Let the Bluebirds Fly

The sun made crystal shadows on 16th December. Then 6-year-old Kai pulled Natasha out of her house, rubbed his tears on her sweater, and played hopscotch. When the game ended a raven followed them. It was blue, possibly for some kid trying to recolour the sky. That day was, in turn, happy; one that he’ll remember when their friendship was long lost.

The unpainted building on the 4th block of Mistfall stood indifferent. Rather small for a high school but compensated by squeezing each room into a claustrophobic nightmare and making the corridors a one-person way.

Tic… Kai was disturbed when he tried sleeping with his ear on the watch. The clock hands struck 11:59. In other's dance in mayhem, a boy with blue eyes stood two hands distant from him. A painting of a boy he was; talking like in moving pictures with girls who didn’t tie their long hair. He effortlessly took an eye-wander to hit the perfect 20% of it and saw Kai lying at one with the bench and books. A blink synced which got the boy a stutter. He looked away. Still on his desk, Kai burying his head between his arms, unrolled his sleeves after leaving a carefully placed bite mark on the pale skin. His glasses cricked but didn’t break; the lenses were covered in sweat grease.

Kai imagined standing on the 14th floor with two very real strings attached to his chest and back. One went all the way down and the other kept him standing at the edge. It reminded him of a drunk man. Particularly the one he saw two days ago trying to balance himself on an uplifted footpath. Then, his meds drowned the view. Made his eyes less sharp.

Their class was in a corner room where a window showcased the nearby concrete. Blue ravens sat on them. Waited on them. They had been coming for years, but in the last few months, their numbers had multiplied — from two at the orientation of the new batch to twenty-six that day.

The congregation returned with a teacher. Two boys sat with Kai — one with a beard and the other excelling at math.

For the little that it mattered in front of integral formulas and identities, his thoughts jumped old synopses. A date, then a diary entry for a monologue.

“Saturday, 9th April 2022

“It was 10:30, and school ended at noon, 10th standard — the seniors — gathered in the field for house assignments. The house leaders, already selected by the teachers, called us from right to left. I was in the middle right. The leaders discussed them until my turn came and I got skipped. The same happened to a long-haired girl — I admired her – but we stood ten feet apart. By the end, she got to the red house and worked on papers rather than actual sports.

“Same year.

“At my private tuition, a long-haired girl with a radiant smile always greeted me. She was kind, never judging — or so I thought. Two benches sat in front of one another separated by two desks, fixed together with nails. Though I was always slightly late, the teacher was later. She spoke "Kai" with a tone-perfect charm, catching other’s attention. Despite the other empty bench, she put her bag on her lap to make space. I sat there, and she spoke of yesterday. Then the teacher came; he gave us books to copy the notes from. A copy of the book was always less for the over-admission of students so she and I shared one. She complained about my writing being too fast while it was her talking that slowed her down.”

A sound came from the front right. “Fourth bench corner,” the teacher called twice. Kai heard on the second. He stood up and spoke nothing. The teacher trailed off to the education system’s failure to adapt and the government’s lack of job offerings. And became more inclusive of the whole class. Kai remained lost guessing the trajectories of floaters. Others were different. Thoughts destroy the differences between them.

Indifference, a word he first saw in Camus' novel, was his mockingbird's deliberate choice. Gatherings on his mind were held each night. A couple of resolutions were taken for improvement and always ended with an hour of mockery. It was a mass-accepted plan for betterment with just one vote of disagreement. That vote came from a black raven. Kai got no say, which was again agreed upon by the majority.

The good ones and the bad ones both dissolved into the ever-growing shadow. They sank deeper into hmms and hymns. Made fiddles out of them and then got a thousand to form a mess of uncoordinated untrained musicians. They got louder and louder and louder until…

“Am I speaking for nothin’?” The teacher yelled appearing at the bench corner. “N—n—no—no, sir,” Kai replied. Then the teacher spoke on a comedy night. A few short blinks were enough for Kai that day.

On his way home, Kai’s only, and imaginary, friend Anshika was a little upset. She didn’t speak, so he asked her why. He asked her a few times but received no reply. He was lonely when they stopped. Street people disappeared bottom up — half’s heads floating — their blood dripping on the roads — then red turned pink — and the sharp sun vaporized it — spotless enough to question his sanity.

Contrary to what might be expected, a breeze blew. Between blood and sweat a alive, very alive smile was carved on his face by shaky hands. Anshika was speaking again.

Trees swayed away from his house. The inner climate would never be touched or seen from the outside. The house was painted a pure white; not even a single dirt mark could be found. Windows were disguised holes that showed a few selected events—most of them weren’t memories but were fabricated. 

Time shattered in that house. Four-year-old Kai, six-year-old Kai, fifteen-year-old Kai, seventeen-year-old Kai all lived together. Their house poked holes in time — Kai was never seven or eleven. Scenes from The Shining were clear for the four-year-old. The fifteen-year-old was watching it for the first time with the seventeen-year-old. The six-year-old was pulling threads off Natasha’s sweater, maybe then the tears would dry faster.

Who was it? Who was the man behind the shadows? They dissolved long ago in furniture marks. And then there were the nights when it became indistinguishable from ambient dark.

The cracks in the false ceiling allowed little birds to enter at night. They sat where Kai slept. Birds weren’t humans; humans were too innocent to be birds. He needed an exit bag and nitrogen. Kai rolled around in the bed conveniently lying on the ground to save him from falling. In the room where the door couldn’t be locked from the inside.

The Next Day – sweltering sunny weather; occasional shadows over the soil.

Long sleeves were necessary. A bird left a note in Kai’s ears, isn’t the morning cold? Exactly two people – an old man and a middle-aged woman – were on the street. The man – a labourer – wore a vest with old formal trousers, a long white beard, and overgrown eyebrows. The woman – probably an office worker – wore formal. Enough to make her look like a person of authority.

Their light blue eyes were huge – exceptionally huge. One might say inhumane or uncanny. They walked their way but the ways warped to put Kai on them. Sun couldn’t fill all the new space so it made bright and dark patches through which they walked with deformed bodies. Their eyes swelled to explode and splash pus and blood on Kai. He ran. He ran into the concrete maze to make it to the classroom.

The sky was newly embedded in blue feathers. Every damn person stopped to admire the relief from the sun. The birds went through buildings and gathered in the 4th block — around the indifferent building. They sat on the concrete to have a peek inside the classroom.

Kai was nowhere, just the broken world discussions. His bite marks bled, and the blue-eyed boy was absent. They say bluebirds can turn pink but never old ravens. They might say, “Let ’em fly.”

The End

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