(Enjoy this chapter!)
"The pigs are determined to strike us within the next few months," Red declared. "It is time that we strengthen our defenses, and be ready for attack. Thank you, and may our eggs be safe." His closing words prompted the Flock's return to daily activities.
Bomb's fuse had recovered for some time, and he was spirited enough to play with the blues, which he now did daily. But today, when he went to the young birds' resting spot, they were missing. Had they woken up? No, said the others. Their disappearance worried everyone, but also angered Matilda. She never trusted those rowdy male birds with children. The only cleaning they would do is clean lifting. They would get head trauma in training, and be so disoriented later in the day that the task of childcare inevitably fell on Matilda. "Matilda, go do this." "Matilda, go feed them this." Or "Ugh ugh ugh ugh guh gah", if they were concussed. What a barbaric sport; if you could call it one.
The most contemptible of all the birds was Bomb. Oh, how she detested Bomb. He had gotten the blues into all too much trouble at one time or another. More apologies to her only led to more troubles, and more frayed nerves and attempts at civility. Well, she was fed up. Bomb was a bad influence. He needed to be punished. Her maternal gaze turned into one of malevolence, perhaps a wasted, inefficient effort into trying to protect her children.
Shortly before daily training commenced, Matilda invited Bomb for a "friendly chat", as she called it. She invited him to a niche in a large boulder, at the frontier of the birds' territory. She had assembled a set of gardening equipment, which she would use normally for much less malicious purposes, such as in her flower garden. She hid this paraphernalia behind the rock, away from sight.
"Please, make yourself comfortable." She said dryly, perhaps a formality, or perhaps ambivalence towards what she was about to do.
There was a long pause, after which she chose to begin. "Let me make it simple. I want to make sure the Flock's children, Jay, Jake, and Jim, are safe. I'm sure you do too. Our entire existence depends on it. However, you have soiled their feathers far too much. You have not raised them properly. You have taught them nasty things. They have gotten hurt, because you don't teach them responsibility, and consequences. Every time they do something wrong, you don't punish them. So they want to hang around you all time, because they can just be like you, immature, irresponsible, and too powerful for your own good."
Bomb's broken ego bled with tears. "But you are the one who told us that we must all take care of the blues; three children was a blessing, but with a greater responsibility in its own right. You were the one who said that. You have entrusted the blues into my—no, our, for that matter—care, and I will raise them the way I want to! Besides, have I done anything that they would not do in adult life anyway?"
Immediately after, Matilda pulled out a pocketknife for picking roses. "Bomb, playing with explosives does not count!" She yelled sharply, slashing a bald spot in Bomb's feathers. "Now, you listen, bird, and you better listen well. Just because you have the most power of all of us, doesn't mean you raise the children the way you want. Red is the leader of the Flock. I am the leader of caring the children, and you will do what I say, understand?"
"Okay, okay, I—"
"I'm not finished!" She slashed another bald spot in Bomb. "You pissed me off, you have meddled in my affairs too long! So, retribution is in order." She pulled out a machete for clearing the massive weeds that would grow in her garden.
Blood, mixed with the saline of tears, stained the grass, struggling to stay green as the winter neared.
"Have mercy! Have mercy! You bastard! Why…are you doing this?" Bomb was now writhing in pain.
"I want you feel what our daughters felt. How they came to their demise!" Her speech was punctuated by cold, angry tears.
"I never meant to do them harm!" Bomb cried in desperation. "No, don't leave, Matilda. Don't go! Don't leave me to die!" The long, curved blade stuck out of Bomb's body, drinking his life away like a ravenous mosquito.
"Serves you right." She mumbled to herself. She picked up her gardening equipment and walked away.
(Hope you liked the action there. Stay tuned for more!)