|South for Winter (standard:Psychological fiction, 1446 words)|
|Author: sayan||Added: Jul 25 2004||Views/Reads: 2319/1447||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The story of one winter in the back of beyond.|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story It was cold and green. Sometimes you cry even if not happy. Polly I mean- little things die so easily and forever. I turned my face away often to avoid staring it. I couldn't help her, she had flown away. Clouds in the sky hid her. They won-the clouds. Since the last two days I couldn't find her. It had been raining as in Calcutta and we had rain with scary thunder, lightning and storm. It would have died anyway-Polly I mean because 17th was bitterly cold, dark, cloudy, stormy. Besides it was a little thing. ... Where was I? ... I never believed what my teacher or mother said. I liked Polly, first time someone didn't make fun of me or turn away to hide. Compassion? .... Anyway days, weeks and months slipped happily by, I sometimes wept to myself, Polly never did, she stayed the same in her cage, in my left hand. The clouds embraced us and we were wet. It began raining as it does in Calcutta from 14th. On 15th morning she was missing and her cage door was open. I looked for her in the cloudy sky and smiled sadly. ...I feel so cold now. ... 17th was bitterly cold, dark, cloudy, and stormy. I ran madly and reached my house, went into my cold room, shut the door and cried in the dark. Polly was cold and green. That night it continued to rain as in Calcutta. The rain fell with great fury on everything, forming a mist. It pattered on the glass panes when the wind threw it there at an angle. Always-angry wind, blowing flowers (and dead leaves) onto my face. Tiny drops dripped onto the floor forming a small pool which no leaves covered and where you couldn't see your face. Near dawn the rain was over. A full moon rose and a silvery ray fell on my face through the still wet glass panes. I closed my eyes, red and tired..... The rain is dying down now, as I was saying. ...... Polly? my parrot's name-no-I shouldn't have thrown Polly out of the window, expecting her to fly away south for winter. Parrots don't. Living in captivity for so long she couldn't adapt to the cold, dark, cloudy and stormy weather. It was my fault. I couldn't find her clouds were in the way. On 17th morning I found her cold and green, near the window, when she had tried to return. Nobody had noticed as it was raining hard like it does in Calcutta. I remembered what I had done, felt very angry, picked up her body, ran all around, till I fell and cut myself over and over on that bitterly cold, dark, cloudy, stormy day. When my parents understood why I was crying they hid their silly smiles. Why? Why? Mother said “It's only made of Plaster of Paris, we'll fix it, don't worry”- What? Polly had tried to return home when she couldn't find other birds to fly south as it was too deep in winter. How can you fix it? What's mother talking about... The rain has stopped long ago. Lying on the bed I can see the sky through the curtains as the wind gently sways them. Tonight stars are falling from the sky-time has changed everything in the last forty years-for the better. ... What's mother saying- I don't understand-its so cold-and nobody ever understood me. Why? Why? Was it because I never talked since I was five years old? Only Polly my little bird who nearly flew south for winter. Tweet
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