03/15/2024
My name is Voël, sometimes the damn bird. I am now 8 years old. This is my 6th home in my 8 years. I remember my first 2 years of life as if it were yesterday because it's all that keeps me clinging to life, hoping my Mom will come for me one day. Mom and I were inseparable. We played together, laughed together, and she made the tastiest food for me. I went "shopping" with her, picking out my own fruits and vegetables for the week. Mom would spoil me with delicious treats, and every Saturday was our cheat day when we enjoyed cheese curls together. Three at a time. I could roam freely in the house, and at the end of each month, Mom would come home with a new toy for me. Mom said, "Every prince deserves a little gift when they're as sweet as you."
One day, Mom didn't come home. I heard she was sick, and I had to stay with her friend for a week. That week turned into a year. A year spent waiting for Mom. She never came for me. Mom was gone. I was forgotten in a corner. I had to learn to eat black seeds that made me very sick. The brown beans smelled musty, but I had to eat or starve.
So I began to wander. Everyone always wanted to know, "Can he talk?" or "Does he bite?" Sometimes I had to entertain visitors with my tricks, and then everyone would say, "Oh, we want a parrot too!" Other times, I was screamed at to shut up, and shoes were thrown at me.
My once palace-like cage was traded for a tiny, filthy cage. I was "sentenced to life imprisonment for a crime I didn't commit." I chewed on my sticks out of boredom and was scolded for it. A piece of steel was shoved into my cage, scraping blisters on my feet. I was forgotten outside, in heat and cold. Days without water, and when I did get water, it was muddy. I no longer knew what a clean cage was, suffocating in my own waste.
Today I am in my 8th home. I'm beaten with sticks through the bars. I'm taunted. I'm tired, and I grabbed the child and bit him. The mother slapped me so hard on the head it felt like my eyes would pop out.
I feel sick. I struggle to breathe. The man's smoke burns my chest. I don't want to live anymore. I'm sentenced to a punishment I'm innocent of. All I wanted was your love. You measured love by costs and work. I don't really want to bite you, but I can't trust a human hand anymore. I am terrified and scared.
I pluck my feathers because I am sick. I am dying... I pray to God and ask Him please God, come take me... I can't fight anymore. I don't have the strength. Slowly, I am sentenced to a torturous death...
"Awareness of birds in cases"
Written by :
~ Ilse Meyer
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