Happy Holidays

We had a small little party today. Kestrel said she got Nightjar to approve it by telling him that the words "Merry Christmas" would never be uttered. She said we would sound like a political correct Wal-Mart. I asked her what she meant. She said never mind.

Anyway, we had a small party. Kestrel gave us all gift cards to Starbucks. Tern handed out bags of sunflower seeds (which we didn't really need, since we already have a whole lot). And I gave them pictures I had drawn of them. They seemed to like that. Well, Kestrel and Tern did. Nightjar just looked at his and then set it aside. He was busy drawing up some plans.

I checked in on my two targets: Target One celebrated Christmas fine. He doesn't seem quite that affected by knowledge of the Bright Ones. Target Two, on the other hand, has come down with an interesting case of paranoia. She was jittery, nervous, turning her head at every bird sound.

Nighjar just gave me a third target to keep watch on starting tomorrow.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlenests

I keep trying to convince the others that we should celebrate Christmas. I've got Kestrel on my side, but Nightjar is stubborn. He claims since it's a religious holiday, we would be violating our oath to the Bright Ones. Kestrel and I claim that whatever religion was in the holiday has been taken out by commercialization.

I don't think it will convince him. Oh well. Besides, I don't really have any gift ideas. (And getting gifts the night before Christmas would be kind of hard, too.)

Two targets in sight today met with their families. Target One didn't tell his family anything. One of my Bright Ones sat next to his window and listened. Conversation was mainly about Christmas shopping. Target Two tried to tell her parents, but couldn't get it out. She managed to see the Bright One on the window sill and looked shocked. Did she recognize it? Or did she just think it was another bird? Need to observe Target Two more.

Others

Three Bright Ones emerged from the wound. They're flying now, streaming through the air, basking in the wind. I feel an emptiness without them inside me, but I know they'll soon return.

There are others staying here with me. I think they're here to keep me focused on my task, but that's fine. It's not my place to question. I am merely a Quill, a writer.

The others are Kestrel, Tern and Nightjar. Kestrel's our Covert, the one who is good at sneaking around places. Tern is our Beak, the muscle of our flock, really. And Nightjar is the Crest, the leader. (Please note: these titles are just the ones I made up for them. They don't actually refer to themselves as such.) He gives orders, we obey. Well, sort of obey. You see, my orders come from the Bleak Shore itself, which overrides any orders Nightjar gives me. So he's a little resentful.

The Bright Ones are returning. I'd better go back inside.

Birdhouse In Your Soul

I have returned. I was recalled back to the Bleak Shore for a status update. Unfortunately, I really had nothing to update. And time on the Bleak Shore is kind of wonky.

In any case, I'm back and observing potential candidates. People, places, events. I need to write things down.

My chest hurts. The Bright Ones wish to be free. I can go now and let them out. No one will see. All I need is a knife and my flesh will open and they can emerge into the air.

Adjusting

I may be having trouble adjusting. Staying under the radar, so to speak. It has been quite a long time since I've been here. I don't remember quite this many people walking and driving and running. So many people. I've spent a month here and I don't understand how there can be so many people. Was it always like this?

I miss the emptiness of the Bleak Shore. I have not been back since my assignment began. "Write," they whisper, but I have nothing to write about. Not yet. I would try seeking out those who know about the Convocation, but I am unsure of myself and might give myself away. That would be unfortunate. I need more practice.

One good thing about this world, which the Bleak Shore lacks, is music. So much music. Just walking by restaurants and coffee houses, I can hear songs and cadences I have not heard before. Yesterday, I found this song and have decided to share it with you:

I know this is a distraction from my purpose here, but I can't help it. It's quite beautiful. But I shall endeavor to ignore it and go on with my mission, with my observations.

I shall be meeting another Nest soon. They shall show me the places I need to go, the people I need to observe, and the events I need to record.

A New Assignment

I stood on the Bleak Shore today and received by assignment. The sand felt soft beneath my toes as the storm rolled on the horizon and the waves lapped at the shore. I loved this place. Others often felt uncomfortable here, uneasy at the lack of people or animals or even sounds, but not me. As soon as I set foot on the Shore, I felt at peace.

This is my assignment. Writing this blog. My masters, which have been called the Spirits of the Storm, the Bright Flock, the Convocation, as well as many other names, have seen a rise of knowledge about their existence lately. They have appeared previously (with such given names as the Ziz or the Thunderbirds), but now they wish me to keep track of those who know about them.

I wish to emphasis something: this blog is only a means to keeping track of those who have discovered the existence of my masters. I was not given the task of eliminating them or torturing them and I would not want to anyway. I am their eyes and ears and nest. There are others who have given themselves over completely and become claws and beaks and complete sharpness. I have met some.

But I will merely keep track. I am an observer, a writer. A Quill, as the others designated me.

My nom de plume shall be the Midwich Cuckoo. (I always had a fondness for old science fiction.) I hope this is a fruitful assignment.