Aware (story)
Can also be found here: http://www.fictionpress.com/~msmanuscript
His headphones were on, his bedroom door shut, the lights off, listening to one song over and over again. The CD whirred in the old player, set to repeat, the song melding in on itself so there was no beginning and no end. A perfect song, on that you didn’t know what was to come, but knew what it was about.
There, in the dark, he was aware of everything.
His breathing, his blinking, his beak working as it clacked time.
His heart beating.
Everything just made the world move.
Turning on his stomach he flexed non-existent muscles to wings that hadn’t been on his back in years. Closing his yellow eyes, he wished sorely that he knew how they went missing. Large wings, like he’d seen on Cash and Jerry and the others, just don’t go missing. They just don’t. reaching down, over the edge of the bed, he turned the music louder.
His heart thumped in his chest, almost in time with the music that made him feel this way. Why did he feel like this? Lucy had tried to talk to him during dinner, he had been mostly unresponsive. Locked in his room, Ring had knocked on the door once or twice before leaving with Lucy. Still, he felt like this. Ringmaster hadn’t brought him out of it, his finder, his best friend.
Why?
There was another knock at his door.
“Serif?” He knew that voice, Schrecklich. What was he doing here? Serif hummed, turning up his music louder. Schrecklich opened the door, letting a string of light into the black as pitch box. There was so much, yet so little, in it. A bed, a bookcase with costumes, a hat stand with his scarves. It felt so empty, though everything meant so much. He closed the door, sat on the edge of the bed. The mouse ran a light paw over the osprey’s back.
“Are you okay?”
Serif turned over, holding Schrecklich’s paw and toying a bit with it. Then he reached over, tugged the jack out of the CD player, and let the music fill the room. They sat quietly, listening to the piano and violins and drums, in the dark.
“I can feel my own heart, and I don’t know why.” It was such a quiet whisper that had the mouse had smaller ears he would have missed it. Shifting closer, he put his arms around the young male, holding him tightly. His feathers were cold. The body under them was warm, once you dug to find it. But the feathers were cold, and soft. A sign of the winter they were locked in outside.
“Does this have anything to do with tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. He had forgotten. He had no idea when he was born. So they had made up a birthday for him. January first. Tomorrow.
“I don’t know.”
Hours later, Lucy opened Serif’s door slightly, glancing in. Schrecklich was sitting against the wall, Serif curled up in his lap, head resting on the mouse’s shoulder. Raising a finger to his lips the mouse caught the bug’s eye. Let him sleep, all will be set to rights in the morning.
His headphones were on, his bedroom door shut, the lights off, listening to one song over and over again. The CD whirred in the old player, set to repeat, the song melding in on itself so there was no beginning and no end. A perfect song, on that you didn’t know what was to come, but knew what it was about.
There, in the dark, he was aware of everything.
His breathing, his blinking, his beak working as it clacked time.
His heart beating.
Everything just made the world move.
Turning on his stomach he flexed non-existent muscles to wings that hadn’t been on his back in years. Closing his yellow eyes, he wished sorely that he knew how they went missing. Large wings, like he’d seen on Cash and Jerry and the others, just don’t go missing. They just don’t. reaching down, over the edge of the bed, he turned the music louder.
His heart thumped in his chest, almost in time with the music that made him feel this way. Why did he feel like this? Lucy had tried to talk to him during dinner, he had been mostly unresponsive. Locked in his room, Ring had knocked on the door once or twice before leaving with Lucy. Still, he felt like this. Ringmaster hadn’t brought him out of it, his finder, his best friend.
Why?
There was another knock at his door.
“Serif?” He knew that voice, Schrecklich. What was he doing here? Serif hummed, turning up his music louder. Schrecklich opened the door, letting a string of light into the black as pitch box. There was so much, yet so little, in it. A bed, a bookcase with costumes, a hat stand with his scarves. It felt so empty, though everything meant so much. He closed the door, sat on the edge of the bed. The mouse ran a light paw over the osprey’s back.
“Are you okay?”
Serif turned over, holding Schrecklich’s paw and toying a bit with it. Then he reached over, tugged the jack out of the CD player, and let the music fill the room. They sat quietly, listening to the piano and violins and drums, in the dark.
“I can feel my own heart, and I don’t know why.” It was such a quiet whisper that had the mouse had smaller ears he would have missed it. Shifting closer, he put his arms around the young male, holding him tightly. His feathers were cold. The body under them was warm, once you dug to find it. But the feathers were cold, and soft. A sign of the winter they were locked in outside.
“Does this have anything to do with tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. He had forgotten. He had no idea when he was born. So they had made up a birthday for him. January first. Tomorrow.
“I don’t know.”
Hours later, Lucy opened Serif’s door slightly, glancing in. Schrecklich was sitting against the wall, Serif curled up in his lap, head resting on the mouse’s shoulder. Raising a finger to his lips the mouse caught the bug’s eye. Let him sleep, all will be set to rights in the morning.