Little Curlew

L I T T L E   C U R L E W

too little too late…

“Are you certain?” the cloaked figured standing in front of the little bird asked for the last time.

All its life, the bird had felt unworthy and plain. Uninteresting and unremarkable. With its beak too long, its feathers a drab color, it felt utterly worthless.

The only solace it knew came from the daily visit of one human girl. Every day, she would come to the clearing and every day it would meet her. The little bird would sing to her even though its song was nothing special to offer—it was all it could give her.

He had a wish, only one wish—to be human. If it were to be human, it could interact with the girl and be accepted and seen and loved and cherish instead of only being observed and most probably judged. The little curlew was nothing special to look at and it knew it. The human girl must have seen it too.

If it became a human, it wouldn’t be an it anymore. It would be a he. It would matter.

That was why the little bird wanted to strike this deal, wanted to become human. And the price to pay was not a price per se. There was no price for the gift the cloaked figure was to give to the little Curlew. Nothing to pay, only something to gain.

To have what he most desired, the little Curlew would also have to be given understanding. To the little Curlew, it was two wins.

“Yes,” the Eskimo Curlew answered without faltering.

            “Then it shall be done.” The cloaked figure waved its hands and the little bird was struck in the middle of its chest by a blinding light.

This was what death must feel like, the little curlew thought as its body shattered into million of particles to be reconstructed into something else—something better.

The change was quick. After all, the price for this gift had not been the pain of the transformation. When the change was completed, the now human lay down on his side, panting, trying to move his new muscles and foreign limbs. The change was tremendous and unsettling but it was necessary. And so, as he gained control of his motor skills he got on his feet.

He did not have a lot of time. The girl would be back from school soon, and she would head for this very clearing. Because he was a human now, he knew he could not meet the girl in the same environment. He had to leave and meet her in her human world.

Taking a deep breath with his new lungs, the once little curlew got ready to take his flight but realized too late that he had no wings anymore.

He fell back on the ground. Groaning—a sound he had never made before—he got back on his feet and this time, tried the complex and straining task of putting one foot in front of the other.

He was walking. As he trekked to the girl’s house, he tried to form words with his mouth, instead of a song with its beak. If he wanted to speak with the girl, this was vital. The sounds did not glide the way they used to, but after a few minutes, with a groggy voice, he was able to form complete sentences without breaking into coughing fits.

Soon, too soon, the girl’s house came into view. He was glad now that he had followed her back many times after their countless meetings.

Using the knowledge he had been able to collect over the years, and taking his time as he climbed up the stairs, he came to stand in front of the door and knocked. The girl was not the one who answered the door—his mother did. Clearing his throat, the once little bird said, “Excuse me, I don’t want to bother you, but I’m lost. May I use your phone?”