I woke up the next morning to the sound of birds chirping and wings flapping.
But the noise wasn’t coming from outside my window. I opened my eyes slowly, already wary of what I would find.
There were hundreds of birds inside my room, perched on my bed, on my night stand, on my dresser. Birds of all sizes and colors. There were the delicate blue jays, cardinals, hummingbirds, and finches. But then mixed in with those were hawks, ravens, ducks, and even a menacing-looking eagle watching over the rest of the crowd from his spot on the window sill. Every inch of my room was covered with various wings, beaks and claws, the movement and rearranging of feathers making my entire room look like it was pulsating and alive. I couldn’t even make out where the floor was.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t exactly afraid of birds, but I couldn’t say I was too fond of them either. I stayed motionless for about ten minutes, trying to figure out what to do, an occasional squawk or flapping interrupting my thought process.
Suddenly, before they could figure out what I was doing, I leaped out of bed, and ran around the room like a madwoman, waving my arms and shouting at the birds.
Not the best idea.
The entire population of birds that had decided to migrate to my room instantly took flight, wings flapping wildly, making harsh, extremely loud shrieking noises. Several bumped into each other, which only caused more fights and confusion. Every inch of my body was touching some kind of bird as they swirled around me and trampled me to the ground. I quickly got on my knees and covered my head, shaking, just waiting for it to end.
Eventually, I noticed the the squawking was becoming more infrequent, and I was feeling only a few birds brush against my back. When the noise stopped and everything was still, I hesitantly lifted my head and looked around.
The birds were gone, save for one lone white duck in the corner, calmly eating one of my shoes. My window was wide open, the curtains blowing in the breeze. I didn’t remember leaving it open.
I stood up on shaky legs, and tiptoed towards the duck. It continued picking at the shoe, making an occasional snuffly sound. It didn’t seem to notice me. When I got close to the duck, I leaped on top of it, grabbing it in my arms. The duck, surprisingly, didn’t react. It just looked at me in confusion, as if it was asking permission to go back to eating the shoe. I took it over to the window and pushed it out roughly.
I turned around and looked around the empty room. Besides being covered in a variety of feathers, it didn’t look too damaged. I closed my eyes, and imagined all the feathers in one big pile in the center of the room. Then I imagined them floating out the window in a giant gust of air. I opened my eyes. All the feathers were gone. I quickly rushed over to the window and slammed it shut.
Kelly Swimmer writes in Indiana.
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17 Responses to “BIRDS • by Kelly Swimmer”
Comments
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December 11th, 2008 at 12:07 am
What about the bird droppings?
December 11th, 2008 at 3:26 am
“I turned around and looked around the empty room. Besides being covered in a variety of feathers, it didn’t look too damaged. I closed my eyes, and imagined all the feathers in one big pile in the center of the room. Then I imagined them floating out the window in a giant gust of air. I opened my eyes. All the feathers were gone. I quickly rushed over to the window and slammed it shut. I always knew the Hogwarts Class Reunion was going to be trouble.”
December 11th, 2008 at 3:38 am
What a nightmare. What did she have to drink the night before?
December 11th, 2008 at 5:10 am
A curious piece – it has the feeling of being part of something bigger.
December 11th, 2008 at 6:34 am
Wow… if that happened to me, I would be totally freaked out.
It would be interesting to know how she was able to imagine the feathers away. Perhaps she is some kind of bird mage.
My favorite part of the piece was the duck eating the shoe.
December 11th, 2008 at 7:30 am
I have to say I kind of didn’t get this at all. In particular, it was the opening line – “The next morning…” which implies that something has gone before, that this is in the middle of a series of events, but we never come back to anything about what happened previously. With no explanation (other than the apparent magical powers at the end – but if the the protagonist can do that, then why not imagine straight off that there are NO birds in the room?), I’m left merely puzzled, but not actually intrigued.
Sorry.
December 11th, 2008 at 7:31 am
Kelly, would you mind posting with some further help as to what you were saying here? Is she tripping, or what? Is …the next morning… the clue? As Sue B says above, it seems like part of a larger piece – as if something is missing. Sorry. I guess I’m being really dumb, but I think I’ve missed the point. HELP!
December 11th, 2008 at 7:50 am
Finally. This is how I feel when you put up all those stories that expect me to interpret human emotions.
December 11th, 2008 at 8:56 am
Oh, oh, I got another.
“Kelly Swimmer writes in Indiana.”
Yeah, Eerie, Indiana.
This is rapidly turning into one of my favourite stories in a while.
December 11th, 2008 at 2:35 pm
Wow! Gives Hitchcock a run for his money. I gave it a five.
December 12th, 2008 at 3:38 am
Obviously, she’s been on LSD or its ilk. A vivid image came to mind of bird chaos but I think this could be developed into a larger story as, for me, it seems to be the start of one.
December 12th, 2008 at 4:04 am
This one seems more a vignette than a story. Kind of a surreal moment is what I guess you were going for, but there’s not quite enough “there” there to make it satisfying.
I liked the duck, though.
December 12th, 2008 at 2:07 pm
Just as a note. I unapproved a comment by Daniel Vineberg. In his comment, Mr Vineberg hopes that he is not confused with a jaded publicist, and then goes on to form an opinion of someone’s whole writing career based on this story, and does so in a pretty hurtful manner.
Well, Mr. Vineberg, I don’t think there’s much danger of being mistaken for a publicist. Or anything else with even a hint of professionalism.
December 14th, 2008 at 4:43 pm
Sorry, I didn’t see until just now that there were comments or questions!
To everyone who was confused about “the next morning,” it was there because it was part of a larger story. Sorry, should have made that clearer or deleted it or something. It’s really interesting that most people thought it was drugs. I definitely see how that fits.
December 15th, 2008 at 3:32 am
“Well, Mr. Vineberg, I don’t think there’s much danger of being mistaken for a publicist. Or anything else with even a hint of professionalism.”
Don’t you lose the moral high ground when you ban a comment for saying mean things and then say mean things about the guy who made the comment?
I’m a student of saying mean things so I need to know.
December 15th, 2008 at 7:35 am
Gerard,
Perhaps. The difference though, is in the spirit of the comment. I merely said he was being uncooth. I didn’t insult his character or attack him personally, merely his actions.
June 30th, 2009 at 8:33 am
I completely loved this story.
Perfect.
Also, it doesn’t need explanation (for me anyway).
In the spirit of symbolic language,
I found it quite rich.
I gave it a five star rating.
(If it had been mine though, I might have just hugged the duck and let him hang around. Who needs shoes anyhow?)