Non Existent

Trees, homes, blue, white. Everything I see passes by me as I fly with my flock. The colors that once meant something have started to mix into one. Black. The color that I am. The common starling that glides through the sky. Some call us phenomenal for the way we group during migration, while others call us beautiful because we shine in the morning sun. Then there’s those who call us noisy and those are the ones who destroy our home that was never meant to be. Whether you see me sitting inside a cactus or soaring by screeching the sounds that I mimicked you notice this gift. How beautiful our sound is. We’re all unique in our own way no matter what or who we are.

Yet I’m thinking something is wrong, why do I feel this way? The memory is shuddering when I think back to it. The yellowest flowers, the tasty red cherries that just fill my bill. Those are what I will miss. But they were taken away from us. How could this be my life? I come back to reality where there’s so many trees with barely any leaves and it’s getting colder instead of warmer. We’re almost home. The wind is forcing me to fly even harder than usual. It flows through my feathers and it’s the most mesmerizing feeling I will ever feel. It’s my favorite part about living. Knowing I’m free like the wind.

The blackest dirt soon gets drowned in the water thrown at it. Earthworms that we deliciously loved have been forcefully digged out and dried up in the hot sun that surrounds them. These creatures, men, have destroyed their home. I have come to the point where I compare myself to these worms. The people have hurt them in the same way they hurt us. I remember their orange hats that kept me from pecking at  them as they try taking down my nest. There’s nothing left for me to do except attack.

I almost hit a tree thinking about the past. Why am I flying so low? I see more humans with hats I can only remember are harder than the hardest tree I have ever pecked. They walk and drink water from what they call containers. If only we could co exist then everything would be easier. The winter is left behind as we fly further and further from what we used to call home. 

The smell of berries nears as well all go down for a break right by a river of water. Trees are everywhere again and not the pesky humans. I fly down between the trees only for my whole body to be hit. They hurt me. They took my eggs and broke them along with a big part of me. I tried saving them only to be hit by their machines, being thrown into what was left of our home. To them we don’t matter and one less bird means nothing. As though I am non existent.

The grass near by blows not too hard or fast but at exactly the right pace. It blows past my feathers as if it were trying to make me feel better. It doesn’t. The Food gets to my stomach as well and makes me feel even worse. Other birds nearby stare knowing my fate as well as I do. The future grows close and sticks by me like the blood running down my feathers. I’m almost home.

Back where nobody bothered me. Back where the wind knew my name and whistled it like nobody else was listening. Back where I could be free again with my family. ALL of my family and not just the ones that survived this disaster. I love my flock but I LOVED my eggs. My eggs that would soon hatch and follow me down the path to a new home away from the cold. Now I go away from the cold alone but it doesn’t get any warmer for me.

I see the fish swimming the same direction we are flying. Insects are starting to show more and more as we near our tree home. The forest has many birds that I know soon I’ll be able to see and hear them. But what if I don’t? Wishful thinking is all I have left now. We try to rest waiting for day to come again. Everything is calm as of the world was telling us “you’ve had enough now rest.”. But as we close our eyes most of us are at peace with only dreams to keep us positive about tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow we take flight. Tomorrow I won’t hear the owls swooping to catch their next rat victim. Tomorrow I won’t have my babies back. Tomorrow is a new day that saddens me. A clapping noise appears and we all awake from our slumber in a panic scattering everywhere. Killing machines or what humans call them, Guns. We get away as far as we possibly can until we don’t hear the noise. The noise of human machines is what drowned us in the first place. Like the earthworms in the ground some of us died being food for the plants as our bodies decay in their soil. 

We take flight again and I know we’re close. I see the wind calm down as the deers prance through it. Red flowers bloom everywhere from the tree tops leading to a more colorful forest. Red turns to purple and then to blue. Finally I see black. The hatred only grows as my life fades away. I’m almost home. I land near our tree, the tree that I’ve gone to my whole life to sleep and mate and make my own music with my special sound. I look around and see a human child full of hope. We’re all living creatures in this world and we all have lived for a reason. But everything comes to an end some day. Breathing soon gets harder. I’m grasping for the last bit of air. The air feels so clean here and as I take my last breath I am finally at peace.