beroq
06-27-2009, 01:12 AM
When the big birds decided to go south, the young bird with red streaks on his wings came forward and placed his objections. The old ones grumbled but the oldest of them, her glassy eyes partly veiled, asked everyone to keep silent until hearing what the fledgling had to say.
"It is always the same," said he. "Don't you too think so?"
"Yes," said the bird sitting on the thick mapple branch. "Why do you think this time it should be different?"
"I hate seeing all the good places being taken by the others when we come back," said the young bird. He was a nice, kind hearted bird. He was also one of the most courageous one in the flight. "They stay and pick the best places before we return home. I hate being a homeless while I had a country of my own. I hate leaving my land to others."
"So what?' asked the bird sitting on the mapple branch. "Tell us something new, boy. We are losing time if you don't have something better to tell."
The young bird was this time well prepared against the old timers' possible derision. He did not step back. So courageous was he! "I say we should stay," he said. "Stay and protect what we have. I will not see my place be taken away by anyone."
"You know this is impossible," said the oldest one. "You know this, boy. We would be frozen to death if we..."
"What if those who prefer not to go south?" the young bird interrupted him.
The whole flock looked one another and nodded in agreement, feeling relieved. They knew what the oldest of them would be saying next and they were not afraid anymore. They loved what was fixed and predictable. For a short while, rather, for the shortest ever while, they had worried that their peace of mind would be disturbed by the possibility that this beardless youngster might step forward with a logical argument. In that case, they could have had a hard time in persuading themselves about the exigency for their traditional migration to the warmth of the South.
The oldest bird coughed noisily and tried to brake himself from laughing up her sleeve. "Boy! Boy!" she said, "Tell us something new."
"That what I tried to tell a little while..." the one on the mapple branch started to talk but the ancient bird raised her left wing, signalling him to let himself speak.
"You are not telling us anything new, boy. You know they can stay. They have warmer feathers protecting them against the cold. We're born weak."
"Born weak?" the young bird almost screamed. "No, sir, we're not!"
"Now, boy!"
"We are all of the same kind!"
All the birds in the convention shook their heads and began talking with one chaotic voice.
"He is nuts!"
"We are losing precious time."
"What in the world he dares to bring it up?"
"We are not. We are not."
"Silence," the oldest bird ordered. Then she turned to the young, brave bird. "You have no right to befuddle our youngsters. I don't know what put this kind of strange ideas into your brain."
"Nothing, sir. I only raised my head and looked up at the ones who never thought of running away. Why do we have to leave our homes to the ones who don't deserve it?"
"We are... We are different. Weak. We can't withstand the cold. We're born different."
The young brave bird glanced over at the birds crowding the tree branches, all wishing this empty talk would end soon. They wanted the warmth and easiness of the South where none would have to fight for their lives. They were all used to and happy with the idea of having to live in a different place when they return. They were not fleeing from the cruelty of the cold; they were simply cowards. But he believed now that if he did not fight for the land he owned, he would lead a life as a worthless creature feeding on someone else's worthless place each year.
However, he was not sure that he could stand this.
"Now you must decide for yourself, boy" said the oldest bird. "And you better be quick."
The brave bird looked down.
--End of the First Chapter--
Hi, all. This was the simple short story of mine whose ending I could not figure out. I am not sure if the young bird should stay or go with the other. I would like to hear your suggestions. I will shape the rest of the story accordingly.
"It is always the same," said he. "Don't you too think so?"
"Yes," said the bird sitting on the thick mapple branch. "Why do you think this time it should be different?"
"I hate seeing all the good places being taken by the others when we come back," said the young bird. He was a nice, kind hearted bird. He was also one of the most courageous one in the flight. "They stay and pick the best places before we return home. I hate being a homeless while I had a country of my own. I hate leaving my land to others."
"So what?' asked the bird sitting on the mapple branch. "Tell us something new, boy. We are losing time if you don't have something better to tell."
The young bird was this time well prepared against the old timers' possible derision. He did not step back. So courageous was he! "I say we should stay," he said. "Stay and protect what we have. I will not see my place be taken away by anyone."
"You know this is impossible," said the oldest one. "You know this, boy. We would be frozen to death if we..."
"What if those who prefer not to go south?" the young bird interrupted him.
The whole flock looked one another and nodded in agreement, feeling relieved. They knew what the oldest of them would be saying next and they were not afraid anymore. They loved what was fixed and predictable. For a short while, rather, for the shortest ever while, they had worried that their peace of mind would be disturbed by the possibility that this beardless youngster might step forward with a logical argument. In that case, they could have had a hard time in persuading themselves about the exigency for their traditional migration to the warmth of the South.
The oldest bird coughed noisily and tried to brake himself from laughing up her sleeve. "Boy! Boy!" she said, "Tell us something new."
"That what I tried to tell a little while..." the one on the mapple branch started to talk but the ancient bird raised her left wing, signalling him to let himself speak.
"You are not telling us anything new, boy. You know they can stay. They have warmer feathers protecting them against the cold. We're born weak."
"Born weak?" the young bird almost screamed. "No, sir, we're not!"
"Now, boy!"
"We are all of the same kind!"
All the birds in the convention shook their heads and began talking with one chaotic voice.
"He is nuts!"
"We are losing precious time."
"What in the world he dares to bring it up?"
"We are not. We are not."
"Silence," the oldest bird ordered. Then she turned to the young, brave bird. "You have no right to befuddle our youngsters. I don't know what put this kind of strange ideas into your brain."
"Nothing, sir. I only raised my head and looked up at the ones who never thought of running away. Why do we have to leave our homes to the ones who don't deserve it?"
"We are... We are different. Weak. We can't withstand the cold. We're born different."
The young brave bird glanced over at the birds crowding the tree branches, all wishing this empty talk would end soon. They wanted the warmth and easiness of the South where none would have to fight for their lives. They were all used to and happy with the idea of having to live in a different place when they return. They were not fleeing from the cruelty of the cold; they were simply cowards. But he believed now that if he did not fight for the land he owned, he would lead a life as a worthless creature feeding on someone else's worthless place each year.
However, he was not sure that he could stand this.
"Now you must decide for yourself, boy" said the oldest bird. "And you better be quick."
The brave bird looked down.
--End of the First Chapter--
Hi, all. This was the simple short story of mine whose ending I could not figure out. I am not sure if the young bird should stay or go with the other. I would like to hear your suggestions. I will shape the rest of the story accordingly.