The Cuckoo Bird

𝔸 𝕄𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕪

"You can't catch me Paul!"

"Oh really? I'm gaining up on you!"

A young girl and boy playfully shouted as they ran up a hill where a colossal oak tree stood. Big fluffy clouds rolled by above.

Paul was hot on her tail, pouncing towards her and causing her to fall over.

"Ouch..." she grunted, her knee getting slightly scraped.

"Are you ok? I didn't mean to hurt you" Paul quickly apologized, kneeling next to her.

"Yeah I'm ok, I think" the girl replied.

Paul stared at her, smiling. He had a little crush for a while, although he did not want to admit it.

"...Why are you staring?"

"...Oh, sorry. Must have zoned out" Paul quickly told her.

"Primrose! Supper!" The girl's mother called out in the distance.

"Aww, do you really have to go already?" Paul whined as Primrose stood back up, dusting her dress.

"It is getting late. Its time for supper. Aren't you going to eat with your family?"

In Paul's mind he pictured his drunk dad sitting on their porch all night long, not caring if his son ate or not.

"...We...really don't eat together or anything of the sorts"

Primrose tilted her head with slight confusion.

"Sounds sad...we can play again tomorrow. I have to go otherwise they'll spank me for being late"

As Primrose began descending the hill, Paul couldn't help but call out to her, wanting to let her know how he truly felt.

"Posy wait!"

She stopped and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Yes?"

Paul stayed quiet for what seemed like forever.

"...Nevermind...I'll see you tomorrow"

Primrose let out a sweet smile.

"See you tomorrow Paul"

Paul walked home with his hands buried in his pockets, dreading to see his father. If it were up to Paul, he'd live by himself. Heaven knows he was better off that way.

As usual there he was with a bottle of whiskey in his hand rocking back and forth on his wooden rocking chair, his shotgun next to him.

"H-hey dad" Paul greeted fearfully.

"The hell have you been?"

"Out playing with a friend..."

"Playing...that's all you do. At your age I was helping my father out in the fields, killing chickens and all that fun stuff" his dad scoffed.

"What's for dinner?" Paul asked

His dad stared into the horizon, gripping onto his almost empty bottle of whiskey.

In a matter of seconds he swiftly threw it next to his terrified son, making him gasp while the bottle broke into a thousand pieces.

"Fucking wuss...there's a can of baked beans in the fridge. You can eat that if you're so hungry"

Alone in the dilapidated kitchen Paul scooped the beans out of the can with a spoon, tears silently falling off of his cheeks onto the wooden table.

He knew one day this would all be over, but that day seemed too far out of reach.