This fanfiction is not going to be very long. Also, it's not very realistic to how birds interact on purpose.
But yay! Phantom of the Opera but with birds! (and other plot changes) In case you can't figure it out, Songbird (or the Chickadee, as she is sometimes called,) is Christine. I couldn't quite use their real names, but I hope that I make who is who obvious. If you have any questions, just ask!
On with the show.
It was warm out.
Not the horrible, sweltering heat that drove all sensible furry beings (and furless) into their respective homes, but the comfortable, sunny temperature that fought off chilliness yet still allowed wisps of wind to blow across.
It was the perfect morning, as so it seemed.
The neighborhood wasn't too big, the block only fitting three houses per side, with a small alley nestled behind, well-hidden.
In the middle of it all was a set of birdfeeders. In all honesty, there were only three of them. One, copper brown, one was green, and the last was what had originally been intended to be used as a birdbath, but was now filled with birdfeed. It was very modest, and not the most pretty spot in the neighborhood. Seeds were scattered below, giving ground to small, growing sunflowers that barely reached the belly of a robin.
No, the birdfeeders weren't fancy by any means, but to the users of the feeders, it was a palace.
Early morning was the most popular time, when all the avifauna of the neighborhood typically ate, twittering amongst themselves.
That was the norm.
But, the little songbird had never really conformed to what was the 'norm' in her home, had she?
The Chickadee ruffled her feathers, glancing from bird to bird. A group of sparrows were at the yellow feeder, picking fights with one another. Typical, she sighed inwardly. They can't go a day without gouging some poor bird's eye out or another. The quiet songbird had never quite seen the need to turn to violence, instead choosing to avoid her feathered neighbors altogether.
Another chickadee landed beside her on a branch, puffing out her chest exuberantly. "Hey!" the newcomer gasped, her eyes widening. The Songbird grinned. It was clear that her friend (her only friend, too,) was bursting at the seams with gossip. Soleil, as her friend was nicknamed, was known as the chattiest bird in the area. It was only fitting that the meekest black-capped chickadee had ended up befriending the most extroverted.
"So, you know Relli, right? The big cardinal who flew in recently? Well, early she came in to grab something to eat AND she was holding her wing oddly, like, over her head 'an stuff and I went up to her and asked 'hey, what's with your wing?' and she didn't respond at first but then…"
The Songbird knew that Soleil was still twittering nonstop about the cardinal, but her attention was turned elsewhere by the sound of a familiar voice. Seated on the curve of the makeshift platform was a sparrow, slightly large for his size. He was recognized as Buck, which she had once been told was another word for 'deer,' (not that she knew what 'deer' was.)
Yet still, he told everyone to call him by that nickname. The chickadee wasn't one for nicknames, much rather preferring others call her simply 'chickadee,' or her favorite, 'songbird.'
"Friend?" Soleil leaned forward, tearing Songbird from her thoughts.
"Did you catch what I said?" she leaned forward even more. Songbird glanced fleetingly at her talons. If she leans forward any more, she's going to fall.
"Afraid not. Repeat, please?"
Soleil gave a blatantly fake exasperated gasp. "I SAID, that Relli was molting!"
"Ah, yes, some birds do do that." Songbird tilted her head.
Soleil let out a gasp. "I hope I sure don't! I would DIE if anything like that happened to me."
Songbird chuckled. "Well, I hope that you're over exaggerating." She turned, pointing with a wing to where a small group had gathered around Buck. "C'mon, let's go see what terrible tale Buck is spinning this time."
The two quickly flew over, landing on the edge behind a pair of small mourning doves.
"You see, the Raven then turned, glaring at the frightened mother and father, before demanding to see their firstborn hatchling. Terrified, a small fletchling shuffled forward, so young that he had barely any feathers growing. With a roar the Raven grasped their youngling, tearing off into the sky. Once he reached his home he devoured the infant alive, drinking his blood and eating him!"
A cry erupted among the youngest in the crowd. The taller of the mourning doves nudged the other and took off into the sky, leaving the feeder vibrating for a few short minutes.
"But I digress," Buck continued. "The Raven is still alive-he lives FOREVER. Keep an eye on your young ones, mothers! Or he might swoop down and eat them!" he waved his wings on the last word, letting out a 'caw' that was a bad mimic of a Raven's cry. Although the story was most likely fake, the chickadee felt her feathers ruffling at the idea.
She had even heard the fable before, it was nothing new. Almost frightened, she glanced up at the tall tree that supposedly housed the terrible being.
She could almost imagine a black pair of eyes gleaming back at her, but she dismissed it as her imagination, flapping her wings and taking off in the direction of her own nest.
Tell me your thoughts!
