Before I knew it, I was falling. Falling towards my ever-coming death. When my wide wings faltered, my light body became heavy, and the wind no longer rushed under my wings but fought them. My soft, song like calls replaced by screechy, startled squawks as I struggled to stay airborne. The bright luscious leaves and long, brown branches provided no help to the death drop, so I gave up the faltering attempts to fly. The tall trees I used to call home now providing no help to me as I see there rough, leafy under. I relax my muscles, calm my breathing and wait, wait for death to come.
I shut my eyes and remember the cool blue skies I used to know. I remember the other birds chirping amongst the tall slim branches in the trees. I remember the magical songs we used to sing. I remember the bright sun shining down on me in the darkest of times, the same sun that has turned on me now. I cling onto these imagines as my last rays of hope. A light in the ever growing darkness. There is always a way. Always. And as I see the muddy brown soil and the hard rocky bricks rushing ever closer I know that their is no one to help me now. When death comes, death stays and even something as free as a Mockingjay must come to an end.