Flight of the Quail: A Short Story

Flight of the Quail

Yes.

It happened.

I, the magnificent, majestic, holy bird...

The quail...

Was BORN.

Oh, don't worry. I'm not your average quail. I was not just born.

I materialized.

Yes. I, Quinius the Quail, was not born from some common egg. Oh no. One sunny, cloudless day, I fell from the sky. Unfortunately, thanks to these pathetic, idiot Israelites, I have been living a life fit for roadkill. Yes, I KNOW. God made it my solemn duty to feed these creatures called humans every day for forty years, but I am FED UP.

The first few hours were bearable. Fun, even! I was born full grown, of course, no common man would eat a baby bird. So there I was, floating down from Heaven (man, it was so great up there. Why'd you make me leave, God?) and I see this tan stuff. Specky, grainy stuff. Sand, it's called. The instant my perfect, brand-new feathers touched that... stuff, I knew I despised it. I had ruffled my feathers huffily. Unfortunately, birds don't have those human contraptions called fingers, so we are forced find other ways to wipe the sand out of our eyes.

That was an ordeal.

In the end, I taught myself how to roll my enchanting eyeballs in a circle to flush out the flecks of sand. This was extremely painful, but beauty is pain, and I had to start my morning treatments somehow.

I'd strutted around in a circle, finally noticing the other quail. They'd seemed more disgruntled from the descent (ahem, rude awakening to the world. Excuse my manners...) than I had been. Ah, well. No one can enter the world this easily. But enough about me. I need to tell you, however pointless it may be, about humans. Specifically, the Israelites.

Humans are disgusting, dirty creatures. They have enormous eyes and hairy skin. They eat with these malformed openings in their heads, unlike birds, who have shiny, slender beaks. The Israelites had to be the worst of these creatures. When the first one, a middle-aged man with tanned olive skin, stepped out of his tent, he screamed.

A human scream is the most unpleasant sound that could reach a bird's ears.

As was expected for the pure race of birds, we scattered.

Well, not we.

I, unafraid (mostly) of the savage screamer, merely jumped a foot in the air. After that I held my ground.

The man shrieked again, drawing more humans out of their tents. "WHAT ARE THOSE?" he wailed.

Another human fell prostrate in the sand. This one had more hair on it's head. A woman. Maybe she would respect us.

As I expected, she cried tears of joy. "God has saved us! He has sent us food!"

Ah, proper respect.

Wait.

Did she say--

FOOD?????

That was the the respectable time to scatter.

Unfortunately, the humans gave chase.

I ran, panting, through the desert, tripping over the rocks and failing to make flight. What had God done to my wings? Why had He sent me to my inevitable demise?

FWOOMP!

Ah.

Yes.

Ahem.