Sunday, December 16, 2012

Left Behind - Project: a re-imagining of a term one entry (New Shoots Submission)

Original Entry:
A translation of lyrics from the Chinese song "我是一只小小鸟" , reworded and rearranged to rhyme and fit in with the music in English.

Sometimes I feel like a bird, struggling in the sky.
Fighting against the wind, but I just can't seem to fly.
Searching through the world, looking for a warm embrace.
Is it too much to ask for just one friendly face?

Left Behind

            “A late bloomer. Leave it!” Marco squawked harshly, before moving forward to lead the flock.
            Carmen looked sadly at the small round shape she so diligently guarded for a week. Time was running out for the little one. Time was running out its mother, her friend, as well. Where was she? She liked to fly alone and far, but she always came back. Carmen warned her of the dangers, but she never listened. Yet, until now, she always came back…
            “Carmen, we must leave soon,” her mate urged, “there is nothing we can do. You have your own children to take care of.”
            Carmen looked up at Thomas, then at the excited faces of her younglings, then back down at the egg, “I made a promise-”
            “There are more important things than that promise right now, Carmen,” Thomas reasoned, “we have our own to take care of. We have a long journey ahead of us. Even if it did hatch, we cannot look after it.”
            “How long do we have to fly, ma?” Beck chirped, “I don’t wanna get tired.”
            “Wimp,” Cherry squeaked.
            Carmen bent down and gently tapped the tip of the egg with her beak, “I’m sorry, little one,” she whispered, then straightened and led her family away.
            Behind them, the egg stirred. The little one heard noises, so many noises. It was never this loud before, and even in his egg he felt it was colder than before. Things are changing. It is time to come out. He scrabbled about, trying to find purchase. He thrust his beak out, knocking against the hard round walls closing him in. It is time to emerge. He pecked and pecked, making slow progress, blinking at the light he sees for the first time, unfiltered by the translucent shell. Small white pieces fell around into the nest.
            Thomas turned, eyes widening, “It-“
            “Take off!” Marco screeched from the front of the flock, and was joined by a chorus of cheering chirps and squawks as the flock began to rise from the jagged rocky cliff side.
            Amidst the flurry of flapping wings, loud cries, and scraping claws, the youngling struggled to emerge. The world is so loud. It was never this loud before. There is so much movement. Is this what the world is like?
            Thomas hesitated, then turned back to face the sea, “Alright guys, come on! We practiced for this!”
            The chicks squealed happily and flapped their wings to follow their father. Carmen fell into place behind them, never seeing the new chick emerge from his egg.
            It’s so quiet now, he thought. Why is the world so quiet? Where did the movement go? He spotted the flock getting smaller and smaller in the sky, confused. Where are they?

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