UNDER WING . Wounded

[Whisper]

it starts with an injury, small - infinitesimal in comparison to the shrieks in the sky - proclaiming this land as claimed. this place is not him - but never has the animal had a place to claim beside the branch of a forgotten willow tree, a shade under the green leaves that crumble and fall away to the ground into nothing - as the summer warmth turn into cold brazen winters. There is no flying south for him, clutching into a branch and launching himself higher does not make the fall any less painful - the reminder that his days are numbered: his wings clipped

Captivity, cruelty, madness and insanity; wrapped into one pitiful, lonely soul.

they were called to it, in the desert - pale blue eyes flicker; a memory. The memory is stained red, the color of his own corpse bleeding slowly-sluggishly into the sands tinge his vision- blood, bleeding down black paws- blood, it's in the eyes. Innocent eyes, until you get a closer look. blood-

they were stained with blood

memory and reality bleed together, among the sands the crash is pitiful. Bloodstained feathers make a vivid color that drawls the buzzard to clear attention- seaguls- flap- fly away in mockery of them- of the hungry lost bleeding thing, without name. Of sentience given life through suffering, pain, through being eaten wholly and spat back out - changed. Different.

they wanted to die.

but death was painful - living was painful. There was no peace in either; they have learned. They wanted food, wanted freedom; but even free they have nothing, they lack purpose, and boredom is worse than slavery. Worse than death.

There are a great many things worse than death.

there is so much more; so many ways to regret - being free again.

the buzzard, lets out a low weak caw - a dying rasp as they struggle in the sands. Large wings shadowing across the sands of the beach under them - sand- sand. Beedy red eyes staring out into the world; scared, wounded - wings clipped and bleeding at the edges; hurt

hurt; please - help