It was a dark world, the broken bird’s world. I suppose in some ways one could call it light, she went to school, made a few friends, and lived “normally”. She lived in a cage though, her wings were clipped. Her throat, heart and soul were covered in chains, binding her painfully to the woman who had bore her. It pained her, the chains, the fact that as she got older she realized, this is my life there’s no return from this my soul is so filthy.
When she got older she also realized she could not sing nor fly. Having a voice before this revelation had been of little importance to her, but now she knew people with wonderful voices, voices that rang with clarity and truth, voices that rang with love and affection, voices that rang clear with joy and happiness, and she was drawn to the voices. Sometimes, she’d imitate those voices, trying them out and finding them thin and pale in comparison to the beautiful vibrant things she heard.

It pained her most though, when she learned that she could not fly. She had been watching her friends fly for years flitting from one place to another joyful and happy, free of restraints and the bloody pain that tore her apart. She got to fly sometimes, with the help of her friends and of course the permission of that woman. She loved it, she loved it the minute she had it, it was…was liberating! To be able to choose what to do and where to go was such a freedom, such a luxury!
The bird reveled in the sensation the feeling and her friends watched from the sides smiling, thrilled their friend could find such passion. The broken bird had passion enough that was true; as she got older the bird couldn’t bare it anymore! She had to be free! She argued more and more with the woman and was screeched at and shouted at and her soul and heart were batter to and fro like a volley ball is batted around the court.
Slowly though, the bird realized she was a coward, she couldn’t face her demons, no matter what happened, it was Stockholm’s syndrome and in the end it stole her life. The broken bird one day, on her way to meet her friends, thought life would be nice if it just stopped, and so she stepped out into the busy street. She was killed instantly by a Yukon going 45mph. It shattered most of her bones, and as she lay dying in the street she saw one of her friends above her.
“Don’t be sad.” The bird whispered, as her friend wept above her. “I am finally free! I don’t want to leave you but I must. Forgive me. Remember though, I am free, and one day, a long time from now, you’ll join me in my freedom.” And with that the broken bird died, a faint smile gracing her face, her best friend sobbing next to her.
Many years passed, and the best friend was now old, surrounded by her grandchildren, and the pictures on the wall were from everywhere, because after the broken bird had died, the friend had felt she must live for them both.
So she had, and now as she lay sleeping the broken bird came to her in a dream and whispered “Come, my friend, it is now time. Come join me in my freedom, and thank you. Thank you for living for me.” So the friend smiled and reached up to grab her friend’s hand and the two walked happily into the darkness, passing the days with happiness and no cages, no clipped wings, and no misery.