They put him in the shed. It was a damp cold place where
spiders liked to tread. The only light he ever saw was from a small crack in
the wood. He was chained up like animal, and that’s exactly what they thought
he was. They had found him when he was seven, wandering in the woods looking
for a place to call home and they took him. He had been here ever since. “It’s
your turn to feed him Jack! I fed him last night!” He could hear them bickering
just outside the door. “Well I fed him this morning and guess what its night
time again so you feed him.” He could hear the woman scoff with disgust. “As if
he really needs to be fed night and day.” She spat. The man grumbled. “Well if
we want him to do what we need him to do, he has to be alive at least!” He
could hear the metal from the lock grinding as they opened the shed. The man
stepped inside with a plate of food in his hand. A small piece of meat that
looked like it had been sitting out for days along with piece of burnt bread.
He could see what looked like peas rolling around the plate and in the man’s
left hand was a small cup of water. “Here you go boy.” He didn’t have a name,
they never gave him one. They always called him boy, or animal, or filth. He
liked to call himself Sparrow. It was the only bird he knew, the same type of
bird that would perch atop the shed and sing. The man threw the plate of food
down inches away from where Sparrow was chained to the wall. They were always
too afraid to get too close. He slid the cup, its contents spilling out until
only a little was left. The man turned around, almost on his way out the door
when Sparrow laughed. It was deep and it echoed around the shed seeming only to
get louder. The man turned back around, his face convulsing with fear. His
bushy eyebrows were knitted together, his eyes wide with a look of pure terror.
This was the first time in 10 years that Sparrow had ever made a sound. The man
opened and closed his mouth, his voice stuck in his throat. “Tomorrow, tomorrow
I love you tomorrow; you’re only a day away!” Sparrow sang, his voice rolling
like fog over hills. He smiled at the man, showing every inch of his razor
sharp teeth. “Tomorrow Jack.” Sparrow said. He looked down at the floor, once
again quiet. The man bolted from the shed locking it up as fast as he could.
Sparrow could hear them running back to safety. But it wasn’t safe, not for
long.
When the police arrived early next morning they found three
dead bodies ripped apart. They found broken chains, hanging in an empty shed.
They heard a distant whistle of a Sparrow, who was free from his cage and eager
to explore a world he had never known.
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.
But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
Maya Angelou
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