How to Smile (On Hold, Will Be Rewritten)

To See Morning Birds Flying

To See Morning Birds Flying

I was exactly where I had wanted to be the night before. I was in my bed, under warm covers and in comfy pajamas. Even better, there Logan was, curled near my feet. I stared at the ceiling.

The night before.

Not now, I silently chastised myself. Trying to keep the depressing thoughts at bay, I began the agonizingly slow process of trying to get out of bed without disturbing Logan, my loving and affectionate brindle pit-bull. By the time I had managed to get myself in an upright position, legs hanging over the edge of my bed, she decided to get up anyways. I allowed myself a small smile. Why do I even bother?

Reaching towards the nightstand by my bed, whose only accessory was a lamp, two framed photos, and stack of books, I grabbed my black glasses. I didn’t even put any effort into finding something to wear, I knew for a solid fact I wasn’t going nowhere today.

I went to the bathroom just down the hall and stared at the mirror. The dark curly hair that went just between my shoulder blades was braided. Same medium brown skin as always. My eyes, also dark brown, scrutinized my reflection, staring at the dark circles below them. Those were the only irregular things present, and I disliked those reminders of a bad sleep with passion.

After doing my hygiene thing, I hurried down the stairs, Lo on my heels, and was greeted with the sight of my parents at the table. As expected, breakfast was ready. Today it was pancakes, eggs, bacon, and grits. A full platter that made my empty stomach growl.

Lo went to her bowl, immediately buried in her food, and I slid into my seat silently, trying my hardest to ignore the one that would remain empty across from me. I said my grace, then began to delve in, all etiquette forgotten.

“Well mornin’ to you too, Sunshine.”

“Hi, dad.” I said, somewhat emotionless.

“How are you feeling?” This time it was my mom talking.

I wasn’t certain how I was feeling to be honest. I guess I was just not feeling. Of course, I didn’t voice this aloud, so instead I just shrugged, and stared past both of them out the window. All the morning birds were out, chirping and singing carelessly. They were probably having a feast on all the worms and bugs uprooted from the ground from the previous night.

My parents didn’t try to force me into any conversation, which I was grateful for, so they talked to just each other. I still sat eating my food slightly messily, staring at the birds.

I sincerely envied these animals who were able to take flight. How convenient that must be, don’t you think? Travel is literally a breeze. Those birds didn’t have near the problems us people did. It might’ve been crueler, since they had to hunt and risk being hunted, but then again, people waged war and killed each other all the time, as sad as it is.

I remember always having a fascination with birds as a kid, and I still do at age 12. Back then though, I just liked the idea of flying. All those fantasies of superpowers, magic, and mythical creatures was so appealing. Now, to see a morning bird flying, was to see freedom in its purest form. I see it as a way to leave all those bad memories and people and places and simply take to the sky and relocate and go anywhere.

Sometimes, I felt like a special kind of bird. I wasn’t a meager crow or raven, nor an iconic owl, and I surely wasn’t a fearsome eagle or hawk. I was an itty bitty bird who had their wings bound tightly. I wasn’t going to take flight any time soon.

This unique beauty of nature had me so captivated that I hadn’t even realized when I finished eating and was now poking at emptiness. “Would you like more?” my mom inquired. I thought about it for a moment, “Nah, I’m good.” I washed my plate and fork then retreated back to my room.

I opened the blinds that over-looked the driveway, letting in a lot of light to my usually dark room. Down the road, what had been Uriah’s house was visible. I wondered how his family was doing.

His mom was beautiful, inside and out, and she had treated me so that I almost felt like her own. Then there was little Marcel, a 7 year old bundle of love. My heart went out to them both. Since Marcel was still so young, I had not the barest idea what he might feel. Ms. Rodríguez on the other hand … to lose two kids in the same year just seemed like outright torture.

Crawling back under my covers, I remembered the day the Rodríguez’s had moved down here. It was the very first time I had smiled since Andrew had died.

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Hey guys, this is my first book, and I'm still working on it. The picture included is of Logan. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Anyways, all reads, comments, and etc. are appreciated.

-Victoria Brown, Author