Bird

Guilt by AlAnoud K.

I don’t remember my native land anymore. I’ve got vague snippets of my family, the mate I sought one lovely summer afternoon. I don’t even remember her name.

They chose a golden cage for me. Lovely. Am I supposed to rejoice? Feel blessed? No, I know that those feelings are false. They’re all wrong. I don’t know what’s right from wrong at this point, but what I know for sure is this: I am more than what they morphed me into.

Sometimes, it’s not so bad all the time. When I’m offered food that I despise, I retract into my favorite corner, the furthest one away from them, then snooze quietly. I am awakened every now and then by mysterious sounds; they’re not like where I came from, but I have come accustomed to them. They frightened me at first, and now they act as background noise to my daily, mundane life.

There’s this girl that places lettuce every now and then, between my cage bars. She whistles to me sometimes, and other times she sings to me in her native language.
I don’t mind either, at least I’m being spoken to. The lettuce is lovely, I munch on it and munch until I’m full. She stands still almost every time she offers the lettuce, I don’t mind her staring at me.

Some days they disappear, the whole lot of them. I don’t know where. They grab the golden cage and place it somewhere crowded, small and loud. I see all sorts of colors, like tiny suns, in all shapes and sizes. I see a lot of them too...the humans? The humans. I see humans. We stop. The cage is being grabbed again, my heart thumps and I flutter my wings. Oh, that’s right. I have wings. I’m somewhere new, but that’s temporary, they come back. They always do. ◆