The Magpie

It's a short story about a kid going for a bike ride and getting attacked by magpies, it's quite abstract because it's meant to be written in the voice of a very young child.

The park stretches out, seemingly endless, a wide expanse of lush, wet green. A wall of gum trees protects the field from the cruel winds. But in one place the wall is breached by a hard, grey sea with foam caps in straight lines. A night sky blue Odyssey rolls into the parking lot. The sun glints like stars on the metallic surface. It's been here before. As it slides into its familiar spot, two small steeds of shiny pink and grey appear, impaled on its rear. In the front seat sits fat frown. He stares down his hooked beak at his talons, with which he carefully guides the car. His eyes are dark and sunken, looking black against his pale skin. The frowns' black and white visage makes a stark contrast against the bright eyed dolls in the back seat. The two beautiful dolls are idols of youth, their whole lives ahead of them. But though they share youth and a set of elders, the similarities stop there. The girl sits in blue cloth, cautious of the boy, cautious of the door. The boy, smaller but brighter, sits defiantly close to the door. Fearing nothing, he unclips his seat belt almost before the car stops. The doors open, emptying the dim prison within of its captives.

Shoes are tightened, shirts are tucked in, steeds are mounted, helmets donned. But alas, there is naught but one, someone has to miss out. Tis the boy, gallant and chivalrous, who sacrifices the protection.

And they're off! Away they ride. Dirt flies up and obscures them from the watchful eyes that lie beneath the frown. The wind tumbles through the boys unkempt hair, his eyes glow like stars and his legs are bursting with power. He slips into a familiar trance. The pedals go around and around. The wheels go around and around. The bike goes around and around, so he passes by the pillars of the wall again and again, oblivious to the black and white flashes, the beating of wings, the dangerously ruffled feathers. But it can't last forever. After a million hectic laps the boy finally sees his doom approaching.

Talons emerge, silver, scaly and sharp. A beak like a dagger glints in the lowering sunlight. They descend, slashing, ripping, tearing, biting and clawing. A magpie. Again and again they come as pain envelops him.

Finally, a respite as he passes the car park. He could stop, recover, and repair himself. But nay, that would be weakness. Instead, he plunges once more into the fray. The dragons return, and their blood stained weapons are used again. A fresh dose of pain saturates him, every inch tingling with terror. Again and again he circles, attacked over and over. Each lap another attack of beak and claw descends on him. The Magpies repeated fury emblazons an image on his impressionable child’s mind. The dark and sunken eyes staring down a hooked beak, the sharp, bloodied, talons, with which the magpie carefully tears his scalp apart, and the contrasting black and white against the boys colourful orange and red cheeks form a terrible picture, that of a great, flying frown.

Meanwhile at the breach another frown looms. The frown has always been there, always frowning, always standing, and always watching. But despite his constant vigil, he is oblivious to his young sons suffering. He sees weakness and waits for strength, but through the tainted glass of his eyes, the boys’ strength is lost in colours of disappointing failure. Finally, he orders the boy to retreat back to the breach, to the car, to the house.

Returning home to the nurturer the boy finds comfort at last. The nurturer is a mother as a mother should be. She has been there even longer than the frown, the nurturer is his first memory, he feels he is just an extension of her. Unlike the frown, the nurturer always sees and understands his pain. Wounds are attended to. Hugs are shared. Blood is washed away. His tiny body heals. Would he return to fight? Would he once more be a brave and valiant warrior? Would he ever again hope to fulfil his father’s expectations? No, never again. From that day, the fear of the magpie looms over him, frowning forever.