Memory Fragments: Probity

Fly By Vultures

This is a story about a little bird that did not understand how they worked
Who they were, where they belonged, almost all of your typicals for this kind of thing
Perhaps you have already read about this young individual. Why were they not loved
Lyn was their name. Lyndis or Lyndon, it mattered not. Their name, much did it bring

They were a vulture by birthright. Born to feed off the remains of society's filth and gloomy
They had a mother who served her own corpse as nourishment and learning for them
As they slowly ate her, they learned about the body. About how cozy it was. How roomy
They thought that, inside of it, they were happy. A happy place where they came from

Sadly, they could not know for sure. Mother was inside them so, she must have been joyful
The concept of birth, carrying a life inside, was a mystery they did not understand at the time
They walked by rivers and marshes at night, pondering how the flow brought food for a bellyful
Waste and rotten malice for the most part. The thrown trash nobody wanted, out of their prime

One day, they spotted a frail, agonizing body that washed up by the river's forking path
They could not eat what was still alive and fresh. So they waited for it to become still
Soon after, the body stopped moving. But Lyn saw something carried away towards the strath
They followed it, caring not for the served-up delicacy from which it came out of nice and ill

They could tell that it was sick. Dead even, as it did not put up a fight against the current
When they reached its location, they were surprised to see it crying and barely moving
Being curious, they talked to it and asked how it felt inside. If it felt warm, almost burnt
Of course, no response. A newborn was left alone as Lyn returned to a mother's decomposing

Upon further inspection, they saw the terrible burns and bubbling skin that was left of her
This was a freshly made atrocity. And yet, Lyn started eating her away without a care nor worry
With each pluck, a drop of hot blood. It was until they reached her stomach, a though of demur
They saw small moving bites. Leftovers of the thing that the river's flow took away in a hurry

They stopped eating for a moment. They just looked at how the things tried to move out
Seeing how they struggled to breathe and move. How they could not live outside their mother
Lyn grabbed each of them and put them back inside. Mortified if any more, out of, would sprout
They put the body back in the river's flow, lost their appetite, and left it for another's fother

With that, the little vulture continued walking down the river and into an abandoned cave
They had no home anymore. But a cave resembled an entrance to the body of mother earth
Perhaps inside there they would encounter someone. But no. Inside, it was mostly a grave
Cold and humid, but spacious and cozy. It was a parallel to their mother before their birth

Lyn felt happy again. A smiling vulture, thought to cry of joy only in the death of someone
They cried tears of happiness as the remembered how a mother's care felt and looked
After some time, they fell asleep as the sun rose. Being a nocturnal creature, their sleep begun
Night fell as they woke up. Lyn walked to the entrance, towards something they overlooked

It must have tried to climb and get inside as Lyn was asleep. A little body, drenched in red rain
Lyn asked them why they were there, just outside a marvelous place. But again, no response
The vulture hopped down and, beside them, perched on a log that the rain managed to rein
But this was no log. Lyn had just placed themselves atop a human body without its ponce

They quickly set talon to soil after noticing, but did not panic. It was just dinner for them
They began eating like usual but, when they reached the stomach, they saw a worm
The little body was connected by it to the corpse. Lyn then left them to their caring mum
What a humble bird, sharing spoils. This vulture walked away and left them to their final term

Little by little, Lyn walked further from the scene. As rain washed blurry the image of matricide
Confused, they pondered why. Left alive, they could have crawled back inside and stayed happy
Both would have lived together. As mother and child, connected without having been pried
Perhaps the little one did want their mother to become part of many an affluent yappie

From all branches of the river's stream. All floats down the hatch of this little vulture
Not knowing the significance of the flow of water, it is stained red with each mourning death
Maybe it is just what society's norm dictates. As red flows, another failure of embryo culture
Would you fly by vultures? Having them take away the last of your aborted child's breath?

Lyn never knew their gender. Too fast, too soon. Never knew their mother's story and motives
They were a vulture by nature. A bastard child of a failed abortion and a dry acid rain
All she knows is a mother's carcass. An empty home rests inside their devoid votives
Alas, the heavy rain overflows the river. Swept along, yet another vulture flushed without pain