The (Mis)Adventures of (Re)Becca Smellie

Chapter 3: Harprognatus Exincendia

It was finally time for the class Becca was looking forward to the most: the Chemistry lab class she managed to hack herself into.

For this class she arrived on time, early in fact. She was the first to seat herself at one of the front lab desks. The room was divided into two, with about ten lab desks and sinks on opposite ends, a fully equipped podium, an interactive whiteboard hologram display at the front, and a large, open equipment room in the back. The equipment room was full of display cases, refrigerators, and all of the equipment imaginable needed for all variants of experiments.

There was still about twenty minutes left until class started. Curiosity overtaking her, she hopped off of her high chair and went to the back of the room to take a look. One by one, she went through every object in the drawers and the fridge, making a log note of each item and occasionally stopping at some for a closer inspection. There was a microscope as large as her, a few in a glass case that could fit in the palm of her hand, and more normal-sized ones like the one she had at home.

There were also vials with chemical element substances, some Earth-based and some not, all laid out in alphabetical order. Her eyes glazed over a little longer at numbers 61, 77, and 120.

She put on her special glasses with built-in camera and decided to take some pictures for future reference for her inventions, but also payed special attention to the vials and their numbers. There was a subtle clicking sound from her glasses every time she took a picture, and even though it was a bug in the wireframe she needed to reprogram, she had grown so accustomed to it that she found it soothing.

When she turned her head she caught sight of a long table with a sheet covering a rectangular-shaped and open box. Without a second thought, she approached it. Upon removing the large sheet, a pungent smell enveloped the air.

She turned away, held her nose, and turned back to see several dead white birds in individual ventilated chambers inside a large container. They looked perfectly normal, almost peaceful, as if they had just fallen asleep in an unfortunate location.

Their little still faces saddened Becca.

One bird in particular, to the far lefthand side of the table, looked unlike the rest. It wasn't white like the others, but darkly discolored and with one of its wings sticking out to the side instead of neatly tucked into its belly. Becca pressed on the chamber door and it parted the glass casing. The pungent smell remained and stuck to her clothes and hair, but she ignored it. Gently, she took the bird out and inspected it, twirling it around before placing it on the table.

Feeling the outstretched wing between her index and thumb, she confirmed that it was broken. The discoloration showed apparent sun damage, and its missing feathers and scars, along with the broken wing, also indicated that it experienced some violent trauma.

She frowned and grew distracted thinking of what a difficult life the poor bird must have had. Not only did it look different naturally, but it was also hurt by other birds and humans alike. The thought of Emily came to mind, and she had to blink back tears to remember where she was.

For a long minute, she paced back and forth in front of the table. As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she felt like she had to do something for the bird. It was clear to her that it experienced such a difficult life that it felt wrong for it to be taken apart when it finally had a chance to rest. Leaving it was not an option.

The problem was that she couldn't just take a dead bird out of the room. She still had a full day of classes left, and she recognized that people would smell dead bird on her if she carried it around in her backpack.

As she decided on her course of action, sounds came from classroom and grew louder. When she turned and ran up to the opaque windows separating the equipment room from the class, she saw that most people were seated.