A/N Ok, This is a story My Friend Wrote, She Got a little Teary-eyed
reading it, Its kinda sad... It has a happy ending, prattle. So Anyway!
=^n_n^=
Disclaimer: I Do Not Own "The Bird" My Friend owns the Plot and Original Copyright.
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Hold Fast to Your Dreams
For if Dreams Die
Life is a broken-winged bird that
Cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
For If Dreams Go,
Life is a barren Field
Frozen with snow
---Langston Hughes
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He Lived in the New England woods for as long as he could remember. He Loved to Woods, and all the creatures in it. He knew each of them, as if by name. It was springtime, and the land was alive with the fresh new growth of the fields and forests.
After he finished plowing his fields, he would walk about the woods, looking at the Does and their newborn fawns, the Birds and their Hatchlings, the raccoons and their young, and all the other animals and their newborn which they had recently brought into the world.
So he lived happily till one fateful day which was to change his entire life.
He had finished plowing his fields and was beginning his walk. Evening was falling, and the sky was lit in bright oranges and pinks. He stood at the edge of a field, watching a beautiful Doe and Fawn in the distance; an uneasy calm lay about the meadow.
All of a sudden, the Doe pricked her ears forward, and turned in the opposite direction of the man, looking at something. She leaped and a shot rang out; the beautiful creature that had once roamed to forest lay dead on her side.
The man watched in disbelief. The fawn bleated mournfully, not knowing which way to run. A large man strode out of the Woods. By then he was running to stop the hunter, and whatever he had in mind, but he was too late.
The hunter took his gun barrel and hit the fawn on the head with a sharp swing. One more Bleat of pain, and the new life lay dead also. Anger flooded through him like wildfire. All he could shout was, "Why did you do that?!"
The Hunter replied, "This land ain't posted... these will make fine trophies."
Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed the gun and was swinging it at the man with all the harshness and cruelty with what the hunter had swung it at the little fawn.
The Hunter shouted in alarm, "It ain't against the law to shoot deer mister; Give me back my Gun!"
The man shouted back, "Do you know what the penalty for murder is?" then another shot rang out.
He was sent up to Reickers Island Penitentiary for twenty years. He was found guilty of second-degree murder, although he did not feel guilty for what he did. They sold his farm and land, all that was left of his happy life.
They put him in a cold, bare cell with a sink and mattress. There he stayed for ten long years, trying not to become as cold and hard as the men that the penitentiary had within its walls.
Day after day he would sit and look out his small barred window at the sunset and dreamed about what it was like over at his small patch of forest, and fields.
One day they announced he and four other men would be put on parole in another week. The other men were elated; they couldn't wait to get back to their homes and families. He wondered what it would be like in the big city. He was scared, apprehensive, and sad they had sold what was left of his life...
They gave him a twenty-dollar bill, a new suit of clothes, and a list of places where he might find a job. Then they set him out on his own.
He went to the first place on the list, a small dirty factory. A fat, bald man met him at the reception desk and said, "Yes, we need a man to sweep the floors; are you an ex-con?" he added examining him.
To this he replied, "Yes, I am." Calmly, and matter-of-factly.
He straightened himself up and said flatly, "Well, we don't want any murderers hangin' around here. No, I don't think we can use you."
So it was, no matter where he went. He wandered aimlessly, brushing by hundreds of people that all seemed to be going places in a hurry. He glanced up long enough to notice a lady in a fox fur coat, and once again thought of the life he once had.
'Poor foxes,' he thought, 'that coat must contain one hundred hours of torture from the traps they were caught in.'
He crossed the road, and a car swerved barely hitting him; the driver swore. Walking on, he spent his last four dollars on a meal, Then spent the night on a park bench.
In the morning, he looked about and thought, 'I've tried! There is only one option left...'
He went inside a large building so high up that it hurt to look up and see where the top was. He got on the elevator and went to the 95th floor. He wandered about the floor aimlessly for sometime, thinking about his final decision.
He got a drink of water and looked at some bulletins, not that he cared... He didn't care about anything anymore, not even himself. Nothing cared for him either; he was nothing.
He walked towards an open window and crawled out on the ledge. A few passers-by stopped and pointed upward. Slowly, More people gathered. Finally, about 200 people were waiting for him to jump the ledge.
'Death is like a carnival.' He thought, 'I'm the freak, or daredevil that's providing the entertainment, giving them their show.'
He was closing his eyes and was about to lose his grip when he heard a small noise, like a 'coo'. There, not more than five feet away from him, he noticed a skinny, gray bird, a pigeon struggling on the ledge. Trying valiantly to rise into the air.
It could not, however, due to its broken wing. His first reaction was that it must not fall. Carefully, he leaned over and picked up the frightened bird.
When the police found him, he was sitting with the small bird in his lap, With his jacket wrapped about it. He was crying... Once again, He had something to Love.
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A/N An there you have it. "The Bird" By a Friend of mine. Review please! She'd love to hear your feedback!
Disclaimer: I Do Not Own "The Bird" My Friend owns the Plot and Original Copyright.
*^*^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* ^
Hold Fast to Your Dreams
For if Dreams Die
Life is a broken-winged bird that
Cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
For If Dreams Go,
Life is a barren Field
Frozen with snow
---Langston Hughes
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^****^*^*^*^*^**^*^**^*^*^*^**^
He Lived in the New England woods for as long as he could remember. He Loved to Woods, and all the creatures in it. He knew each of them, as if by name. It was springtime, and the land was alive with the fresh new growth of the fields and forests.
After he finished plowing his fields, he would walk about the woods, looking at the Does and their newborn fawns, the Birds and their Hatchlings, the raccoons and their young, and all the other animals and their newborn which they had recently brought into the world.
So he lived happily till one fateful day which was to change his entire life.
He had finished plowing his fields and was beginning his walk. Evening was falling, and the sky was lit in bright oranges and pinks. He stood at the edge of a field, watching a beautiful Doe and Fawn in the distance; an uneasy calm lay about the meadow.
All of a sudden, the Doe pricked her ears forward, and turned in the opposite direction of the man, looking at something. She leaped and a shot rang out; the beautiful creature that had once roamed to forest lay dead on her side.
The man watched in disbelief. The fawn bleated mournfully, not knowing which way to run. A large man strode out of the Woods. By then he was running to stop the hunter, and whatever he had in mind, but he was too late.
The hunter took his gun barrel and hit the fawn on the head with a sharp swing. One more Bleat of pain, and the new life lay dead also. Anger flooded through him like wildfire. All he could shout was, "Why did you do that?!"
The Hunter replied, "This land ain't posted... these will make fine trophies."
Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed the gun and was swinging it at the man with all the harshness and cruelty with what the hunter had swung it at the little fawn.
The Hunter shouted in alarm, "It ain't against the law to shoot deer mister; Give me back my Gun!"
The man shouted back, "Do you know what the penalty for murder is?" then another shot rang out.
He was sent up to Reickers Island Penitentiary for twenty years. He was found guilty of second-degree murder, although he did not feel guilty for what he did. They sold his farm and land, all that was left of his happy life.
They put him in a cold, bare cell with a sink and mattress. There he stayed for ten long years, trying not to become as cold and hard as the men that the penitentiary had within its walls.
Day after day he would sit and look out his small barred window at the sunset and dreamed about what it was like over at his small patch of forest, and fields.
One day they announced he and four other men would be put on parole in another week. The other men were elated; they couldn't wait to get back to their homes and families. He wondered what it would be like in the big city. He was scared, apprehensive, and sad they had sold what was left of his life...
They gave him a twenty-dollar bill, a new suit of clothes, and a list of places where he might find a job. Then they set him out on his own.
He went to the first place on the list, a small dirty factory. A fat, bald man met him at the reception desk and said, "Yes, we need a man to sweep the floors; are you an ex-con?" he added examining him.
To this he replied, "Yes, I am." Calmly, and matter-of-factly.
He straightened himself up and said flatly, "Well, we don't want any murderers hangin' around here. No, I don't think we can use you."
So it was, no matter where he went. He wandered aimlessly, brushing by hundreds of people that all seemed to be going places in a hurry. He glanced up long enough to notice a lady in a fox fur coat, and once again thought of the life he once had.
'Poor foxes,' he thought, 'that coat must contain one hundred hours of torture from the traps they were caught in.'
He crossed the road, and a car swerved barely hitting him; the driver swore. Walking on, he spent his last four dollars on a meal, Then spent the night on a park bench.
In the morning, he looked about and thought, 'I've tried! There is only one option left...'
He went inside a large building so high up that it hurt to look up and see where the top was. He got on the elevator and went to the 95th floor. He wandered about the floor aimlessly for sometime, thinking about his final decision.
He got a drink of water and looked at some bulletins, not that he cared... He didn't care about anything anymore, not even himself. Nothing cared for him either; he was nothing.
He walked towards an open window and crawled out on the ledge. A few passers-by stopped and pointed upward. Slowly, More people gathered. Finally, about 200 people were waiting for him to jump the ledge.
'Death is like a carnival.' He thought, 'I'm the freak, or daredevil that's providing the entertainment, giving them their show.'
He was closing his eyes and was about to lose his grip when he heard a small noise, like a 'coo'. There, not more than five feet away from him, he noticed a skinny, gray bird, a pigeon struggling on the ledge. Trying valiantly to rise into the air.
It could not, however, due to its broken wing. His first reaction was that it must not fall. Carefully, he leaned over and picked up the frightened bird.
When the police found him, he was sitting with the small bird in his lap, With his jacket wrapped about it. He was crying... Once again, He had something to Love.
*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^**^*^*^**^^^^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
A/N An there you have it. "The Bird" By a Friend of mine. Review please! She'd love to hear your feedback!