Bird Song

I think I get it now.


Well I didn't tell anyone, but a bird flew by.
Saw what I'd done. He set up a nest outside,
and he sang about what I'd become.
He sang so loud, sang so clear.
I was afraid all the neighbours would hear,
So I invited him in, just to reason with him.
I promised I wouldn't do it again.


But he sang louder and louder inside the house,
And now I couldn't get him out.
So I trapped him under a cardboard box,
stood on it to make him stop.
I picked up the bird and above the din I said,
"That's the last song you'll ever sing".
Held him down, broke his neck,
Taught him a lesson he wouldn't forget.


But in my dreams began to creep
that old familiar tweet tweet tweet.


I opened my mouth to scream and shout,
I waved my arms and flapped about.
But I couldn't scream and I couldn't shout,
couldn't scream and I couldn't shout.


I opened my mouth to scream and shout
waved my arms and flapped about
But I couldn't scream I couldn't shout,
The song was coming from my mouth.


From my mouth,
From my mouth,
From my mouth.


From my mouth,
From my mouth,
From my mouth,
From my mouth.


From my mouth.
From my mouth.
From my mouth.
From my mouth.


From my mouth,
From my mouth,
From my mouth,
From my mouth.


Please come back, little birdies. Please come back.

Gone

They're gone. The Bright Ones.

I had been feeling sick all day. I could feel the birds in my body moving around. They made ripples in my stomach. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I took a butcher knife and I cut open my stomach wide and they all flew out. All of them. The sky was soon covered in black feathers.

I sank to my knees and felt the inside of my stomach. I could feel the calm winds of the Bleak Shore through the hole at the bottom. And then it closed. I pulled my bloody hand out of my stomach and wrapped my jacket around it to stop the bleeding.

I feel empty.

Carrier

I've been wandering the streets for the past few days. Just walking down alleyways, avoiding people. I don't have to eat much, not with the Bright Ones inside me. They ached to be let loose, but I decided it was too dangerous. I couldn't risk my unknown enemy seeing them and finding me. Not after what they did to Tern and Kestrel.

And then, today, I found a Carrier. You might better know them as a Grayskin, their skin covered in the fungal form of the Choir, driven mad by the constant battery of noises and voices.

The Choir hears things, though. It knows things. It could know who was after me.

The Carrier was huddled behind a dumpster, her body covered in layers of clothing, her face wrapped in bandages except for her eyes. I could see the skin around her eyes were covered in grey fungus.

Even though I had found a Carrier, it would tell me anything unless I forced it. Finally, carefully, I opened my mouth wide and let out two of the Bright Ones. They launched themselves into the air and grabbed the shoulders of the Carrier.

"What What What What What," she said, the Choir making her voice unnaturally echo. "What Do You Want? Want? Do You Want? What Do? You Want?"

The Bright Ones on her shoulder rubbed their beaks against her head, electricity sparking between them. "Something is killing Nests," I said. "Something killed all the Nests in my group. What did this? Who killed them? Who wars with the Convocation?"

"War War War War?" The Carrier laughed, the laughter echoing strangely off the sides of the alleyway. "There is no war. The birds merely eliminate a failed experiment. Experiment. Failed. Eliminate. They seek to eradicate those who knew. Knew. Eradicate. Who knew."

It couldn't be true. But why would the Choir lie?

I didn't know anything about any experiment. But perhaps Nightjar did. And because of what he did to himself, now we became targets.

I walked away from the Carrier as her laughter echoed in my ears.

Dead

They're dead.

I went out for some air. Tern was still arguing about Nightjar, but we all knew something was wrong. None of us could get to the Bleak Shore. We were cut off. We didn't have any instructions from the Bright Ones - even the ones inside our bodies were silent.

So I went outside to get some fresh air. I walked around a bit, stuck in my own thoughts, still remembering what Nightjar said about the pain. I, too, felt some pain whenever I opened myself, but it seemed that his pain had been worse, much worse.

Then I came back to our safe house and I opened the door and I found them. Tern and Kestrel.

Their hands were tied behind their backs and they had plastic bags shoved over their faces. We still need to breath. They suffocated.

I heard the door behind me creak and I ran out of the house, I ran even as I heard the crack of bullets, even as I heard people running after me. I ran and didn't look back.

I told them. They...didn't take it that well.

Tern still doesn't believe me, I'm afraid. He wants proof.

And Kestrel. Kestrel believed me. But then she asked me something. She asked me: "What now?"

And I don't know. Yesterday, something happened that scared me more than Nightjar's revelation: I tried to open a pathway to the Bleak Shore and nothing happened.

So what now?

Nightjar

I found Nightjar. Blood of the Bright Ones, I found him.

I knew it was foolish of me, but I didn't care. I went back to the old house, I looked at its burned remains. And that where I saw him. He was inside the burned out husk of a house, sitting on the soot-covered floor.

I went inside. "Nightjar? What happened? Where have you been?"

He didn't answer me. He had his eyes closed.

"Nightjar?" I crept closer to him.

Then he spoke: "It took me a while. To get up the courage. I didn't want to do it, but I had to. I had to do it, don't you see?"

"Do what?" I asked. "Are you...are you responsible for the attack?"

"No," he said. "But I suspect they were after me."

"Why?"

Without opening his eyes, he pulled out a syringe from his pocket. "Because of this." I knew what it was. Before he even said it, I knew what it was. "Ink."

"I took it," he said. "It hurt so much. Every time I let them out. I thought the hurt would go away, but it didn't. It always hurt. Do you know how long I have been hurting? You were lucky, you got to stay on the Shore. I was sent back here almost immediately. I've been hurting for years. I've stored up so much hurt I couldn't take it anymore."

"So you, what, want to become a Camper?"

"I don't want to be a Nest," he said. He opened his eyes and I could see the pain in his eyes. "But I knew I couldn't leave. Not without dying. Not without becoming empty. So the Ichor was my only choice. It'll keep me alive."

"But you won't be," I said. "Alive. You'll be part of it. Part of the Camper."

"But I won't hurt, will I?" Nightjar said. He closed his eyes again. "That's my obsession, it seems. My own pain. But soon it won't matter. I'll just go to a place with lots of people and drink more ink until the hurt stops. Until I stop." He smiled. "So go run along, little Cuckoo. Go back and tell everyone. I won't care at all."

So I turned and came back.

I don't know what to tell the others. I don't know what to do.

I just don't fucking know.

Waiting

We've just been waiting these past few weeks. Waiting for Nightjar to return from wherever he went, waiting for orders from the Bleak Shore, waiting for something else to happen, for the other shoe to drop.

None of that's happened yet, by the way. We're all worried about Nightjar, about how they (whoever "they" are) might have found him and killed him. Yes, we can be killed, it's just harder than normal. And with Nightjar missing, Tern's making us all stay inside and is barricading the doors and windows. We've been stuck inside here for two weeks.

But I don't want to wait any longer. I don't care if I'm going to die, I just want for be outside.

I want to see the sky again.