The bird is just numb to it at this point. At first he was angry; screaming questions into the bright tropical sky. How did I get here? Who made me like this? A giant tubular beak for eating...what? There is no food on this island. Sharply hooked, footless legs...why? For what? There is nothing here to cling to.
Endless flying. Circling without stop. Anger led to depression. How could it end? Please let it end. Depression led to insanity, and now the bird can't even recognize the baseball-capped, hula-skirted savior under its beak. One well-timed jump from this shirtless, noseless man could end the nightmare. But the bird, eyes not focused but staring still through half-drooped eyelids, flies on.
White’s Thrush or Scaly?
18 hours ago