For a writing competition, I wrote a short story (emphasis on short). The preset subject was Delibirds, and so with a crack of my knuckles and a little inspiration I set down to work. Comments are greatly appreciated.
Rating: PG to PG-13, depending on how you see it. Nothing profane, but some parts might require deeper thought. Be sure to read it slowly.
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“Cecil! Cecil! Cecil, can you hear me?” The raucous squawks of the bird sounded over the snow-covered and wind-lashed tundra. “The ceremony is about to start! Where are you, Cecil! You can’t miss this!” A lone bird, robed in red feathers and dragging a snow-encrusted sack, waddled back and forth. Her woeful eyes scanned the desolate plain, searching but finding none. Her calls were quickly swallowed by the howling wind.
Far away from the lone crier, miles and miles across the frozen wasteland to the place where it met with the sea, another Delibird sat on a swaying Iceberg that constantly bobbed and dipped into the threatening deep below. The wind was silent but the sea was ever unforgiving, its endless expanses of water disturbed by everything, be it a slight breeze or the distant gravity of the moon. The long feathers adorning the head of this bird had once been beautiful but were now sheathed in water turned to ice. This was Cecil, the poor, unfortunate subject of the other’s calls. He daren’t cry, for his tears would turn to ice and seal his eyes shut.
The iceberg swayed, and desperately he scrabbled to a higher point so as to avoid the icy depths of the water. He shouldn’t be here. If only he’d listened to what the elders had said. If only he’d paid keen attention to everything around him, things wouldn’t have gone like this. But now here he was, alone and hopelessly stranded at sea, missing the Great Festival of the Coming Dawn. “Day” was really all the Delibird lived for, the time when the ice fractured and light spilled into their ice-locked home. It was a time of feasting, a time of celebration. The Great Festival was held once each year to herald it and to cast the sacred enchantment that would bring the fish to the land and thank their Goddess of Winter, the great Articuno, for being so forgiving this year. But no, he had to run off, searching for his bag. How insignificant it seemed now.
Come to me, children, and hear this tale. The words of the elder still echoed in his head. The great Articuno created us as messengers of happiness, harbingers of joy. We were gifted with great resistance to the elements and a massive land to call our own, granted that we take care of it. She gave us the object that completes us, that makes us who we are. The elder had lifted high his bag, a sack of a dark grey that had once been decorated with feathers and seashells but had turned musty and tattered over time. And yet, when he had opened the bag, out came a glittering image of a present, wrapped neatly and garnished with a bow. He clapped his stubby wings together and the present shone brightly and then burst, showering the Delibirds with a soothing light. The gifts can cure the sick and heal the injured as well as guard us from whosoever might challenge the Delibird in flight.
The chicks had been startled by that statement. Who would do such a thing? inquired a curious youth. The elder sighed and shook his head sadly. A great many, child, but that is why their power is so potent. Another chick, painfully blunt in his statements, pointed out, But we can’t fly! Even your wings can’t lift you an inch off the ground! At this statement, the adults listening glared at the youth, who shrank back quickly. But the elder just looked tired and old. No creature can be perfect, my child. Alas, the dark god of fractured skies, Zapdos, cursed the Tribe of Ice so that our wings might never feel the caress of a breeze. Yet every year, we still use our gifts to bring the light and welcome the refreshing day to our homeland. That is why, child, we must always keep our bags safe. If they were lost, mayhap even the Great Goddess could not summon the day.
And yet here Cecil was, stranded on an iceberg in the middle of an unforgiving sea. His heart ached at the thought of his mother and fellow chicks. They must be wondering where I am, he thought. Or perhaps they’ve forgotten me, and I’m to die on this iceberg. He shuddered, ruffling his feathers from head to toe and shedding some accumulated snow. How could he have lost it? His bag- he was supposed to never let it leave his side. And yet here he had, leaving it on the ice while he was scuffling about the water’s edge, looking for fish. A fierce wind had picked up, and when he turned around, it was gone. Just vanished. A wandering Swinub might have taken it, or perhaps the wind blew it far away. Either way, he had panicked. He took off, scouring the coast up and down, searching for any sign of it.
He had just about given up. How could he return to the Tribe now? A Delibird without his bag was incomplete. A half-person. Useless in their eyes. But what could he do? Where would he go? As he stood about wondering, a massive bang pierced his eardrums. The sheet of ice he had been standing on gave way, and in a life-threatening scramble for his life, Cecil found himself thrown to and fro, simply trying to hang on to the iceberg that was now rolling out to sea. After a chaotic struggle with sea and ice, he found himself miles away from the shore and helpless.
He was to die like this, he was sure now. Trying to swim would mean sure death. The ocean and Delibirds were never very close, they just lived a wary distance from each other. Delibirds fished by blasting the water with their giftboxes, sending the fish flying onto the ice. The ocean rarely touched the birds, except for now. It all made sense, he supposed. Delibirds couldn’t swim. The ocean didn’t have magical sacks. But now, traversing miles of water was impossible for him. Again and again he cursed the god of fractured skies for taking away their wings and the day, forcing them to life a life of solitude and isolation. The lapping of the waves and the distant howling of the wind were his only companions in his ice-locked trip to his death.
The expansive sky overhead shifted at clouds rolled around, exposing stars in gaps between storm fronts. Streaking across one of those gaps was a shooting star, bright as the coming day. Cecil gazed up longingly, praying that he would at least live to see the light of the next day. As he looked on, icy tears stinging his eyes, a cold wind picked up. It was an odd wind, a wind with purpose. It came in billows, as if wafted from the wings of some great creature in flight. Cecil spun around.
The sight before him was one that no Delibird, or possibly no creature for that matter had ever seen before. Flying overhead was a bird of no ordinary size, with massive wings and a luxurious tail that stretched on, billowing and sparkling with iridescent colors. The air around it fractured, water freezing and becoming ice crystals as the creature continued along its stately path. Everything about the bird was miraculous, heaven sent. It turned its head to Cecil, and its eyes made him start and almost fall off the iceberg.
For the eyes were not the cold color of an icy storm, but radiant and hot like the cherished day. They were so bright, so illuminative that Cecil slipped, almost falling. His foot caught the iceberg, allowing him to further gaze at the splendid beauty that was the Ice Goddess Articuno. She nodded once, ever so slowly, before vanishing into a flurry of snow that blew across the iceberg. Cecil felt himself thrown from the ice prison, but it wasn’t into a watery death. For he ascended on the wind, following the snow flurries as his heart screamed for him to do. He rose high above the clouds, following the light as his heart pleaded him to do.
He flew into day.
Ooh, wonderful! ^^ I love the description and the idea of the ceremony, the bags, and Articuno and Zapdos. Poor Delibird isn't loved enough, that makes this story incredibly original. =D Nice job!