literature

Bluebird

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GingerSpice019's avatar
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Literature Text

Walls, gray as slate.  It's impossible to remember the last time you were surrounded by anything else.  You have memorized the patterns on the ceiling, corner to corner to corner, and most likely could recite the shapes and the nickname you have given each backwards, twice.  

Your restraints, the color of a raincloud but much heavier, grip your wrists and ankles like a sea sprite you met once in a dream, who seemed not liking your leaving - and the more you protest, their fibers, like tiny spindly fingers, grip you harder - will they never snap?  No... it seems they never will...

Upon each slate-gray wall, a picture is hung.  One wall holds a man in a charcoal pinstripe suit.  Very dreary; he's no fun at all.  The next, a model in a dull, mustard-yellow snakeskin trench coat.  The color is so dim it's almost unmentionable.  She makes lovely conversation, though, on the rare occasion she isn't feeling too superior for the likes of you.  On the third wall, just above the head of your bed, is a wide, framed clown.  Now why hang a clown, of all people?  Incapable of coherent conversation, completely lacking in manners, doesn't respect personal boundaries.  Sometimes, his dirty white-gloved hands reach down towards you from the roof of your vision.  When you scream, though, all the ladies in white rush in with magic needles.  Then he goes away, the pest.

On the fourth wall, though, there is actually no picture.  There is a small window, around a foot by a foot, with thick black iron bars blocking the fun by both vertical and horizontal means.  And through this window, there is a tree; and in that tree will often sit a bluebird.

This bluebird is what helps erase the pain of the fingers that are the restraints' fibers, helps scare away the clown, makes the awkward company of the man in gray bearable, because sometimes the bluebird will nod understandingly to you, just to communicate that he shares the awkwardness of the insufferable silence.  The bladelike beak, the two beady black eyes, and the wings of sapphire blue.  An ocean of this color you saw once, just after leaving the sea sprite to her wailings and her own damn claws.  And those two sapphire wings, they taunt you, yes they do, but that bird's peanut brain doesn't know that.  Perhaps that's why, when that bird isn't scaring clowns or soothing wrists, you find the insatiable urge to hold that bird; to break the restraints into little snips of string, to thrust your hands out between the bars, and catch the bird, and rip its damn blue wings right off and smear its blood on your cheeks and tongue.

But you're tied up, so would you like me to snatch it for you?
I know this isn't really horror, but putting it in "General Fiction" seemed too damn boring.

And yes... I did write that in under 10 minutes. No questions.

Tell me what you thought please! Constructive criticism is welcome :)
© 2009 - 2024 GingerSpice019
Comments27
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demon-polecat's avatar
I love how fluid the imagery is, and the repetition of the sea sprite. Personally I'd use italics rather than underlining for "taunt", but it's not that important.

The revelation of the narrator as an active character is genius.