Caged Bird

Story by ZeHell-ScythefanToo

Hot off of the editing press, I present to all of you my latest work to prove that I'm not just posting old crap of mine. (Of course, this is hardly a way to prove that considering it could have come from anywhere, anywhen, but nevertheless!) This is also coincidentally the last single short story (or one-shot, if I want to use the lingo) I have on hand - I wanted to post something else tonight but this just pushed its way to the front of the queue. This is the first time I've done any solo 'performances' in prose, so I went all out. Actually, that's not true - the idea you see formulating at the start of this little story came first, but the theme was too great not to expand on somehow... It took a week to complete - a little (okay, annoyingly) longer than my expected par time for a course this short but here it is nonetheless. (And, I'm sorry, but it is made of blocks of paragraph. Dialogue always splits up everything nicely in a regular story...)

You can read this story on my site (fancy reader) (plain text), download it as an attachment (941649), or open the spoiler below...

Caged Bird

08/05/2016

Short 'n' Sweet by Zhs2

Codewords: masturb, auto-fl, self-lovin' (don't we all)

Foreword: I don't often do solo material, but seeing as this was my first time with the subject, I took it as a theme and ran with it. Or maybe flew with it... Okay, I'll let you read now.

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The little grey bird with the blue markings upon its head and wings chirped to the sound of its cage door unlatching, voicing appreciative sounds as a giant hand floated its way in and patted the surface of the bird's head; the human girl with the soft, long hair of cream-colored persuasion smiled wistfully as she extended a hand full of seed for the minute creature to peck its fill of, running her fingertips along the back of her companion while it ate. Not a handful of weeks ago had the girl been, on a whim of everpresent boredom, walking through the courtyard of her home and hearth to stop flat at the sound of a soft 'wock' - just like that, a feather-padded body succumbing to gravity and conceding its motion upon the cold, hard stone, 'wock' - and glance off to her left, where the little grey bird had landed at a spot half on the path, half on the grass; she gasped as the bird kept lifelessly still for horribly long moments, then breathed again when it got to its feet, shook out its dazed head, then tried, unsuccessfully, to fly away, hopping fully onto the stone as its jarred and lower-hanging left wing refused to straighten out and eventually faceplanting into the concrete once again. The girl rushed to its side and scooped it up, doing her best to calm the impatient avian cripple and keep it from injuring itself any further! "It's okay, it's okay!" She tried to calm the bird to no avail, nearly panicking herself as it jumped about in her hands. "I'll find something for this! I, uh, first aid!!"

From there she rushed right into the mansion that constituted her living space, heading straight towards the supply of bandages and creams in the pantry near to the ground floor lavatory; the helpful girl spent several tens of minutes upon poring through the shelves for things that might help, running to her room to research exactly what to do about mending a broken wing, coaxing the bird into a single spot on the kitchen counter where the girl could work, then finally applying a splint and bandages to help set the wounded appendage into place, which the bird cried and flailed about whenever a mistake was made. After this fracas had finally settled, and the bird with the re-set wing was placated with attempted pecking at sunflower seeds - the only kind of this flavor of persuasion the girl could find amongst the stores of supplies in the house - she went to the task of obtaining suitable housing for her new friend, deciding eventually upon a square animal cage that graced the fireplace mantle in the lounge and seemed like an utterly tacky decoration for the spot it displayed itself in... Not like anyone would miss it if she used it, she justified to herself.

Since then, the little house made of equidistant iron bars had all sorts of accoutrements added to it for the benefit of the miniature guest - a perch or three here, a drinking bowl there, birdbath optional but available as often as the girl could remember (and she had quite a lot of time to remember) - and the bird likewise grew into appreciation of its new lodgings and company while it recovered from its injury. All of that seemed like a distant, yet pleasant memory now, peaceful and comfortable reminiscences she would dare to cling to for as long as she could muster; she had felt a certain guilt at first, needing to keep the bird here in order to help it fly once

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