Crest of Gold (Pt. 3)
November 8th 2006 09:34
And then he found himself in darkness, rudely snatched away from his adoring reflection, and his screeching and thrashing did nothing to throw off the bag and darkness around him.
But when the excited man got Danny home and examined the frightened bird in it’s new confines he found he had apparently been the subject of a hoax… it was just an average run-of-the-mill, common, dirty cockatoo. The crest was false and the feathers had been forced into it’s scalp. The man did not know who had done such a thing, or why, but he suddenly felt very foolish and humiliated and found his dashed hopes giving way to anger. And this man (not surprisingly) was an uncouth man, prone to violence, unafraid of the law, and certainly not above taking his anger out on animals. He held Danny down and ripped the offending feathers from the bird’s head. Danny screamed and kicked at the man, scratching him with his claws and sinking his beak into the man’s hand, breaking free and flying from the shouting man’s clutches. Danny quickly found an open window and pushed his way through a tear in the screen, making for the bush again.
Danny was woeful once again. His scarred and barren scalp had bled profusely before clotting and his feathers were now stained from his head to his wings with dried blood. Danny fought the desire to pluck his chest feathers out, and restricted his fit of stress to incessant and uncontrollable head-bobbing. He wandered alone for days, weeks, months even, and hesitantly peeked at his reflection one day to see how ugly he had become. It was terrifying to him, and he lost all vestiges of self-confidence, becoming a hermit bird while he waited in some kind of vain flicker of hope that his wounds would one day heal adequately.
But when the excited man got Danny home and examined the frightened bird in it’s new confines he found he had apparently been the subject of a hoax… it was just an average run-of-the-mill, common, dirty cockatoo. The crest was false and the feathers had been forced into it’s scalp. The man did not know who had done such a thing, or why, but he suddenly felt very foolish and humiliated and found his dashed hopes giving way to anger. And this man (not surprisingly) was an uncouth man, prone to violence, unafraid of the law, and certainly not above taking his anger out on animals. He held Danny down and ripped the offending feathers from the bird’s head. Danny screamed and kicked at the man, scratching him with his claws and sinking his beak into the man’s hand, breaking free and flying from the shouting man’s clutches. Danny quickly found an open window and pushed his way through a tear in the screen, making for the bush again.
Danny was woeful once again. His scarred and barren scalp had bled profusely before clotting and his feathers were now stained from his head to his wings with dried blood. Danny fought the desire to pluck his chest feathers out, and restricted his fit of stress to incessant and uncontrollable head-bobbing. He wandered alone for days, weeks, months even, and hesitantly peeked at his reflection one day to see how ugly he had become. It was terrifying to him, and he lost all vestiges of self-confidence, becoming a hermit bird while he waited in some kind of vain flicker of hope that his wounds would one day heal adequately.
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