Emily's Birds

The beautiful cardinal kept pecking at Emily’s window. Red, bright, brilliant. This bird was perfect. 

Emily knew what she would do next. 

The little cardinal had no idea how it ended up in Emily’s garden shed. The bird had never seen a human-type creature with tiny wings before. 

Today, Emily’s wings were yellow, a faint yellow, like a canary that had gone a bit pale. 

Now, the cardinal was taking the drops from Emily’s syringe. Sweet, heavenly taste. The cardinal could not resist, and now, now, it was falling asleep. 

Emily knew this wouldn’t kill the sweet, beautiful bird. She knew, from many times before, that the bird would be more pliable, more agreeable. 

She reached into the toolbox sitting on the chair next to the table where the bird now lay, its wings spread out. 

Emily began the operation. She used the extractor device she had fashioned to suck bits of color from the wings and plume. Not too much, though. She then opened the body. The sweet inside, the power behind the bird’s power. 

The bird woke to see the sprite hovering around, her wings now tinged with orange as if some red had been added in to the color mix. 

As life fully returned to the cardinal, the bird noticed a new power, when it flew, it flew higher and farther than before. The bird noticed something else, too. The shed where it had first really seen Emily felt like home. 

The bird flew toward the shed, landed on top. The bird found an entrance under an eave. The bird flew in.

Now, the little cardinal saw the delicate Emily shining like a star. Around her were canaries and chickadees and robins. Each of the birds seemed energized, strong, powerful. Each of them also seemed, well, a bit off. Like watching television on a really old set. The robin’s powerful chest wasn’t red or bright orange, but a bit dull. The canary was not pure, strong yellow, but more the color of weak lemonade. The bluebird was the color of the sky in early morning. 

Emily danced among all of them, her wings on fire with light and full of a rainbow of color. The cardinal could not believe what happened next. Emily was no longer bound to the ground like most humans. She hovered, she flapped her tiny wings, she flew. 

Who or what was this being that managed a shed and a flock of birds in an otherwise quiet suburban neighborhood? 

Then, he saw it. Saw another bird, a simple wren. Humble, hungry, feeding at one of the many feeders placed around the ranch-style brick home where Emily lived. 

The other birds flew away. They knew. The robin used its beak to pull at the cardinal’s wing. It was time to go. They weren’t supposed to watch this. 

The wren was in the shed now, tasting sweet nectar. Drifting to sleep. 

Then, all the birds were back. The cardinal noticed the dark black stitching up the wren’s chest. Then, the cardinal looked down. On its chest were remnants of black thread. The color contrasted nicely with the red of the cardinal. Even in this lighter shade, the cardinal’s feathers were brilliant, wonderful, red. 

Emily walked - well, rather hovered - into her home. The back door was just above a small, concrete porch. Emily’s house had so many windows, so many bird feeders, so much access to see what was inside. 

The cardinal joined the wren and the more established birds and gathered around the windows. None of the windows had curtains, and all of them were open to reveal screens. Perfect for perching. 

All of the birds delighted in watching Emily. In a strange way, she was their leader. Was she really a bird? Had she been a bird in a former life? None of the birds in the yard knew. All they could tell was that Emily seemed like one of them. She was bright, strong, light, and she flew sometimes. 

When Emily got out her flute, the birds loved to see the gleam of the sun’s reflection on it. The sounds she caused it to emit seemed like the sweetest bird call. Before they knew it, all the birds were in a circle, flocked around the back door. 

Emily walked out, and the birds danced in her hair and teased at her wings. As she walked down into the yard, they followed. She led them down the gravel path to the main road. 

The birds just looked at each other. None of them could remember having been out of the yard before. Their memories were frozen. They could recall waking in the shed, the stitches, and then thinking of nothing but Emily day after day. 

Now, they were taking a new flight. Emily wasn’t walking so much as she was gliding down this path. 

Then, they saw it. The big farm house on the hill. It was the home of Felix, the dreaded Maine Coon cat. Many of the birds had encountered Felix before, but by now, they’d forgotten. For so many days, they’d just been safe in the orbit of Emily’s mind. 

Felix was behind the barn, chasing a mouse, when he heard it. He heard the notes of the flute, heard the flapping of wings, assumed there was a storm or something. It was time, then, for him to run. 

He attempted to seek cover in the barn, but a darting wren pecked him in the side. A robin’s claws gripped into Felix’s side. A cardinal now rode on his head. 

Soon, what seemed like hundreds of birds surrounded Felix. Was this it, would this be the end?

Felix soon took flight, lifted by a group of birds who each had been tormented by him before. 

Now, Felix was in the shed. A syringe of sweet liquid eased into his mouth. His tongue lapped up the flavorful elixir. 

When Felix awoke, he noticed the black line of stitches down his chest. He also noticed he seemed to have less whiskers. Then, he glimpsed the birds around a strange figure. Emily, a sprite with wings who seemed to leap and jump and run with cat-like grace. She turned to smile at him, and he noticed the sun beaming through clear whiskers. 

The flute made its sound, and Felix joined a hundred or more birds at the back door of a porch he’d never seen before.