mocks me, making fancy of his flying abilities, despite only being able to use them on such a tiny place.

With one last try I catch him, my larger hand covering his little wings, effectibly catching him. But still he struggles, with his beak he grabs a diminute piece of flesh from my thumb, but squeezes strong enough for me to feel pain.

Why? You can't fly. You can't sing. Nobody will buy you and your leg will never heal. Why do you continue to struggle?

His tiny heart beats excitedly, he looks at me with defiance. Go ahead, he says, like you're any better.

And he's right. I open my hand to let him go, but he still holds on to my thumb. Are you holding on for something more? I've never struggled like he does, I've never struggled to hold on to the branches with only one leg, or to not be able to sing because I'm happy, or be happy because I sing, and yet he doesn't drop dead out of sadness.

He finally lets go and flies of to perch on the bars of the cage, chirping angrily at me. Yes, you're right, you deserve your life. That leg will never heal, and yet you continue to fly, even if it's in that tiny cage.
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Old 06-29-2007, 02:49 AM   #2
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Beautiful poem.

Horrible short story fiction.
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Old 06-29-2007, 03:51 AM   #3
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I suck at poetry, so I think I'll stick with the sucky short story. Thanks.
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Old 06-29-2007, 09:41 AM   #4
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Kyrie
I got a sudden burst of inspiration. Sorry. There are two misspelled words there, you get a free cookie if you can find them and tell me how they're spelt.

Enjoy~


Broken legged bird


The bird looks at me from his cage. He looks at me defiantly. I gaze back with the same look.

He looks nothing like a canary with those brown feathers of his, nobody believes me when I tell them he is, so nobody buys him. He doesn't sing either, just chirp(chirps) occasionally. He also has a broken leg, so we have to put him down today.

That bird has always had that broken leg, but in the three months I've been here, I haven't seen him in pain, or maybe I just don't pay attention, taking care of healthy puppies and kitties.

I open the tiny door of the cage and let my hand in, the bird looks at my fingers with interest before flying to the other side of the cage, sensing my intentions of catching him.

I grunt and try to catch him again but every time he manages to evade me, even when cornered, he escapes and mocks me, making fancy of his flying abilities, despite only being able to use them on(in) such a tiny place.

With one last try I catch him, my larger hand covering his little wings, effectibly(<not a word) catching him. But still he struggles, with his beak he grabs a diminute piece of flesh from my thumb, but squeezes strong enough for me to feel pain.

Why? You can't fly. You can't sing. Nobody will buy you and your leg will never heal. Why do you continue to struggle?

His tiny heart beats excitedly, he looks at me with defiance. Go ahead, he says, like you're any better.

And he's right. I open my hand to let him go, but he still holds on to my thumb. Are you holding on for something more? I've never struggled like he does, I've never struggled to hold on to the branches with only one leg, or to not be able to sing because I'm happy, or be happy because I sing, and yet he doesn't drop dead out of sadness.

He finally lets go and flies of(off) to perch on the bars of the cage, chirping angrily at me. Yes, you're right, you deserve your life. That leg will never heal, and yet you continue to fly, even if it's in that tiny cage.
Interesting little story. It seems like there should be more to it, about the person, but it is fine either way. Keep writing!
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--John Keating, Dead Poets Society
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