His Wounded Bird Novels & Stories

Who the hell wants to die today? He pointed his gun and fired bullets on those goons who attacked him, piercing holes through the heavy car glass. The tough glass didn't break fully but the cracks were blurring out the vision. The gunshots stopped and goons ran off from there. That's when she looked at the road in a shock. One bird lied on the ground injured by the gunshot. She ran on the road, through in front of his car, towards that bird. That bird's feather was covered with blood. She gasped. A tear rolled down her eyes as she held the bird in her palms and she glared at his car angrily.

The beast let out a cry of anguish as it was incredibly injured. Even though the feathers already weakened, it was still not something a regular warrior could compete with. The three feathers blew up causing three wounds on its body. Even though the three wounds were only the size of half a fist, it was still a weak point. As long as that group of despicable humans constantly attacked its wounds, it could lose one of its wings. Its eyes were full of pain as it stared at Toulson who was by the side. Everyone could see how much it hated Toulson from its eyes.

Suddenly I heard, "Wheee-aw! a bird sound. "what's a bird doing in this God's forsaken place." I tried my best to get rid of my blurry vision but I could not. I peer harder through the darkness and I saw someone lying in the middle of the dark storm with a bird close to it. The bird was rubbing its small feathered head on him. with the speed of lightning I crawl faster to the place "Dylan, thank goodness!" I said with excitement. the excruciating pain seems to not bother me anymore. I moved him and place him on my back, The bird flew and stood in front of me. "Wheee-aw!, wheee-aw!!, whee-aw!!!," it makes a consistent sound nonstop.

"Mommy, Birdie won't die, right? She can't die, can she?" Tears welled up in Vincent's eyes as he spoke, "Mommy, you have to save Birdie." Larissa lowered her head, gently smoothing Birdie's messy hair, a trace of guilt appearing on her face. If only she had arrived a little sooner, Birdie wouldn't have been in trouble. Birdie's wounds were too grave. Even her medical skills seemed useless now, Birdie's breath a fading whisper. Without getting a response from Larissa, Vincent's young face stiffened.

Taking a closer look, I realize it's a phoenix. I had always thought they existed only in myths but it seems they're indeed real. The bird meets eyes with me and screeches in pain, as if calling for help. I quickly pick it up and discover that it's wounded. There's an arrow sticking out of its chest and the area seems to be burning up fast. I have to do something. I rush back to where my duffle bag is with the bird still in my arms. It continuously screeches in pain and I set it down gently.

I scoop it carefully in my hand, examining its wound - a blade cut. “Max, get it to the healer”, I say frantic as the bird whimpers in my hand. It bows its head tugging at the inner wings, as he comes up with a small paper rolled between its beak. I retrieve the paper, drawing lines on his head, as it goes still in my hand. Max picks the bird, getting it to the healer. I take a lungful of breath, this is not gonna be good news. The piece of paper burns in my hand, it’s covered with the concoction of the war, I unroll the piece in my hand,

Warm lighting. Harold Beck appeared onscreen wearing a lavender shirt and a modest smile. “I know what it’s like to be misunderstood. To carry mistakes. To want to be better.” “At Lighthouse, we believe every scar tells a story. And every story deserves peace.” The camera cut to wide-eyed teenagers in group therapy, actors likely paid to cry on cue. “We’re not here to judge. We’re here to listen.” The final image? A glimmering quote in script font: “Wounds can bloom, too.”

So he would continue his journey… and realize that no matter how much he lost, life was still worth living for… there was still so much in the world that was worth fighting for. “In the arms of an angel… may you find… some comfort here…” I sang the last words and played the last notes a while ago, but we both seemed to have frozen in time. None of us spoke. We were lost in our thoughts. I was not strong enough to speak again. Tears kept rolling down my cheeks but I refused to make a sound. I refused to let Hunter carry my burden… because I knew he was already carrying too much of his own.

I let him know, making him frown, "You hit the back of your head really bad. I'm really sorry for that, but I had to get you out of the fucking way before they started shooting and your dumbass tried to help me. Now, go get the Boss and let's go. We need to get you to a hospital before you pass out." "Oh. Uhm. Okay," he murmurs as I help him get up, "Birdie will be okay too?" "Obviously. You can trust me," I remind him. And even though he must be extremely confused right now, he knows I'm right and nods before walking away. I sigh and look down at my white shirt painted red with the blood that is still leaking out of me in a few fucking holes that haven't closed up yet because the bullets ar

"I'm here to help you." With trembling hands, I tore a strip of cloth from my own tattered shirt, using it to staunch the flow of blood from his wounds. Each touch, each movement, was infused with a mix of tenderness and urgency. Every life I could save, every pain I could ease, became a small beacon of hope amidst the devastation. The wounded were scattered like fallen leaves, their bodies broken and spirits battered. Yet, amidst the wreckage, I found strength in the resilience of my packmates. Their courage and determination shone through, despite the pain etched upon their faces.