InterActiveNovels: The Birds

 

The most beautiful thing for a seagull is to glide over Cornwall in total silence. My feathers were gently caressed by the wind, the sea was blue, the white cliffs shone with light. I was happy to fly with my feathered companions. My head was white while the others’ were black. I felt a sense of purity. I breathed happiness.

None of them knew my true nature — or that I understood the reason for the imminent attack on humans. To do this, it was essential to get in tune with the leader of the flock. At first, in his eyes I saw love for life shining, and then a sudden darkness.

We all screamed. The hate was palpable. Our enemy was a small cottage on a hill, surrounded by the sea and waves crashing against the rocks. I felt imprisoned inside the flock. I was forced by nature to use all my strength to hit the door with my beak. Then came the others, who didn’t just peck at me but also at the door. I started to bleed. What suffering — the pain was so intense that I could no longer open my beak.

The other black-headed gulls abandoned me near Nat’s house. I lay beneath a mountain of corpses, noticing that Nat tried to bury my companions, though the ground was unusually hard to dig—likely due to the freezing temperatures.

Nat was surprised to see a gull with a white head. I probably reminded him of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, but that character hadn't been created by Richard Bach yet. He cleaned the blood from my feathers, healed my beak, and placed me in front of the ever-burning fireplace.

His sons accepted me immediately; they saw me as a little white gull to be protected from the outside world. I remained with them, listening to their hopes and fears, the talk of dwindling food, and the loss of all hope when the seven o’clock news failed to broadcast. Then came Nat's last cigarette—we both hoped we had been useful to humanity.