The Flight of The Sparrow

A Story by Jewel Cameron

A story about imprisonment, forgiveness of one's self, and giving in. A story about the thoughts that run through a prisoner's mind just before the end.

The wind blows through the trees of forest yonder, stirring sparrow's from their roost. They fly high above the ground, and they never once stop to pity the creatures confined to land. They stretch their wings with joy, catching the wind, soaring higher and higher into the still night. The stars, they twinkle merrily as they watch the sparrows fly, inviting them higher above the ever floating clouds. When well past midnight the sparrows at last return to earth, they tuck head under wing and rest until the sun rises in the east, only to spread their wings again come morn.

How often, I wonder, does a poor farmer's son wish he was a sparrow instead of a boy? How often does a young maiden wish to fly above the clouds? Alas, a tired man knows in his heart what it is to be a sparrow, and he envy's the young and their ability to fly. I too, wish I was a sparrow. Often, however, I feel much like a bird with broken wing. How can one fly when forever chained to the earth?

I turn to gaze out the window of my prison, forever doomed to look upon the same long dead grass, the same shriveled tree. My vision of this scene, however, is marred by rusty bars that span the uneven opening. Now, I turn instead to gaze at the marks long ago scratched on the stained wall of my cell. They once marked days. Then weeks. Then years. I long since have ceased my futile counting. The rough surface of the stone floor has made my bare feet and hands rough, my skin permanently bruised and scarred where my manacles grip. There is little hope for someone such as my self. I have long ago been forgotten in this dungeon, imprisoned for the crime of loving another. I have grown thin and pale, no one from my past life would recognize this gaunt face of mine.

My head turns slowly at a soft sound at the window, sure that I had imagined it. My eyes take a minute to focus, eyes blurry with sickness. I see, sitting between the bars, a sparrow. I smile a cracked smile at my unlikely visitor. Is it just my imagination, or does he smile back? I can see myself in my minds eye a sparrow, flying amongst the clouds with no cares in the world, utterly and entirely free. My lids slide shut, my body is to tired, to weak. For a moment, my mind rebels. I am not ready. But what is left for me in this world? Those I love think me dead.

Once again I'm a sparrow. I can feel my delicate wings catch the wind, my light feathers ruffled by the breeze. The sky, it is so beautiful, so wide. I long to loose myself in such a sky. The clouds, I imagine nothing compares to their grace. The majesty of the regal white palaces of the night. The stars, begging me to join them in the heavens above.

I am a sparrow, finally free to fly.

Far away, I hear a last shaky breath fade.