An Empty Cage

“"Hope" is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul—” – Emily Dickinson

Her soul was an empty cage. There was no little bird that resided there, and had there ever been one, it had taken flight long ago. Remnants of soft white feathers are visible at the bottom of the rusty cage, worn and withered, it being unoccupied for the longest time.

She knew all of those around her had one inside of them. She could just imagine as she walked through the neighborhood, she saw the baker’s canary, the mail carrier’s hummingbird, the schoolboy’s parrot. An array of bright colors for all, yet she had none to boast of. She looked upon those fortunate with bitterness and jealousy.

Why haven’t I one inside of me? She would ask herself. Despite her strong dislike of animals of any kind, she still would have some reassurance if only, if only, she had a small bird inside of her. On cold days there was no warmth, the warm summer evenings felt like the Arctic to her, there was no escaping it.

Everyday she felt the same hostility and resentment, come rain or shine. Even with a smile upon her face there was an emptiness in her heart. She hadn’t any bird to show off, and every day she was forced to see and hear the feathers and chirping of those around her. It grew so frustrating that some days she would run home crying, which would then turn to screaming, where finally she would just be so tired that she’d fall asleep.

However, there were some days where her smile grew larger than the Cheshire cat. It was on these days when walking around she would see birds falling, one by one, and a dark, brooding cloud hanging over those who have lost their birds. It made her giddy with glee! She was alone no more! What comfort it gave her, to know that she was not the only one suffering. Although she would have much more preferred only them to suffer, but she was grateful for the meager restitution.

Her mother’s bird was ever cheerful, sickening Mari. It was a toucan, its silk black feathers contrasting with its long colorful beak. It would ruffle its feathers in arrogance, as if to say, “Oh, you wish I were yours, now, don’t ‘cha?” Marise would turn her head away in insolence, though she knew she did want the bird. She wanted any bird. She would search high and low, though she could not find one to call her own.

When did it leave? Where did it go? Why did it leave me? She could not remember any event in which her bird would have taken flight, any reason for it to leave.

Mari would escape to the sea, walking barefooted across the sun-kissed white sand, looking above at the soaring seagulls, hoping to choose one for herself. That one? That one, oh, maybe that one!

No, you cannot have any, my dear. For you see, those birds already belong to someone; they have just taken a little trip, and will return to their masters soon, when they are ready to welcome them back. You have your own bird, wretched soul; only you have not called out to it, you only look to have others. When would she be satisfied? She rejected him once, and, now frightened, he immediately took off, only leaving a few feathers behind. From this one cannot mend a broken soul, and the spirit has no reason to live any longer.

It was not for this reason that Marise was hoping to find her bird once again. No, being the arrogant woman she was, knowing that others had something that she did not riled her, she could not be bettered by them.

I will find one, no, two! I will have two of them and then they can no longer throw their scornful looks at me!

Scornful? Oh no, simple girl. Those are looks of pity. You have never been one known to be cunning and observant, now, have you?

What Marise is unaware of though, is that her bird is always near her; he never wanders off too far. No, he is always circling above her, hoping one day she will have the sense to simply look up and see that he is there.

He follows her around everywhere she goes, observing her, yet at each destination he sadly shakes his head in shame. He is ashamed at having such a brutal master, one who does not deserve him at all. He could go to some poor child with no food for the day, but oh, cruel Fate! Why have you punished him so? To put him with such an impudent, ungrateful, and despicable creature! It gave him a sadness so ineffable that at times he wished for his own little bird to turn to.

Her cage remained rusty, and the door remained close. With just one flick of the wrist she could open it and let her bird in, why hadn’t she done so? Was she afraid, thinking that he would leave her again? Was she waiting for a bird more worthy of her regality, one as incredibly stimulating as she?

“Mama, can I borrow your bird?”

“No, you have your own.”

“Papa, will you lend me your bird?”

“No, my bird must always be with me.”

“Taro, may I have your bird?”

“No, I need him right now.”

“Ryuu, give me your bird!”

“I haven’t one to give.”

Despicable! She thought with disgust. Where was she to find one now? She stormed out of the house, and kicked the fallen, dead birds out of her way, without a second thought.

Her bird above cringed in fear in seeing her treatment to the poor creatures. This is why he was afraid to go back. Why must he be taken advantage of? He was only useful when she needed him, never was he appreciated. He was her possession, her property, and he was to do as she told, just the way she liked it.

This was not a democracy; it was a tyranny. And she ruled over all.

Oh, brutal murderer, do you see what you’ve done? You’ve killed him! Oh, wretched thing, hopeless soul, you’ve killed him, you’ve killed him! What is to become of you?

She has becoming a wandering body like many, listlessly walking around, robotically performing everyday tasks, her heart was not in anything she did, her soul was closed off to the world and her mind never did exist in the first place. Not only was she devoid of human intelligence, but she now lost all of the emotions she had once held so dear to her.

Every day was like the last, although this day was particularly brutal to Mari. She slowly dragged herself through the streets, the rain pouring down on her, soaking her clothes and seeping through them to taint her soft white skin. It had hit her face to where her make-up had streaked, causing her to look like a demonized clown. Everyone backed away from her, mothers along the sidewalk held their children close so they would not see so horrible a spectacle.

Rain was one of the few things she loved. In it she was able to cry freely, without anyone having to notice. It was through this type of turmoil that she was able to feel that she could start anew, what with the rivers washing away her heinous crimes, all her sins.

It was also on days like these that she saw the most dead birds. Seeing them barely had an effect on her though. She scuffled along, unaware of her again stomping over the poor birds whom so many have lost, as had she. She had gone so long without hers though, that it was barely even noticeable to her anymore, every day was the same.

The rain slowly turned into a drizzle, and then finally it ceased entirely. Mari frantically turned her head up, eyes wild like a madman’s, searching the sky hungrily for something. She felt her throat clog and her eyes water when saw the second reason for her love of rain. Rain must purify the earth before the rainbow can present itself.

The gray clouds have gone to rest until they were needed again, and in its place the white clouds appeared, large cushions of soft existence, coddling the delicate rainbow in its warm embrace. Mari felt her whole being tremble, tears streaming down her face as she saw a bird, her bird, gracefully flapping its wings in front of the lustrous waves of color. She held out her arms to the sky, unable to speaks words, beckoning him to return to her.

The bird flew away without looking back.