Something just felt
wrong. She tried to lose herself in
television,
channel surfing could do wonders for quieting those nagging voices in your head. Every channel just seemed wrong.
With a sigh, she moved to her front door. Outside the rain beat down icy songs of wrongness. January carried such contempt here. Being used to warm, southern climes, the cold felt so wrong. It would be some months before the geese returned, heralding the coming of spring. The world will awaken, birds will come, the sun will brighten, and all will be right. That was some months away, and right now everything seemed wrong.
She heard Niko upstairs. He sounded distressed. Having owned her two canaries for many years, she became accustomed to their language. This was an alarm, there was something wrong.
Niko sounded again. Usually this signal warranted a return call, but there was none. It was odd since Orin generally sounded back. One would squawk high and the other would squawk back low, sort of like a locator beacon, saying all is well.
The rain seemed to intensify as she moved up the stairs. She took deep breaths to keep her paranoia in check. So many times it toyed with her, that idea that something would be wrong. It just came with owning free-flying birds. She had prepared herself many times to come home to dead canaries, only to find that nothing was wrong.
She reached her bedroom door and Niko sang out again, but no response. There couldn't be anything wrong.
She opened the door and saw Niko immediately, his favorite perch on her curtain rod. He loved to sit there and preen after his morning bath. Uneasily she stepped into the room, taking a methodical inspection of her surroundings. Orin was usually so easy to spot, being a vibrant orange-yellow. If she just took her time she would see him.
One more step inside, close the door so no one gets out. Maybe he was on the pillows..
Orin loved to hop around on the pillows, especially in the morning sun that streamed in. He would pick at her threads of hair that glinted in the light, making little squeaks as if he wished for hands. He was always her favorite of the two. He had a strong song, keen reptilian eyes, and an affinity for his owner that was remarkable for a small bird. Him not greeting her was all wrong.
She started to panic, her eyes darted around the room. She was frozen in one spot lest she should step on him. Termites of fear chewed at her...he has to be here.
Her german shepherd Robo sauntered from the other side of her bed. He had been lying down and she couldn't see him. This was definitely wrong.
She ran around the bed and stopped. There laid her little Orin, his eyes closed, his feathers wet with saliva. A futile scream of shock came out all wrong. The world around her halted, every thing felt still, no sound save Niko and his song of bewilderment and dismay. It was an imperfect moment in time, and it couldn't be more wrong.
She sat down and picked up his wet body, still warm, it felt alive, but he wasn't breathing. She clutched him close to her heart, wishing him to be alive, to give her a little peep. Yet she knew it wouldn't happen. Tears burned icy songs of wrongness down her cheeks. They sang of how she would miss Orin's reverie with the dawn. They sang of how she would miss his steely stare as he danced on her shoulder. They sang of how she would miss watching him sleep with his head tucked in his wings. They sang of how she would miss him lighting on her fingers to eat sunflowers from her hands. And they sang of how lonely Niko would be without him.
She put him in a silver tin, wrapped in a fine, silk scarf given to her by her grandmother. In the tin she placed a key, for you to get into the next life, a picture of Niko, so you'll never be alone. she cut a lock of her hair and placed in on top, so you'll always have something to remember me by. She closed the lid and asked the good spirits to watch over her little Orin.
She stepped out barefoot into the cold, rainy January nite and walked to her English Garden. Its lack of life and color reflected her somber mood. She dug in the earth with her bare hands and placed the tin there. She covered the tin with river stones, a cairn for friend.
In the spring, the gladiolas and irises would watch over him and keep him safe. But will they do the same for me?
She made her way inside, reminiscing of the happy times that she had spent with her birds, and tried to make sense of it all. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, drained by her tears. She peered up the dark staircase and thought, i hope Niko will be alright.