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Clive felt every flap of his feathers against his frail and withered frame. Smoke rose above the trees, small insignificant to any two-legged creature. The suburban streets shimmering in moonlight reflect onto the unsuspecting seagull. Closer and closer, the smoke puffs and twists into the darkness.
Days like these ones rip and tear at the very being of feather culture. Pulling and crushing like weighted stones tumbling through the brush.
Clive soars against the breeze, the light of a fire glowing in his white wings. The brush of the branches makes him jittery as his claws extended to land next to his brother, Stephan.
“My fellow Aeromericans,” the President Bird, Jay FritzFeather Kennedy, says. “Times are hard, but we must persevere. My brother, Robin Kennedy, will be overseeing a task force, to find a new source of food.” Murmurs break out amongst the birds. Squawks ring out through the hollow. “I know there are few squawks that can justify these hardships, but we are out of time,” Jay continues.
“Please, all birds interested, follow me,” the Vice President, Lyndon Birds Johnson caws. Johnson’s massive body shadows Kennedy, and Johnson acts like his form. Clive takes off from his perch, Stephan right on his tail.
“Vice president-” Clive starts, nearly flying into another tree.
“Speak,” Johnson glares with a little snort. Clive gulps and shrinks slightly more into his feathers.
“We want to help!” Stephan speaks first, feathers ruffling.
“You’re barely older than birdlings,” Johnson murmurs, eyes piercing their own.
“Johnson!” a familiar accent wafts through the air.
“They want to help,” Kennedy nods, a cool smile spreading across his beak. “They are doing what they can for our country.” Johnson huffs, bolstering his large form over Kennedy’s, but the other bird continues to smirk.
“Fine,” Johnson hisses, nodding to the other two. “Let’s go.” Clive and Stephan jump up; wings spread with joy. Kennedy smiles at them as they drop back down, shrinking once more in his presence.
“You best listen to Johnson,” Kennedy warns.
*
Robin knew his way around a crisis. His feathers may be a strew, but he leads the flock just as good as his brother could. Their mission revolves around the parking lot. It brings all kinds of wonders, and plentiful food. The two leg creatures left many treasures in their little lot. Their mission continues for many months with no food in sight.
Clive’s group consists of many different species, each excited for the different scraps they could acquire. There is Squawker (she liked lucky rabbits), Khootsen (and her love for writing multi-cultural bird stories), Owlivia (who searched for her last name), Jeraflya (a lover of tier listing his meals), and above all there is Bethany. She could have been a dove, though she was actually a bluetail, cascading Clive in glorious light—
“Clive,” Robin’s harsh voice breaks him out of his trance.
“Sorry, sir—”
“We have to go to the White Tree,” he cuts in, shaking a little. Clive nods as they take off from the small lot.
The others soon join along. Khootsen and Owlivia keep doing the Kennedy accent as Squawker reminisces about her stinky yellow stuffed animal. Jeraflya simply ranks the bird presidents in a tier list next to Clive.
Robin etches forward, quicker than usual. Clive gulps as Robin dismisses Jeraflya’s attempts to talk. The White Tree came into the light, shining brightly against the morning sun. The security birds’ feathers stand up as Robin flies past them into the hole. The others follow, exchanging fearful looks. Coughs rang out from the back of the tunnel. President Kennedy shivers in a pile of leaves. He looks thinner than Clive remembers.
“Why can’t you be a little selfish sometimes?” Robin mutters, lying next to his brother. Quacky, the first lady, seemed to roll her eyes at the comment. Clive heard the president has been eating less, insisting it be given to the birdlings. He had also heard of the many scandals of the president since the famine started, which Quacky steams at currently.
“We need something…and we need it fast,” Robin mutters, lying next to his brother. Quacky directs Clive away, frowning at the state of her husband.
“How could no one have found anything?” she whispers, head bowing in despair.
“We’ll go ma’am. We’ll find food…for everyone,” Clive nods, heading towards the entrance of the White Tree. The others follow behind with Bethany coming up beside him.
“What exactly is your plan? Robin—” Bethany begins.
“Robin’s not coming,” Clive says, wings spread to take off. “He handled the Chicken Missile Crisis with Jay, but none of them have found food. Our ability to survive basic hunger…we must take it.”
Bethany nods, solemnly. Clive looks away as he takes off into the sky. The others follow suit, spinning and diving amongst the canopies of leaves.
Clive watches the other birds as they weakly get to their homes. The familiar size of Johnson as he glares at him from the ground, irks the seagull.
He’d prove Johnson wrong in the end, he just knew it. Bethany’s wing brushes against his own. She nods to him before diving ahead to a small clearing. One by one, the other birds dove off from his group.
Clive focuses on one place where there must be something.
The parking lot.
The view of black cement and white lines brought a pounding to his chest. He lands on one of the tall light dispensing towers. His eyes search the jungle of boxed devices the two leg creatures use to get around. Two of the creatures step onto the black pavement. Their bustle of curls made them stand out. They began to point at something, laughing. Clive dove closer cementing himself near the object. The large package fascinates him; he pecks at the paper covering. Inside is…food? A loose brown, crusted piece of two leg creature food lays waiting for him.
Without warning, he swallows it whole. The two leg creatures laugh louder. A whole meal must be in here. The two leg creatures were feeding them?
Clive picks up the package in his beak and takes off towards home. The heavy bag felt heavier than anything he had carried before. Clive’s side began to sting as he forces his neck up, but then he glances at his side. A hawk? The hawk dove for him, causing Clive to veer to the right, nearly hitting another tree. He pushes forward, determined to get the food to the President. The trees are closing in, choking his wings closer to his body.
The hawk felt this too, risking spraining a wing to get to him. Clive could lose him. The trees continue reaching for them, closer until Clive can only see a small opening. He tosses the package into the opening and flies through. The hawk rams into the gap, screeching and squalling at him. His wings catch on the branches as his screeches turn into cries.
Clive watches the hawk break free and fly off in the other direction. He sighs, picking up the package between his claws and taking off towards the White Tree. The wind carries him lower than before, protecting him from greater evil. The closer he got, the more he spotted the familiar outlines of the haven, and soon also his friends. Bethany flies past him, carrying a lighter package. They all found food. They knew what to do now.
Clive lands in the center of the haven, dropping the food with the rest that his friends had found. Emerging from the White Tree, Kennedy floats down weakly to the young birds.
“There’s enough for you to eat too sir,” Clive nods, stepping aside. Kennedy trudges forward, smile growing on his face. A gasp rings out from the other birds as a large form lands in front of Kennedy. Johnson stands tall above his President.
“This food is poison. The food here is no good, we must migrate!” Johnson growls, spreading his large wings. Kennedy glares, pushing himself taller to compare to Johnson.
“Step aside Johnson,” a voice cuts through the crowd. Robin and Quacky come up in front of him. “When were you going to tell everyone that you’ve been eating the President’s food!" Robin hisses. Everyone turns to Johnson, who for the first time scrunches into a small ball in front of them.
“I suggest you start migration early,” Kennedy says as the birds get closer to Johnson. Clive and the group float in the air, making sure Johnson takes off from the area.
Once he’s gone, they all gather around Kennedy as he passes out the food to everyone.
“Good job Robin,” Kennedy says, “your team did well.” Robin nods and smirks at the group. Bethany leans against Clive as everyone begins to celebrate.
“I guess it just takes a little bit of the Aeromerican spirit,” Clive mutters.
“To 250 years,” Bethany says.
“And to 250 more,” Clive finishes.