Bird Song

I never dared to tell this story to anyone, for fear that one may think me insane.

Several years ago, as I stood on the chair, rope in hand, pondering my next move and the strength of my knot, a bird flew by, a bluebird, who landed on the ground outside of my living room window. His blue-orange body, so stark against the bright snow, startled me out of my deep thought, and as I shifted my weight on the chair in surprise, I heard a creak, and all of a sudden I was on the floor amidst splintered wood.

He must have seen my fall or heard my shout, as by the time I was able to get up from my awkward position, he was at my window, staring at me.

Tweet, tweet, tweet, he said. He cocked his head. Tweet, tweet, tweet.

Stupid bird, I remember muttering, dusting myself off. My dignity more than anything had been injured, and thinking back on it, he saved me that night, but I was so determined back then, and I thought then that the moment was only a small obstacle in the way of a bigger plan.

It wasn’t until later that week, as I was watching the snowfall past that same window, the remnants of the chair still on the floor, when I saw him again.

Tweet, tweet, tweet, he said, but this time more distant; he was up in the tree a ways, building a nest. So peculiar, I had said, for a bluebird to be building a nest this time of year. But at the time I could not have cared less about the habits of one dumb old bird, for I had better things to do with my remaining time.

That night I was at it again, knife in hand, so close to my apex, when I heard him clearly: Tweet, tweet, tweet!

Hush! I had said in a loud whisper, as to not wake the neighbors, but he would not stop: Tweet, tweet, tweet! Tweet tweet tweet! Tweet tweet tweet! I saw a light down the road become lit on someone’s front porch, and I was so afraid that poor Anne or someone else down the road would hear him, and so I tossed the knife recklessly into the sink and threw open my front door. The cold and snow swirled around my bare feet, and yet I did not notice the chill; I was searching for that cursed bird.

I did not have to search long, as he was there on my doorstep, head turned stupidly to the right, bright-blue feathers distinct against my doormat. He did not hesitate, he hopped right inside, and at this point I let him; better for him to be in my house than alerting the whole world outside to my antics.

He flapped his way to the countertop, and looked at the knife hastily shoved into the sink, and looked back at me, and I understood what he wanted, so I swore to him it wouldn’t happen again. I could have been a child again, crossing my fingers behind my back, with how honest I was being. I think he knew, because it started up again: Tweet, tweet, tweet! Tweet tweet tweet, and I was so angry I snatched a broom and threw open the door again and tried to shoo him outside. I was unsuccessful, and each swipe at him with the broom resulted in him settling somewhere new.

Eventually he glided down to the floor, and with a triumphant yell I threw a nearby crate-box over him, and I kept one foot on top to prevent him from escaping. Ha! Oh, God, I was so happy at this moment, and without even thinking I bent down, keeping some pressure on the top of the box at all times, until I was knelt on the ground with my hands on top of it. 

From there I do not know what came over me, but the next thing I knew I had flung over the box and snatched up the bird, who at this point was yet again letting out a blaring: Tweet, tweet, tweet! I did not care about the noise, I no longer had any reservations about my actions; I placed my right hand over his head, thumb and index finger curling around his neck, my left hand holding his small body. Over his cries, I wailed, No more!

And I snapped his spine.

The silence that followed made me immensely relieved, yet I slept so unsoundly that night in my unmade bed. I tossed and turned, and from within, I heard it, so unmistakable, so familiar:

Tweet, tweet, tweet.

I opened my mouth and tried to scream, I waved my arms around: Tweet, tweet, tweet! 

Tweet, tweet, tweet! I heard nothing more, nothing less, nothing comprehensible. Tweet, tweet, tweet! Tweet, tweet, tweet! And as I flapped my arms around frantically, blue feathers flew about, and with horror I realized that the birdsong came from my own beak. I could not scream, I could not shout. Tweet, tweet, tweet!

The song was mine.