When The Canary Sings

Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock.

First Person Point of View: Becca Blue: 

* 

Run.

Although that one simple word is blaring through my head, flashing and beating in bright red, I can't bring myself to move. The birds, baby pink with dead black eyes, are perched on every branch, all staring me down. Slowly, I crouch down, slowly grabbing my bag and looping it around my shoulders. It may act as a shield, or armor.

I carefully pick up my spear and grip it defensively across my chest, my knuckles pure white.

I take a step back slowly, nothing moves, so I take another step back. The birds stay still, quietly squawking and ruffling their feathers. Currently, I am deep in the jungle, and my best bet is to make it to the beach and dive into the water.

I take one step back, still gripping the spear defensively. Oh, God, Haymitch, I'm so sorry. I think, knowing that he must be a pile of sorrow right about now. This will be the second time in his life he saw someone dying to these wretched birds.

As I take my fourth step back, I hear an awful screeching sound. Just as I whip my head around, one of the creatures swoops down and sinks its teeth into the side of my neck. I scream, my voice cracking as tears immediately bubble in my eyes. I raise one of the daggers and stab it, not even registering that I could've killed myself. I shook it off and dropped the dagger.

Just like that, all the birds were swooping down, sinking their jaws into my flesh and tearing away at my skin. Blood is leaking everywhere, and I'm stumbling like an idiot, trying to swat the wretched things away from me.

I guard my neck and face with my arms as I run, but they don't stop. They swoop from the sky, piercing, pecking, stabbing and ripping. No matter how fast I run, they're still covering my body, my arms, thighs, shoulders and neck were all gushing blood. Not to mention the mutts probably had some disease in them that would kill me if their teeth didn't sink into a vital artery first.

As my panicked steps clunk around on the muddy jungle floor, I find myself tripping over a vine and tumbling down a large hill. The birds and their relentless attack take this opportunity to take stabs at my hands and chest. Their beaks stabbing and clawing at my hands which guard my throat. I can't stab them away without moving my hands and giving them an open attack on my throat.

They stab and claw at my stomach and chest, I feel one of their jaws snap around my forehead, and I let out a scream so loud it shakes the leaves on the trees. The bird sinks its teeth farther, making me believe that it may reach my skull if I don't move!
Risking my throat, I reach my left hand up and rip it off my head by the neck, throwing it into a nearby tree. Then, using that same hand, grab my spear that had dropped and continue my mad dash to the beach, the only thing illuminating me being the moon.

I can hear the waves rushing, and I follow that sound since I am completely blinded by blood and tears mixing in my eyes. I stumble and swat at them, swinging and jutting the spear out in random motions.

Finally, my feet reach the sand, and I practically dive into the sand. I throw the spear aside and dive into the water, ignoring the white hot pain that throbs through my whole body. When I emerge from the water, awaiting the bird to come and finish me off, I feel loathing but a breeze.

I dunk myself under the water, rinsing the rushing blood from my forehead. When I come up, I clamp a hand over it, trying to stop the blood flow at least a little bit. I look back to the jungle, and the birds are just flying straight towards me, then stopping. They screech and squawk, but never pass the treeline. I stumble back onto the shore, and collapse on the sand.