Novel & Cerita Bird Fiction

The bird was naïve, thought she could fight against the world which was trapping her. She did not obtain visible scars from that faithful day, only the bars. The bars were her scars to remind her she was nothing, but a caged bird bonded to her master.

Finches added their high-pitched trills, while blackbirds, with their distinctive calls, added depth and richness to the composition. With each note that filled the air, the birds seemed to dance, their wings fluttering in rhythm as they soared and glided through the sky. Their feathers, a kaleidoscope of colors, created a stunning display against the backdrop of the azure heavens. The iridescent blues of blue jays, the fiery oranges of orioles, and the vibrant yellows of canaries intertwined, forming a living tapestry of vibrant hues.

I had to assume he was answering my question by reciting his poem, but I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, so I only stared at him, dumbfounded, until he lowered his book and arched an eyebrow at me. “The Raven?” he said. “Edgar Allan Poe?” “Right,” I said, recognizing the first line of the famous poem now. It seemed fitting. Big, black, ugly, mean bird. Not that our Raven was any of those things. I should’ve thought of it myself. Brice went back to his book, and I wondered if there were any ominous, dark poems written about flamingos. I doubted there were, but perhaps there should be.

He wasn't sure he pronounced camerul right. "Cameruls are baby Camoflies. Camoflies are mystical birds with a tail. And they don't have feathers, they have furs. Most interesting part is they don't lay eggs and the moment they give birth, they turn to dust, leaving their babies behind. They are the most friendly mystical creature in the forest". Jamie appeared to enjoy speaking about the mystical creature and Jared listened with keen interest. He saw the excitement that sprung in Jamie's eyes as he spoke about the Camoflies. "So, did you find any?". Jared was also interested in the creature. He had not been able to fathom the giant bird he saw the other day at the forest.

The hand writing is very familiar. “This is the only way that I can convey these words to you. The cage was still rattling but the chains were too tight to even break. A bird can only sing its song of pain inside and be barely heard as it flapped its wings in its too small and cramped cage inside the room of the princess. There are times that the bird will try to escape but would always fail, the princess was good at keeping things and making them stay. She knows how to, she has the resources to do so. And yet, even though the cries of the bird were rather quiet, the others still heard its song and came to the rescue. However, they could only do so much when the princess was around. They mus

He sanctified his hands with the anointing oil and prayed for forgiveness for associating himself with unholy things in a shrine. The chirps of a half-dozen birds filled the air as they circled back and forth. Peter felt something was wrong somewhere but he could not understand what was wrong. The birds flew in a circle, singing silently while looking at the defeathered chickens. Then they perched on the dead chickens and started feeding on it. They fed on the chickens for some seconds before flying away with the little pieces they could gather in their mouths.

Flesh and bone and muscle melded with brick and plaster. Finally, when there was very little of Maggie Brogan left, she began to scream and, as she did so, birds of every shape, size and colour flew out of her mouth. The macaw. The cockatoo. The rainbow-billed toucan. The scarlet ibis . They flew in circles around me, filling the room with a stream of incandescent, bright colour, their triumphant song resounding in my ears and I stood in the centre of their storm, my arms held aloft, feeling the brush of their feathers upon my fingertips.

"Wanna sit on the swing while we eat?" I nodded and smiled around my cup. "Sounds perfect." We ate mostly in companionable silence as we watched the birds dance around the trees. Along the power lines sat three bluejays, one sitting slightly further away than the other two. Almost as if it were ostracized from his mates. My heart fell a little at the sight. The lone bird held both a meaning for me and a message. "Liz?" "Hm?" "You know when Mykel is coming home?"

I asked. "It's the Phoenix feel ground, that is why it's dark. It could be alive," Micheal replied. "And by alive, I mean, the birth of phoenix is through fire, and the burning travels beneath the earth, within a specific radius. It only means, the phoenix sense can also travel within the say radius too," he added. I scanned the environment and stared at the trees. They were lined up to the cave, like someone deliberately arranged them as a path away. "We use the trees," I said. "We want to give the bird the element of surprise. We will not annouce our presence before we get to it," I said and Michael looked at the trees.

“This is my secret space.” I close my eyes to take in the smell of the trees and pollen emanating from the flowers. The birds are chirping on the trees, and when I take a closer look, I notice that one of the bird is wearing a knitted scarf. “It was born without feathers, and poor thing went through so many treatments for survival.” She looks at the bird that I’m staring at. I beam, and then my eyes suddenly catch a glimpse of a movement. The rabbit hops closer to me, my lips curl up when I notice two more cottontails next to its original tail, forming a triangle.