The Morning Star

I looked towards the fridge as something clattered to the ground. The boy was busy on the contraption. I backed up slowly, and then turned quickly to leave when I bumped into a chair. He had turned around in an instant, but I was already gone. I raced to the back door and flung it open. It banged against the wall and left a small dent. I remember thinking, ‘I’m in so much trouble if mom and dad find out. I have to fix that.’ I ran outside into the warm morning air. Placing my hands on the deck railing, I heaved myself over using my running momentum. Landing at a run after the three foot drop I heard the back door slam again. I pictured the angry man jumping the fence after me and being surprised at the drop. I didn’t bother looking back as I heard him squeal. He had twisted his ankle. But when he landed, I was already at the playhouse in our backyard. I went in, closing the door neatly behind me, and jumped out the always open side window, slamming the pane down and ripping my shirt. The edge of it had gotten caught in the window. I became a tiny little bird and flew quickly into the bush beside the playhouse to think about it as the boy got up. I peeked out of the lush leafiness and saw him making a head first ram into the door.

“It’s a pull door, not a push.” I whispered, giggling at him. He rubbed his head and pulled at the door, but with all that anger he pulled too hard and the little door came off it’s hinges. Throwing it away he stomped into the playhouse, being extra careful of the low ceiling. I heard a ‘thud’ and looked to see the door landed under the deck. Ironically it landed on the firewood pile; which was exactly where it would have ended up, anyway, now that it was wrecked. The boy saw the window and the torn piece of my clothing and I shrunk into the heart of the bush. I felt the vibration from my perch as he forced the window open and grabbed at the piece of my shirt. I shouldn’t have left it there. That’s how people find who they’re looking for when they are tracking them. I knew that this was worse than the movies, because the tracker was the bad guy and I was the tracked. He shook the shred in anguish and then he noticed me. Me, the cute, innocent little bird who minds her own business and who doesn’t really want to fight a big scary human. I cowered in the bush until the boy came out and I figured if I acted more like a bird, it would be more believable that I was one. Singing, I fluttered to the branch three inches from his nose. The boy held still. I cocked my head and chirped at him. I think I had finally convinced him I was a real bird when I had to go and ruin it.

He was turning away as I spoke. “Are you ever going to get it!” He turned around and I leaped as a jaguar out of the bush, knocking him to the ground. I batted playfully at his face and left some claw marks before racing away.

I padded around the garage on silent paws and stopped at the fence that bordered the alley. “Ugh!” The boy must have tripped over my brother’s golf club, because it soon came flying past the edge of the garage, nowhere near where I was. Thankfully. It landed on the concrete walk in the backyard that led to the deck. Clang!