Work Text:
Stiff joints start to slowly move, stilted and almost like they’re under an immense pressure. The little bird stretches its wings to their full extent and ruffles himself, tail feathers attempt to splay out. The feathers did not expand, but the feeling in his little legs and wings was freeing all the same.
He tilts his head, looking around the room that he was in. It seemed to be a tremendously large room, for he was a very small bird, a sparrow. In his own mind all he thinks is that this is a strange place for a bird to be. Where are the trees? Where is the flight giving winds? And how can he find them?
The little sparrow chirps and jumps in his spot. A tinkling clunk reverbs through his body. He looks down at his feet. Wood! Glorious wood! He must be in a tree then. But this wood is awfully shiny, like the little baubles his crow friend likes to collect. Trees are not usually shiny. And so flat too! It’s hard for the little sparrow to grip the flat surface with his talons. So, he feels very unsteady in his place.
He tries to slowly walk forward instead of hop. The wood underneath him suddenly ends. No curve of a branch to hint to him that the wood might not be there at all anymore. He almost falls, a little swoosh in his belly that he usually only gets while flying. That was a little too close. While he knows that even if he did fall, he could just start flying, there is a small part of himself somewhere inside that is afraid.
Ridiculous. A sparrow that is afraid of flying! He shakes his little head at himself, scoffing in his own head at his fear. A sparrow is flight itself. There is nothing to be afraid about flight! Why! He hadn’t been afraid of flight since he was a small fledging trying to leave the nest for the first time!
Trying to trick himself out of the heavy feeling in his little bird chest, he resolved to fly the little box-like thing in the far corner of the room. There were lots of long little branches and some napkins that he has seen humans use to make little markings on. It’s big and a little far away, but it was a close to the outside in a big opening in the room.
He shakes his body again, warming up his wings and muscles to take flight. They still feel a little clunky to himself. Again, that feeling in his little chest lights up, a desperate feeling that something is wrong. He resolutely ignores it. Sparrows are meant to fly!
His wings outstretch and he beats them for his take off. A little hop off the strange flat branch and he is in the air. For a brief moment, the little sparrow feels his heart soar with happiness at the freedom of flight. He beats his wings to push himself forward.
A strange thing happens.
He doesn’t move. He’s still going down.
He beats his wings again. Still nothing. No upwards movement, and the ground gets a little closer. The little sparrow feels his heart start to race. Frantically, he tries to beat his wings harder and harder, anything to make the ground go away to get farther into the air. Nothing worked.
The ground is so close now. The little sparrow closes his eyes. He has hit the ground before when learning to fly. It is not necessarily that pleasant. He does not wish to see it happen and feel it at the same time. He braces himself.
Suddenly, a warm thing embraces him, and he feels his descent quickly stop. In that warm thing surrounding him, he feels him start to rise again.
What is this? What is happening?
He continues to rise higher and higher. The warm thing starts to slacken around him, no longer so tight. The little sparrow opens his eyes and looks at the thing around him and through the
little space around his head. A human! A young one!
His heart begins to race again. A human! He can’t be caught by a human! They don’t treat little sparrows kindly, especially young ones like this one that is holding him. He sees the human’s mouth begin to move. He knows that is how they communicate to each other. Quickly he looks around for another human. But there is no one. The young human seems to be speaking to him. He cannot understand the strange sounds coming from the young human, but he hopes against hope that the words are kind.
The young human begins moving towards the opening in the room. Outside! Yes! Outside! The young human gets so close to the opening, but then turns away at the last minutes. The little sparrow’s heart drops, desperately wiling the human to turn around. The young human grabs at something behind the sparrow’s head, something wooden and something that is like a little door opens. The sparrow freezes. In this small space, there are dozens of little sparrows and woodpeckers and robins. But something is wrong. Their eyes are dead. Unseeing. But they also don’t have feathers. Not really. Nothing flutters or moves with the slight wind disturbance of the door opening. The little sparrow is so confused and fearful.
Slowly, carefully the human puts the sparrow next to a robin with some empty space. He tries to move and hop away, anything to escape this nightmare. But his wings refuse to move. His feet are stiff and stuck in place. The little sparrow looks down at his own body and realizes that it closely resembles what he sees in the other birds. No feathers, just the look of feathers. Wings unmoving, and not seemingly fully formed.
The sparrow looks at the young human again, mouth still moving, and his mind goes blank.
Completely.