I
One morning, upon awakening from disturbed dreams, A. found himself, in his bed, transformed into a birdbrain; More accurately, a bird with a bird brain with yellow and blue feathers. Looking exceedingly exotic and aesthetically pleasing to the eyes, he was for a moment amused by this sudden metamorphosis. He had the newly acquired tendency to lift his wings, gave a good flap and crashed to the ground from the impact with the room's ceilings. This swift movement and conclusion alerted his longsuffering mother, who had just returned from her ritualistic morning grocery shopping. Upon hearing some noise from her baby boy's room, she asked if there was anything wrong. Birdbrain or not, he whistled his words of assurance (sounded more like a birdsong) and gingerly hopped to the door, rubbing his head in the process, and locked the door as all metamorphosised individuals would do. To ensure that he had, indeed, transformed into a birdbrain, he hopped to the nearest mirror, all tall and clean.
"What happened to me?" he wondered. It was no dream. He took a minute to admire his new look, particularly the yellow stripes down his back. A few feathers dropped and he was greatly troubled by this predicament (which to be frank, humans drop strands of hair daily too). As if to remind that there were more important matters at hand, his mother cried out to him to take his breakfast soon, and his one-sided mind returned to a consciousness of his transformation.
"At least I can fly," he consoled himself but at the same time, he wanted to know if he could indeed fly as all birds could, he thought (some don't). It occurred to him that he belonged to a particular species that specialises in mimicry. So he stared out of the windows, hoping to observe some fellow cousins and learn the act of flying.
His mother called again and he was once again aware that he had to question what happened to him. "What happened to me?" he wondered again. It was no dream. He took another minute to admire his new look, particularly the blue body and the wings. A few feathers dropped again as he hopped around. He stared back at the window, and he suddenly longed to fly out. The weather was just fine: cloudy, warm and humid, with enough clues to suggest that it would pour later in the day, as common around this time. He saw some crows and sparrows, which he considered as poor cousins. "But at least they're free," he thought.
His mother called again. He decided that it was about time he got changed and to prepare for what would be a very different day.
-
by
damien bau
"What happened to me?" he wondered. It was no dream. He took a minute to admire his new look, particularly the yellow stripes down his back. A few feathers dropped and he was greatly troubled by this predicament (which to be frank, humans drop strands of hair daily too). As if to remind that there were more important matters at hand, his mother cried out to him to take his breakfast soon, and his one-sided mind returned to a consciousness of his transformation.
"At least I can fly," he consoled himself but at the same time, he wanted to know if he could indeed fly as all birds could, he thought (some don't). It occurred to him that he belonged to a particular species that specialises in mimicry. So he stared out of the windows, hoping to observe some fellow cousins and learn the act of flying.
His mother called again and he was once again aware that he had to question what happened to him. "What happened to me?" he wondered again. It was no dream. He took another minute to admire his new look, particularly the blue body and the wings. A few feathers dropped again as he hopped around. He stared back at the window, and he suddenly longed to fly out. The weather was just fine: cloudy, warm and humid, with enough clues to suggest that it would pour later in the day, as common around this time. He saw some crows and sparrows, which he considered as poor cousins. "But at least they're free," he thought.
His mother called again. He decided that it was about time he got changed and to prepare for what would be a very different day.
-
by
damien bau
No comments:
Post a Comment