Delicate Egg
by Chris Aaron
“Meetr! Get your ass back over here, boy! Your Grandma would skin me alive if she saw I’d let you run off!” Pawpaw yelled at his grandson, Meetr, whose head popped out of the reed grass. He scuttled across the little bridge that went over the ditch in the backyard.
Pawpaw handed him a glass of lemonade and sat down in one of the lawn chairs. Meetr sat in the one next to him and drank some of the deliciously sweet beverage. He gasped for air after finishing half of his lemonade. “Ahhh. That’s good,” Meetr said licking his upper-lip.
Pawpaw eyed him suspiciously. “You got rocks in your head?” Meetr shook his head and laughed. “How many times I got to tell you ya can’t cross the creek without one of us with ya.” Pawpaw looked towards the house to make sure Martha had not seen anything. “I better not catch you wanderin’ past the creek again. You hear?” Meetr nodded.
Pawpaw and Meetr sat in the back yard sipping lemonade. Meetr watched Pawpaw lean forward and sip from his glass so Meetr leaned forward and sipped from his glass. Pawpaw wiped the beads of sweat from his face with his forearm so Meetr did the same. The hardest parts for Meetr to mimic were the long stretches of stillness that Pawpaw could endure.
Pawpaw could sit perfectly still for hours watching the clouds change shape, listening to the insects in the garden begin their song at dusk, and feeling the cool summer breeze brush his skin. It was very hard for Meetr to simply watch, listen, and wait. Sitting still was almost painful for the five year old. He restlessly dangled his legs in the lawn chair and kept glancing up at his grandpa, ensuring he would be ready when Pawpaw moved again.
Pawpaw just sat and stared, waiting and listening. Meetr fought the urge to move by continuing to wiggle and squirm in his seat. Hours passed and Meetr braved them as best he could (even though those hours were really only minutes). It was torture, like some kind of itch he could not scratch.
Just when Meetr was about to give in to the energies of youth; just when he was about to jump up and run around the yard in circles for no other reason than to feel the bliss of movement; and just when he was about to start hollering wildly at the top of his lungs to interrupt the monotony and boredom of peace and calm, a large winged creature broke over the horizon. From its silhouette in the sinking, bloated blood orange of the sun Meetr saw its wings outstretched and motionless. It rode upon the invisible currents of the sky with efficiency and poise. It emulated a regal presence. Thin tendril-like extensions whipped and twisted in the wind of its wake.
Pawpaw leaned forward and Meetr followed. Pawpaw extended his index finger. “Look. Do you see him? It’s a fleurin hawk hunter.”
The fleurin circled around and the sun’s rays bloomed on its lustrous feathers, dulling their bright colors with a slight, uniform hue of vermilion. Its plumage was decorative and ornate, heralding the creature’s coming. There was no trace of a corrupting camouflaged pattern that infected the bird of prey’s pure beauty.
“Yeah. He’s big.” Meetr’s eyes and mouth were wide open.
“Look at everything running from him. You see ‘em?” Pawpaw was pointing at the hills near the backyard. They came to life with a flurry of activity as all the small birds and animals hurried to the safety of their dens and hollows.
Meetr, awestruck, managed to sound out, “Whoa.”
The large bird of prey arched its back. “He found something,” Pawpaw whispered. The fleurin folded its wings and plummeted from the sky, turning into a rainbow-like streak. It looked like it was about to slam into the red prairie of the Argyre Planitia but, at the last moment, it spread its wings the size of a dune car, stretched out its long, curving, razor-sharp talons, and gracefully hovered over a mite hog that ran for its life. The wild boar scurried with a speed that surprised Meetr, kicking up a trail of Martian soil that the wind caught and spun into dust devils. Though the boar had no human face, Meetr could see panic and fear in its visage. The fleurin closed the kill distance without a single jerk or quick movement. Its precise, methodical flight had a way of trivializing the desperate flee of its panic-stricken prey.
When the talons sank into the boar’s thick neck, Meetr saw a large gush of blood. The distance between Meetr and the slaughtering diminished the horror of the kill, but he still winced when the great bird of prey lifted the boar up in the air and saw it convulsing in the throes of death. The mite hog went limp and its four pitiful hooves hung lifeless. The sight of its tiny, uncorked tail made Meetr’s eyes water. Pawpaw looked at Meetr out of the corner of his eye and put his hand on his grandson’s shoulder. Meetr forced his tears back.
The fleurin carried the mite hog off. Pawpaw noted, “He must have a nest somewhere around here. Big as he is, he can’t carry a hog like that very far.” Pawpaw patted Meetr’s hand that rested on the arm of the lawn chair. “Come on. Your grandma should have supper ready.” They stood up and started walking back to the house.
“Pawpaw, is the fleurin the biggest bird on the planet?” Meetr asked.
“It’s the biggest bird on both.”
“And the settlers brought them?”
“The settlers brought its ancestors, but its ancestors were completely different. They were small things that looked like…well, they were basically like sparrows.”
“How did they get so big?”
“Well, you know how the settlers had to make the sky, right? So we could breathe and have animals and plants to eat?” Meetr nodded. “When the settlers were making the sky for us they made sure to change some of the animals they brought because Mars used to be a very hard place to live. The settlers had to change some of the animals and plants so they could survive here.”
“So they changed the little sparrows into that big fleurin?” Meetr asked in astonishment.
“Sort of. They changed the sparrows a little and some of the other animals and plants. But making the sky caused the weather to become really violent and unpredictable. Thunderstorms and tornadoes covered the planet. One of the biggest storms the planet ever had hit one of the settlers’ bunkers. It broke open the pins and cages that held the animals and insects so they escaped.”
“How did the animals live? What did they eat?”
“The wind from the storm also carried the seeds of most of the plants, trees, vines, and grasses we have today from the farms in the bunker all over Mars. And some of the strongest seeds were able to sprout and grow.”
“If there was no sky and no air how did everything breathe?”
“The sky was not completely finished, and the settlers thought all of the animals and plants would die; but they must have made enough air for some to live because they found a way to survive. Since the weather was so violent and unforgiving it must have been hard though. You see, most of the smart settlers thought it would take thousands of years for the planet to change the animals and plants of Earth into living things suited for Mars. Since they thought nature would take so long and they couldn’t risk everything dying, they started changing things themselves, trying to give the plants and animals a fighting chance. But nature surprised them. Before the settlers had finished the sky and could walk outside, life had spread all over the planet. The new species were very aggressive though. They had to be. Mars was a mean place then. That’s why your momma and your grandma don’t like it when you wander off. Things here will hunt you.”
Meetr turned back before going inside. He saw the fleurin disappear over a tree line far off in the distance, past the creek.
If you are buy levitra uk experiencing any of the symptoms noted in this article, it is worthwhile to seek a licensed, experienced medical professional. According to a survey, millions of Britons in the UK experience erectile viagra rx online dysfunction (ED) problems. cialis viagra levitra Even if your teen is a safe driver and does everything right, the lack of driving experience can make it erect . The flexibility of this generic prescription viagra without course is its biggest asset. Meetr stared up at the gnarled obrana. At the top was a large assembly of twigs, grass, and small branches. He searched for a week and finally found the huge bird of prey’s nest. It must have been a thousand years old. The limbs bulged strangely, twisting in every direction. The base of the tree must have been over thirty strides wide through the center. He circled it, trying to determine the easiest path to the top. He looked around the sky to make sure the bird was nowhere in sight. Meetr had a moment of doubt but it was fleeting. He made his decision, ran up to the tree and started climbing.
Meetr was in a hurry. He did not know which would be worse: Pawpaw or the fleurin finding him. He climbed faster. His hands, arms, knees, and legs were getting scraped up. He started bleeding but he did not notice. Halfway up the tree he paused and looked around for the fleurin. He was still in the clear. Upwards he went. When he reached the large nest he could barely contain his excitement. His heart was racing. He hoisted himself over the nest’s side. In the middle of the large nest were three tiny eggs. They looked no bigger than sparrow eggs.
Meetr thought it was strange that such a large bird had such small eggs. With no time to waste Meetr reached out and grabbed one. Then he quickly began to climb back down. He heard a screech in the distance and saw a dark form floating over the trees in the distance. He slipped and fell a few branches down, scraping his back and torso. He was able to grab a branch and regain his footing. Down he went. He reached the bottom and looked up. The dark form was closer. Meetr could see it was a bird but not the large fleurin he was scared of.
Meetr started running back to his grandparents’ house. He darted through the thicket of the forest, ran over the rocky ground of the prairie channel, climbed the hill and slid down it, and just before he made it to the bridge a voice called from behind him. “Goddamn it, boy!” Meetr stopped dead in his tracks and turned. Pawpaw was in his all-terrain buggy speeding towards him.
Pawpaw swerved up. A thick haze of dust trailed him. “Where have you been, Meetr? I thought I’d made myself clear. You had me worried sick!” Pawpaw looked back at the house to make sure Martha had not seen anything. “Hurry up and get in.” Meetr jumped into the buggy and they scooted off.
After Pawpaw drove far enough away from the house and his wife’s all-seeing eyes, he stopped. He took a few deep breaths, then looked Meetr over and noticed all the blood, scrapes, scratches, and cuts. “What happened to you? Are you all right?”
“I’m all right. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Pawpaw. I just started exploring and I…forgot.” Meetr’s head hung low.
When Pawpaw saw his grandson was not hurt he put his hand on the boy’s head. “It’s ok. I know it’s hard to stay put at your age.” Pawpaw noticed Meetr was holding something. “What you got there?”
Meetr picked his head up. He had a smile from ear to ear. He looked down at his precious treasure and slowly opened his hand. In it was the small egg. It had cracked open. Some bloody yolk oozed out of it. A little baby bird lay dead in his hand, its eyes still closed. It looked so delicate. He could see its little head and beak lying against his middle finger. Its wings were still tucked in—they would never carry it on the warm currents of the sky. Its small feet dangled over the side of his palm. Meetr was horrified. He did not want to throw the baby bird into the dust, but the sight of it lying motionless in his own hand turned him to stone. His eyes welled up with tears.
Pawpaw’s eyes opened wide. He could not believe what he was seeing. “Is that the fleurin’s egg?” Streams of tears ran down Meetr’s face.
“I didn’t mean to kill him.” Meetr kept holding the dead baby bird.
“Where is it? Meetr. Where did you get the egg?” Meetr pointed off to where the obrana stood behind the forest thicket. “Jesus H. Christ.” Pawpaw looked back towards the house. There was no way Martha could have heard or seen them, but he could never be too careful with her. She seemed to know everything that happened around the house and was always one step ahead of him.
Meetr was weeping. “I’m sorry! I didn’t want the baby bird to die!” He was almost hyperventilating from crying so hard.
Pawpaw reached out and slapped the dead bird out of his hand. “Get that damn thing out of here.” The egg, yolk, and baby bird landed in the Martian soil with an undignified splat, and a little puff of dust rose.
“I didn’t mean to kill it. It was an accident.”
Pawpaw reached in to his glove box and pulled out a huge tub of hand sanitizer, the one that Martha had bought and insisted he carry with him.
“Give me your hands.” Meetr held them out and kept sobbing. Pawpaw squirted several dollops into Meetr’s hands. “Get all of that crap off your hands. Them things carry all kinds of diseases. Rub ‘em good now.” Meetr could barely rub his hands together because he was crying so hard. Pawpaw put his arm around the boy to console him.
“Now, now, it’s all right. It’s all right. I’m not going to tell your grandma.” Meetr stopped crying and looked up at his grandpa.
“You’re not mad that I killed the baby bird?” Meetr asked, puzzled and sniffling.
Pawpaw looked at the nasty little pile in the dust. “I don’t give two shits about some overgrown turkey buzzard, Meetr. I care about you. That thing could have hurt you. They get real mean when they’re defending their nests and babies. You could have been…” Pawpaw could not finish the thought and he exhaled. He did not know what he would do if his grandson was ever seriously hurt. Pawpaw hugged and kissed the top of his head. “We need to get back. Don’t tell your momma or your grandma about any of this. Will you please listen to me now? Will you do that?”
Meetr nodded his head. They sat in silence while Pawpaw stared at the horizon and Meetr grappled with a new emotion he had never felt before: regret. When they started towards home the speeding buggy hit a bump and Meetr had to hold on to keep from falling out. He caught himself, laughed involuntarily from the close call, and looked up at Pawpaw, who winked at him.
The speeding buggy’s movement was intoxicating. The wind blew through his hair and brushed his skin; it was exhilarating. But his joy was short-lived. Almost immediately the regret crept back in. As they sped away he turned and stared at the baby bird lying in the dust in perfect stillness, dead. He hung his head low, and the buggy ride lost a little bit of its luster.
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About the Author
Chris Aaron graduated from LSU with a BA in philosophy and decided to pursue his MFA in Film Production at Syracuse University. He makes documentaries and experimental narratives in addition to animations of all kinds. He dabbles in new media, video art, and music making too.
“Delicate Egg” © 2013 Chris Aaron
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