Four

Some say birds are only birds, just creatures heartless and soulless. I guess it’s a matter of how you want to look at it. Some say there is no Santa Claus; others claim there is no God. Still others claim there "is" a God. Why is belief in a mythical all-knowing god any different than believing in thinking creatures, intelligent creatures, and talking creatures? Why do we teach our children about the Tooth Fairy only to dash the myth when we as parents think it’s time for the little buggers to grow up? How about a big fat bunny that leaves colored chicken eggs in our yards? Why can’t birds "think?" The question is moot I’m sure. Who cares?

*****

The traffic on Mill Road was exceptionally heavy Friday evening. Four looked down on the highway as car after car ran over Temple’s body, flattening it more with each passing. Temple, his dearest temple, what had become of her? Four wept. Yes, he wept. Contrary to the belief of all earth-kind pigeons are capable of weeping. Four perched himself on a tree near Temple’s flattened corpse and wept. He wept through the evening twilight and into the darkest night of his life.

Four’s morning brought no relief to his misery. He looked down for his love’s remains and saw only crows, black and mean-spirited. They were ripping and shredding the remains of his sweet, delightful Temple. He gasped and fluttered away from the scene, never looking back, never coming back. Four flew into a small copse of trees near an old abandoned barn. He landed on a limb, hungry and tired. He stared at the old barn. It was a dismal sight. The dilapidated old structure had been the place he and Temple had chosen to be their home and the home of their future offspring. The old barn now appeared like a monster to him, jaws open with black and blank eyes staring at the small pigeon with scorn. Four shuddered briefly. His life had suddenly changed. Only hours ago he had been so self-assured. Now, he was quickly crumbling into the pit of insanity. He needed to flee.

Four did something very strange. He shot off the branch and headed straight toward the abandoned barn. Had no one observed his actions Four would have killed himself easily by ramming his fragile body into the roof of the structure. However, he had been observed. PortaConnor, a cynical but affable crow, saw the strange event. A small pigeon was free falling from the sky and about to meet its demise but PortaConnor interfered, barely. He just happened to be flapping his way to the morsels of a dead mouse lying on the baking roof of the old barn, not his favorite food but it would do for this morning. He happened to look up and saw the insane pigeon heading straight for the roof. PortaConnor launched himself toward the bird and threw the small creature off its course. Four rammed, instead, into a loose pile of hay at the foot of the old barn door. He felt something snap but didn’t realize what it was until he tried to launch himself out of the hay. He had broken his wing.

PortaConnor stood not far from the pile of hay, looking curiously at the injured pigeon. "So, little one, what were you trying to do? You looked like a wad of shit falling from the sky and there you are, splattered and broken?"

Four said nothing.