The Birds

I woke to birds. Birds, flying, falling, grasping, lunging. Birds as far away as a state, as close as a length of hair. I can't remember what kind, just that they were there. The birds raised me, brought me up, and I can't remember what kind.

They were there. They were always there. Every day, they were there. Flying, falling, grasping, lunging. No people, no friends, just birds. I was their child, their one, and I can't remember what kind they were.

One day they went away. My family. My birds. One day they weren't there for me. Instead, I woke up to strangers. Strangers weeping, crying with joy. For me. They wept for me. They hugged me, kissed me, and wept. For me.

They said I should remember. "Give it time, give it time." They said I should remember, but I don't. I only remember the birds.

Now the birds are gone. They've left me. They've left me alone, raised by strangers. My family is gone. I can't see them, hear them, feel them. My family has left me alone.

The strangers say they love me. They've been waiting for me. They said I dreamed, and they dreamed I would wake. I don't remember. I can't remember. I only remember the birds.

There are birds here, too. Small, unfamiliar, cawing birds. But they don't listen, they don't hear. They only sing. The song is nice, but is a lonely sound, because I know it will never be for me.

The strangers ask if I remember. There are lots of things I remember, but not them. Never them. I remember the birds. The ones that flew, fell, grasped, and lunged. For me. Just for me.

There's nothing here just for me anymore. The strangers have each other, and a little stranger, which they call daughter. They call me that, too. I'm still not sure what it means.

The birds are fading. Their caws echoing more silently in the deep abyss of time. They screech, but I cannot hear anymore. I cannot listen. Their words mean nothing now.

Snaps from another life invade my mind. The strangers are there, but not the little one. Never the little one. The birds morph into them, and I can hear them again. I almost weep for the joy of it, but they are no longer birds. The birds are gone. I can only tell you what the strangers did. They are not so strange now. When I look at them, they have wings. They are the birds, yet they still are the people I once called strangers. The birds have gone, yet they have returned.

My family asks if I remember. They ask if I need more time. I say no. They have given me all the time I needed. They weep and cry with joy. For me. They hug me, and kiss me. The little one gurgles. I have never met the little one, but I want to. She is family. She is a bird. My birds have returned, and they will never leave me again.

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<Thank you for reading my short story! I would love constructive criticism, so comment what you feel about it, just don't be mean. It's my first short on here and I would feel awful if someone were to tear my story to shreds. >