The Little Bird
(a short story)

When the Little Bird went to the nearby stream for his morning drink, he was surprised to find a rather large and odd-looking bird perched on the most comfortable branch of his favourite birch-tree. Thinking nothing of it, and not wishing to disturb this peculiar stranger, he contented himself with a branch lower down.

The newcomer was rather too loud for the Little Bird’s liking. He was ill-mannered, scruffy, and smelled strange.

‘What an odd-looking bird,’ the Little Bird remarked to his friend the Rabbit.

‘That’s a seagull, Little Bird. They come from the coast,’ the Rabbit patiently replied. The Little Bird was forever asking questions, even if the answer changed nothing. Still, the Rabbit was fond of his long-time friend and indulged the Little Bird’s unending curiosity.

‘He smells strange. And he is noisy,’ said the Little Bird, as if he had not heard his friend speak. The Rabbit did not reply, so the Little Bird continued to eye the seagull with suspicion. In truth it was the fact that he had perched himself on the Little Bird’s favourite branch that so irked him. Without so much as a please or thank-you!

The Seagull, who had spotted the Little Bird’s unsubtle attempts to watch him, called out.

‘Good morning!

‘Hello. You are a seagull, are you not?’

‘I am.’

‘Yet you are far from the coast.’

‘Indeed I am.’

The curt replies annoyed the Little Bird even more. Why even say good morning, then? But curiosity got the better of him, so he pressed on.

‘What brings you so far from your home, Seagull?’

‘There was a storm, and my nest was blown away! I was unable to eat, and I feared for my feathers in the harsh weather.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that,’ said the Little Bird, feeling guilty for having so quickly judged him. ‘Will you not be able to go back, then?’

‘Not yet. I shall pay a visit to the City so I can eat. There is no food around here.’

‘The City?’

‘Yes. That is where the People live. They leave large amounts of food lying about, and it is easier to eat there,’ replied the Seagull.

The Little Bird had heard much about People, and he thought he had even spotted one or two. But now the Seagull was telling him that they lived in a place called the City. His curiosity whetted, and his initial irritation with the Seagull quite forgotten, he asked where this City was.

‘Head east from sunrise to sunset. If you rest at night, you will find it the next morning well before midday. It is easy to spot!’

‘Thank you very much, Seagull!’

‘A word of advice, if I may,’ said the Seagull. ‘Do not stay there too long. It is a most unnatural place.’

‘Unnatural?’

‘I daresay you will see for yourself, but do not stay overlong if you doubt your heart. Good day to you!’ And with that the Seagull flew away.

Such was the Little Bird’s curiosity that he resolved to go right away. The Rabbit, with the patience of a saint, reminded the Little Bird that it was only an hour or two until midday, and that he would not make the journey in time.

‘I have a bad feeling about this City,’ said the Rabbit. ‘I have heard too many bad stories about People.’

‘I am sure it is not all that bad. Besides, I will only stay for a day or so.’

‘Please yourself. But I am still worried about the whole thing – even more so after hearing the words of our morning guest.’

‘You worry too much,’ said the Little Bird. ‘I’ll be fine.’

The very next morning the Little Bird was on his way. He had never flown so far before, and passed many places that were new to him. He flew over many streams, got into an argument with a one-eyed magpie who was flying crooked, and saw a strange thing. It was a long, thin, and strangely regular area shaped like a river, only there was no water. It was perfectly flat, dark, and snaked into the distance as far as he could see. It had strange white marks down the middle and appeared to be made of some sort of stone. For reasons he could not explain, it made him uneasy.

There was something strange in how flat and unending it was. It smelled strange, looked stranger, and felt unnatural when he stopped to walk on it. A dead hedgehog lay across the middle, its body grotesquely flattened. The Little Bird felt scared and left quickly.

By dusk the Little Bird was exhausted. He had flown all day and his little wings were very tired. He found a comfortable tree in a thicket to spend the night, where he dreamt of bright lights and open spaces.

But during the night there was a thunderstorm the likes of which the Little Bird had never seen before. The flashes of lightning terrified him as he hid his face under his still-aching wings. The rain soaked his feathers so that he was truly miserable, and the tree offered scant shelter.

‘Why ever did I leave my home?’ He cried to himself. When he tried to shelter beneath a different branch he was almost blown away by the wind. He had to stay where he was until the storm quietened and he finally managed to sleep again, where his dreams returned.

Next morning the Little Bird woke tired, sore, and damp. But the dawn was warm and gave him new hope. He loved thickets, and this one looked so beautiful in the morning light. He shook off his misgivings from the night before, stretched his wings, and pressed on. As he continued to fly east, he began to see something in the distance. He also began to see more of the strange, snaking rivers of stone, all of which seemed to be slithering their way towards the collection of massive objects in the distance.

Within an hour the Little Bird arrived, and what he saw was beyond his wildest dreams. A collection of mountains sprawled as far as the eye could see, but made of straight lines and full of holes like termite nests. But even the largest termite nests were dwarfed by these immense mountains that, the Little Bird soon decided, were built by People.

In and among the structures lay a thousand stone-rivers with a strange yet pleasing regularity. They snaked, twisted, and criss-crossed in every direction. Upon these stone-rivers walked thousands upon thousands of People of different colours, shapes, and sizes. They all stayed to the sides of the stone-rivers while down the middle moved strange, loud beasts.

At first the Little Bird was terrified of these creatures. They were fast – faster than even the fastest fox or rabbit could run, yet larger than anything which moved. They emitted a most peculiar smell that made the Little Bird feel dizzy.

It did not take long for the Little Bird to observe that there were People within these creatures, and that the People appeared to use them to move quickly from one place to another. How ingenious! And there was no apparent harm to either the large creatures or the People who moved in and out of them with such ease.

Most of all the Little Bird noticed the noise. He could hear it even before he reached the City. It was a fantastic cacophony of all sorts of sounds that, mixed together, produced a most distinct tune. There was almost a rhythm to it, and the Little Bird, though first apprehensive, found it to be strangely hypnotic after a while, the peculiar smell notwithstanding.

While moving in and out of the large structures the Little Bird came across a new smell. It was unlike any smell he had ever encountered. It was a most delicious and heavenly scent, and he immediately headed towards the source.

He found it in a part of the City that had grass and trees, like a small patch of the forest he had lived in. Other birds lived there and made their merry tunes. Yet it was the smell that drew the Little Bird, and he soon found the source.

People were coming in and out of a large hole in the side of one of the structures, and they were carrying with them items of food that were new to the Little Bird. The food was golden coloured and emitted a rich smell that he found very appetising. One of the people had dropped one and, to the Little Bird’s astonishment, left it on the ground.

He probably did not notice that he had lost it, the Little Bird thought to himself. Careful not to get in the way of anyone, he made his way towards it. When he had reached it, the smell was so heavenly he did not think before diving in with his little beak and eating. After having eaten from the heavenly, golden, and crunchy exterior the Little Bird found something familiar inside. Apple! The whole thing was of a strangely high temperature, yet not displeasingly so.

How amazing! There was such an abundance of food in the City that People could let drop such lovely morsels and not think twice about it. This is surely a Utopia, the Little Bird thought to himself. Everywhere he looked People were eating and talking. They all looked well-fed and merry.

He decided to rest awhile in the small patch of forest he had found near the food. There were trees of elder, fig, and his favourite birches. He was amazed to find water spouting forth from within the earth itself! It collected in a wide basin of stone wherein the Little Bird saw many shiny, round objects. They glittered beautifully in the warm sunlight, and he stared at them for some time, entranced by the beauty of the whole scene.

He drank and washed his feathers in the water, and rested in the shady trees. There were other birds there, fat and speaking a strange language. Many of them were pigeons. The Little Bird liked pigeons even less than he liked crows. They were all quite pushy and rude, making ridiculously awful noises at all times. Yet such was the amazement the Little Bird felt by the City that he did not even mind having to share it with pigeons.

Looking into the still water of the pool, he saw his reflection in the warm sunlight. His feathers glistened and he looked well and healthy – a young bird full of curiosity and excitement.

The Little Bird then returned to the place where food came from. Full and well-rested, his curiosity returned in force and he spent a long time watching the People moving around. He noticed something strange. There was a man who was handing out food to the People. And every person who received food also handed him either shiny, flat stones like those he had seen in the pool, or strange leaves with flat sides. This became so regular that the Little Bird dismissed the possibility that it was a coincidence, and the man who received all these stones and leaves was not eating them, or for that matter doing anything other than putting them away somewhere.

How strange, he thought to himself. Moving ever deeper into the City, the Little Bird noted this odd behaviour everywhere where People wanted food or, indeed, anything else. There appeared to be some sort of agreement whereby these strange stones and leaves were exchanged for items of food and the like. The Little Bird had often swapped items of food with his friend the Rabbit, for the Rabbit could dig up things the Little Bird could not, while he could access leaves and berries higher up that the Rabbit could not reach.

Yet there was a pleasing simplicity in the system the People were using. If it ensured everyone could get food, it must be perfect! Or so the Little Bird thought to himself.

Eventually he came across another of the small patches of forest that were dotted periodically across the City. It was there that he came across one of the most beautiful things of his short life. At one end there was a group of People, all of whom held strange objects. Some held items of wood, of the same shape and dimensions but of varying sizes. Others held items of a material unknown to the bird, yet it looked similar to that of the small shiny stones People handed each other.

The People were moving and operating these devices in a hypnotic harmony, while one held a stick and stood before them waving it around strangely. The result was a music unlike any the bird could even have dreamed. Sweeter than the sweetest song the Little Bird could sing, more harmonious than the songs of an entire forest of birds singing together, and more beautiful than even the tunes of the nightingales.

The music rose and fell, and slowed and sped up, in such a way as could never have been contrived by chance. It was apparent to the Little Bird that these People were intentionally creating this tune, and he loved them for it. If there was one sure way to the Little Bird’s heart, it was through music.

A little further along the Little Bird came across something even more extraordinary. A structure, like and yet unlike those he had seen thus far, that was filled with People. They were all sitting within, facing the same direction. Light streamed into the structure in bright and varied colours in a manner whose beauty the Little Bird could never, had he tried, have been able to convey their in words or honour in song.

The people were gathered for what appeared to be a common purpose. It was a lofty structure; hollow from within as it seemed were all such structures in the City. The Little Bird perched himself inside, near the top on a large branch of wood, and looked down.

Seated before the assembled People was another group, smaller and not facing the same way. They were all covered in white and began to chant. The Little Bird did not know of what they sang, but he did not need to comprehend their language to feel the sadness, longing, and beauty the song contained. They sang in unison, while the sitting people watched and listened. It was more beautiful than even the music he heard just an hour ago. What voices People had!

Before he knew it, the Little Bird was moved to tears. Such was the haunting harmony and grace of the chanting. The Little Bird felt something strange at that point. He could not with any certainty know what it was. It felt other-worldly, yet had a heart-rending beauty to it, like a memory buried deep.

Eventually the People began to exit the structure, and the Little Bird flew outside. He resolved to perch himself atop the highest part of the structure, for it rose above all those around it. He sped to the pointed top, and looked around.

The sun began to set, and while the Little Bird looked out at the City as it gradually succumbed to the evening light, he was enthralled by its majestic beauty. Slowly, and one by one, little twinkling lights began to appear across the City’s vastness, and the large smelly creatures that carried People across the City lessened in number. He could feel the City relax, and people were heading inside the structures that emitted the warm light.

Never did the Little Bird imagine he would see such a thing. It was wonderful, ingenious, and beautiful. The City was large beyond his wildest imaginings, and filled with wonders he would never have believed could exist had he not seen them with his own eyes.

It was then that things began to change. As the last shafts of sunlight brushed the tops of the structures, long and ominous shadows fell across the City. The myriad of lights that had before looked so inviting became glinting stars in an immense lake of blackness. Looking down from his lofty perch he felt almost as if the City was drowning in thick, dark water. The twinkling lights looked remote and forlorn.

His heart misgave him, yet he thought nothing of it. Just the usual fear that comes with night, he said to himself. Yet this was unlike any other night.

As he slowly descended from his high perch, he saw strange shapes. Atop a nearby structure were many creatures, stone-still yet hideously grotesque with leering faces and long tongues. Terrified, he flew away lest they should notice him. As he looked back they did not move an inch, as still and silent as the night was black.

The Little Bird headed with all speed to the nearest patch of forest within the City, seeking the comfort of tree branches. Yet he found it scarce less unwholesome there. Strange People were there, and they made aggressive noises. There were sickly smells that turned the Little Bird’s stomach, and he fled the area as quickly as possible. As he left he saw small flames and smoke in the darkness, and he sped off all the more speedily.

The stone-rivers were almost empty, yet a few of the large creatures with their occupants remained. But now they raced up and down the City with a terrifying speed, making a horrific noise that made the Little Bird shake and feel sick. The smell was worse and seemed to correspond to the speed at which the creatures moved. The distant roar of other such lurching beasts echoed around the City and the Little Bird felt alone and scared. A particularly large one went past at a horrendous speed with flashing lights, and the Little Bird was so shaken by the noise that he had to hide atop one of the structures and cover his head under his wings.

In his rush to explore the City and see as much as possible the Little Bird had quite forgotten the direction from which he had come. He was so disoriented that he could not even use the moon and stars to find the way out and flew in hopeless circles. Eventually, he noticed the stars were gone! A heavy presence like a thick fog hung over the City at night, and even the moon seemed faint and sickly.

He began to weep.

He had tried to enter some of the structures that exuded warm light, yet found he was unable to do so. Strange barriers that could not be seen by the eye barred his entry, and he hurt his little head many times before he gave up.

There were occasional screams of pain or anguish, and cruel laughter. The Little Bird’s heart began to pitter-patter with disquiet, and he was too scared to remain in one place for long. Stalking cats haunted the tops of the City, and their shining yellow eyes watched him in the darkness.

The cyclopean vastness of the City was a terror in itself. No matter how high he flew, the Little Bird could not discern the edges of the immeasurable collection of mountains. He felt dizzy as he flew higher, and there was a thick and sickly warmth to the night air that felt disquietingly unnatural. The regularity of the lines of the City that had seemed so aesthetically appealing during the day now assumed a deep and dark menace.

The Little Bird thought he would drown in the darkness, the smell, and the smoke. Gone were the cheery people who ate delicious food, and now prowling the City were awful looking People with hard faces. They smelled strange, and the Little Bird feared them more than the cats that shadowed him.

He had wanted to return to the tall structure that People sang in, yet he feared the hideous creatures that resided nearby. Even in the distance he could discern their grotesque shapes, eerie and evil in the pale moonlight. Their stillness was unnatural, as if they contained a deeply hidden malice that waited only for an opportunity to burst forth.

Eventually the Little Bird could find no alternative but to return to the small patch of forest, with the awful people with their strange smoke and small flames in the darkness. At least they paid no heed to the Little Bird, even if their very appearance made him feel weak.

He went back to the pool to drink. Looking down he saw a different reflection to the one he had seen earlier. Gone was the cheery-looking bird with his bright feathers and happy face. The creature that returned his gaze in the moonlit water of the pool was harrowing to behold, skeletal and deathly pale. In its little face was an anguish and terror that was indescribable.

The Little Bird was in reality quite young – scarce a year old. Yet the bird that he saw in the pool appeared aged by many seasons.

The night was long. Longer than any night the Little Bird had known. Whether it was actually of abnormal length, or the horror it contained made it appear so, the Little Bird did not know.

An hour before dawn his little heart gave out. He could no longer tolerate the unearthly terror that gripped him. From the stone-still monsters to the howling beasts on the stone-rivers, to the black vastness of the City itself – all these were too much for his constitution. He lay in one of the birch-trees he loved so much, and there he died.

As the first of the morning light crept over the City, his body was gone – taken by a cat, or swept off by an unknown monster of the night.