The night I killed myself was the first time I had proof of her with this meat packing guy. I figured this must be my hell, my punishment for committing a sin in ending my own life. I am a bird; it's an instinct for me to want to fly free. Instead, I am confined to a metal cage, held down by my past. I had hope that I'd be stored away in a garage somewhere where I would be forgotten. Perhaps my wife and this monster could go on vacation and forget to feed me for a week. Maybe I could even catch some kind of bird disease and leave the world untouched with my presence. The feeling wouldn't be too foreign to me, considering she moved on fast. What I can't learn to accept is that she moved on before I was gone, and that her leaving me would have been inevitable. As a human, I believed my purpose was being the breadwinner, and having her to depend on me. The money I brought home brought us food, it paid the bills, and it didn't win her affection. Looking back, I realize I had no specific purpose, and I was confined to a similar cage as I am now. In this way my human life and bird life coincide.
I could try to fly away into the shimmering endless sky, aimlessly, forgetting my past and concentrating only on my next nest, my next twig of berries, or my next getaway plan from a predator or recreational bullet. I used to go hunting. I didn't even have a reason to shoot a bird. I swear I would've played videogames if I knew the detrimental effects the pull of a trigger causes to small animals such as myself. As much as a cage shields me from the outside world, being free would let me run from my mistakes and guilt. Instead, I am forced to rest in her palm, literally in the palm of her hand, and pretend as if I don't like it. I don't want to want her; it's a strange division between my conscience, subconscience, reality, and fantasy. Where does the line between each really begin?
One day I broke loose and flew around the house. It was the perfect plan to escape. If I had just kept quiet and waited for him to come home, I could've broke free through the door before he knew what had hit him. This was the game plan, until my jealousy and rage kicked in. My bird heart, which already beat a good 900 times a minute, accelerated to a whopping 1000. Instead of fleeing the scene, I made the imulsive decision to shit on his head. It was great. It truly was for the next few hours as I tweeted happily to my and rang bird songs throughout the house. He called me a few vulgar words which only made it better. And then I was back to square one, missing my opportunity because of a human emotion. A bird with the mind of a human. That's hell in itself. I was getting no where through my anger and desire for revenge. That's when I recognized, in the middle of a triumphant chirp, that I had to forgive her for what had transpired if I ever wanted to truly be free as a bird.