Author: R.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was Tea.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Rick
• Claire Voiant
• Jeffrey
• Yordie Sands
• Meadhbh Hamrick
• Explorer Dastardly
• Lizzie
• Miata Stardust
• Zackmann
• Munsi
• Serendipidy Haven
• Tom
• Singh
• Tura Brezoianu
• Bonchance and Sevi
• Justin
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Norval Joe
• RedGoddess
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Black.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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RICK

As she led him through the pasture the full moon lit the way.
She selectively plucked the mushrooms of her choice from the cow pies.
Once back home they were cleaned. boiled, and finally strained from the tea.
A packet of Kool-Aid, heavy sugar, and lemon juice.
Herbs, a candle, an incantation.
They finished their glasses in one swallow.
DELICIOUS!
As she refilled their glasses
Reality swam away from him in long steady strokes.
It was then he saw her for what she was …
A Sorceress!
In her eyes he saw the reflection of a man enchanted …
Soul forever lost …

CLAIRE

Every pouring of the special, hot tea was ceremonious. Eddie made elaborate flourishes with the teapot, flipping the porcelain cup in the air, before pouring the Earl Grey with aplomb. He tossed a small, silver spoon into the air, and it landed directly into the middle of the ornate teacup without the hint of a splash. He sliced a fresh lemon, behind his back, without looking, and placed the wedge carefully, edgewise, on the saucer. Eddie was an artist, and people would make it a point to go to the truck stop to see him work, regardless of being teetotalers.

#

The tea, or elixir, she poured was guaranteed that I would attract females. I paid the gypsy a thousand dollars for three of her potions. The last–the tea, would complete the course she insisted I required. Had I known what kind of females I would attract, I would have gone elsewhere for help dans le département de l’amour. As I exited the gypsy’s storefront, I bumped into a slim, attractive, blond. I excused my clumsiness, helping her to pick up her packages. She scowled and told me to fuck off, and screamed “watch where you’re going, you clumsy oaf.”

#

Millie only drank chai tea with soy milk and a smidgin of savia. She was a total aficionado of the stuff, and when she drank it, she held her pinkie high, like the Royal Mum at afternoon tea. She was stunning in her appearance, but her habits were annoying, ostentatious, and I felt embarrassed to sit with her at the coffeehouse. She affected a pseudo British accent, only slightly covering her Brooklyn accent, which made the whole scenario that much more bizarre, but entertaining. I put up with her affectations as her husband and co-owner of a large, liquor chain.

JEFFREY

The Doctor
by Jeffrey Fischer

In the 1970s, I ran a small hospital in a war-torn African country. We had few medical supplies and were chronically short of painkillers, but we always had plenty of tea from a nearby plantation.

When patients came to me in severe pain and mortally wounded, I personally served the tea. Laced with strychnine, it ended their suffering in as humane a way as possible.

Of course, eventually the authorities got wise to my unusually high mortality rate. A general sat in my office, a serious look on his face, impatiently tapping a leg.

“Tea, General?”

YORDIE

Tom & Viv & Me
by Yordie Sands

On a late August afternoon, while dancing around my bedroom, in my undies, I was suddenly swept into a time vortex.

Instantly, I was standing in a parlor filled with old people. A spectacled man mumbled: “I shall sit here, serving tea to friends…”

Ever so politely I said, “I’ll have sweetener in my tea, please.”

The guests turned and glared at me. A man asserted, “Young woman! T.S. Eliot is not serving tea!”

And the woman beside the great poet shouted, “Tom, who is this slut?!”

Untroubled, Tom made a cowardly amends for what Viv had said to me.

EXPLORER

TEA
by Helen R. Starr
Tea is not Coffee, yes; coffee has a smoky flavor, but is not seductive like tea.
Teas preference’s are a matter of choice or blend of leafs white, green, black,
or Oolong. She’s not your pinky toddling English drink anymore. Tea, seduces
the biggest of men with medicinal essences.
Tea a companion in a cup, she’s warm, earthy, and seductive. Just boil a pot of
water, get your favorite cup, and pour after a stressful day. You are never
alone with a cup of tea.
Let the warmth seep through your soul, take a deep breath, hold, and exhale,
Aah.

LIZZIE

Come over for tea, and they did. Cinnamon.

We have all been there, she said and they thought she was slipping into the abyss of an improbable mental decay.

The fireflies have lit up the garden yesterday, she said and they thought “hallucinations”. She was still so young.

Oh, and I had the most refreshing dinner with your cousin Edwin, she continued, and they thought “Edwin is dead”.

When they left, Edwin’s spectral figure glided down the stairs coming from the attic. It’s cold up there, he complained, and she pointed at the teapot and replied “they just wouldn’t leave!”

MIATA

Southern Iced TEA

I was in horrible turmoil! Life on all sides, divorce, work, problems, were chasing me,
I could not breathe. Closing the door, I turned around, and saw you. All confusion flew
away. I breathed in quiet, happiness, and serenity. I sat down to eat with you, took in
your smile, your laughter…..your eyes. You held your hand out for mine and as I
grasped it, my hand slid down the glass of tea, feeling the contrast of cool water
droplets and the warmth of your fingers. My soul was finished with its journey….I’d found
peace.

ZACKMANN

“Look a cafe”
“Weren’t you a regular cola drinker?”
“Not for years now, I had to cut down on sugar and am not giving up cookies so I now drink unsweetened tea usually Tejava”.
“Do they call you Mister “ea now?”
“No but I am calling my next cat Tee Morris”
“why?”
“Something Pip said about working with Tee is like herding cats”
“Well, I am naming my next cat Earl Grey”
“why”
“Because English Breakfast Blend is a really stupid name for a cat.”
“Look my tea leaves are telling me something.
“Really what?”
“I’m out of damn tea.”

MUNSI

Tea

By Christopher Munroe

As you know, I work at a restaurant.

As you may not know, prepping pots of Tea is annoying.

It’s more steps than other drinks, so I have to wait in more lines, and half the time we don’t have clean teapots and I either have to wait or hand-wash one.

Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t order tea. It’s your meal. If you want tea have tea.

However, so you know: Next time somebody orders a pot of tea, I make it, get back and their friend orders a pot of tea, I’m burning the place to the ground.

SERENDIPITY

The tea parties had been fun at first… the Hatter’s endless riddles and jests with the March Hare amused her, although she often felt sorry for the poor Dormouse, not that he ever seemed to mind the antics they got up to.

Eventually, the whole thing started to get on her nerves; the constant swapping of chairs and the never-ending supply of awful – always cold and far too strong – tea.

Alice determined that today would be her last.

Politely declining another cup, she brushed aside the Hatter’s protests, informing him with relish exactly where he could shove his teapot!

SINGH

Tea Cup

“Let me reading your tea-leaves, Darling.

I see backseat love in woods, hand leading to altar. I hear ‘I do’, I see lift off, interstellar journey. Arrival.

He peels off face – strange blue skin, eye-sockets. Pin-hole mouth? Darling, You have married alien!

Ouch! Impregnation gun. Clinic. Thousands behind glass. Meal-tubes. Your nine months, then joy — a blue boy.

Strange blue life in sky condominium. Blue Planet TV hours. Then, Blue Academy, his graduation. Your work is done, Darling.

‘Goodbye, Earth-Mother.’

Return. Wormhole.

Landing lights. Drop-off in woods. Green! You are home! Home?

~
Another cup of green tea, Darling?”

TURA

It began when her parents named her Téa. Of course the kids at school would call her Tea, even some of the teachers. It wouldn’t have been so bad but the family name was Kapp.

Then when her brother was born they called him Kofi. But things really went wrong when she overheard her parents talking about more baby names. Her mother suggested “Chai”, or “Lati”, but her father wanted “Beanie”.

They’re orphans now. Nothing was proved, but I can’t say I’d blame them. They were adopted, but whatever were the social workers thinking? Their new parents are called Mugg.

BONCHANCE and SEVI

Pepe had a plan.

Reading in “Hello Mutt” magazine tea was very popular in America. Brewing a perfect cuppa took time and patience, said the article.
What a perfect back drop to his Mary Jane investment. He could open a tea emporium as a front to his spice operation and make millions!

Opening day came quickly. Pepe spread the word about his special tea blend.
All you had to do to get a bag of stash was say “make it spicy”.

He opened the crate of his special shipment from Chairman Meow only to find it full of meow mix!

The Yin and Yang

Black or creamy
Sweet or savory

Delicate leaves evoke emotions as
The tender plant is harvested
Aromas fill the air
Surrounding you
Rituals in abundance
Showing respect
To humankind
An offering

Displayed through the swirl Of a ladle
Eyes fixated on gentle movements
Of the dance
With a graceful finish
As the steaming pure water
Flows down into fine porcelain
The Yin and the Yang

Raising the vessel of desire
Up to your nose
You breathe in anticipation
Of the musical release of flavours
That will fill your mouth
Awaken the senses
You offer the ritualistic chalice
To your love…

JUSTIN

Adam Jensen sat in his apartment, recuperating from everything he’d been through. He sipped tea, watching the news. Picus TV repeated his broadcast, telling the world what he had decided they needed to hear. The media poured into the minds of the world, their brains steeping in the information. Newscasters added their own flavors to the story, some were soothing and calm, others spicy and gave heated arguments. But would the world listen? Certainly they would believe the TV, as they always did, but would they make rational decisions, and make positive change? Or would humanity stay exactly the same?

CLIFF

Jared heard the zombies scratching at the door and knew they’d soon be through. He had thought that if he made it out of London, he’d be safe in the country but the plague was here waiting. He’d taken refuge in a shop, but they’d found him. When the door splintered, he announced “Have a seat. Tea will be served shortly.” The undead looked confused but each quickly found a seat. Jared gripped the cricket bat and stepped towards his customers, thankful that the English loved both their tea and manners. “One lump or two?” he asked and started serving.

NORVAL JOE

“I thought we’d see more stars, out here.” Borle Phlegmbburn said. “It looks like a cup of tea I once had on Cretus IV. Black with little bits of white stuff floating in it.”
“Those white spots out there aren’t stars. They’re galaxies,” Flurdy Torqespindle replied. “The reason you see so few of them is because we’re most the way to the universal expansion limit.”
“You think we’ll find any fish out here?”
“That’s kind of a stupid question for an inter-galactic ichthyologist.”
“Well, it’s as smart as, ‘How in time and space did you get us clear out here?”

###

We always avoided Gramma when we kids were feeling a little, how would you call it, irregular. Most kid’s moms would give them castor oil, or if they’re lucky prunes.,
Gramma couldn’t wait to dose you with her special wiener dog tea.
I always thought they were saying wiener dog pee. It was yellow and smelled bad enough. Found out it was actually the water of boiled berries from a bush that grows over where gramma’s old wiener dog is buried.
They say on full moons the ghost of that dog still pees on that bush. I believe it, too.

REDGODDESS

Tea by RedGoddess

Lola misses girls’ night out with her best friends. Since they’ve gotten older and juggling jobs and families, they’ve seen each other less. In high school, they used to hang out every day after school over soda and a basket of fries at the local diner. They gossiped about everything and give advice about boys. Life was so simple when together eating their problems away. These days, soda is not gonna cut it after dealing with her nasty boss. At home, her sister knows just what she needs to take her mind off her troubles. She makes a potent pitcher long island iced tea served with box of brownies. They talk for hours, reminiscing over drinks until they both pass out on the living room floor.

PLANET Z

I’ll try to explain this again:

In England, tea is something you serve hot in a teacup.

But down in Texas, when people ask for tea, they’re asking for iced tea.

And in Georgia, they’ll want that tea sweetened.

The seven-eyed mass of tentacles writhed in understanding behind the bar at Sosquorphosh Station.

Wait.

No.

He actually signalled for his Xophobian bouncer to throw me out of his place.

Which really sucks, since this was the only bar in Sosquorphosh with a human-breathable atmosphere.

Um… the Xophobian hasn’t put me down yet.

Oh shit. He’s carrying me to the airlo-

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was Bird.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Claire Voiant
• Rick
• Detlev Artelt
• Tom
• Derry McMahon
• Carmsie Melodie
• Jeffrey
• Munsi
• Kiril
• Zackmann
• Lizzie
• Serendipidy Haven
• Bonchance and Sevi
• Tura Brezoianu
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Tammi Kibler
• RedGoddess
• Norval Joe
• Singh
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Tea.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Cliff’s Cat

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CLAIRE

The last bird to leave was on schedule. We climbed aboard and flew out of the area. The water was rising, and rising fast. The old guy that lived nearby, built a very big, wooden ship, and he loaded his family and pets on it. As we flew over, we waved and gave him a shout with the bullhorn. We could see that the deck of the ship was already covered with animal crap, and his wife was busy cleaning and scrubbing, frantically. It would be a while until the water receded, but Noah was determined to ride it out.

#

The other kids called him a pin head, dweeb, and bird brain. Eddie was different. He kept to himself, and only communicated with a couple of other kids and his teachers. He could not communicate with most people because they couldn’t understand him, and he would launch into diatribes about things so intricate and multi-faceted, they would be puzzled and confused, so they gave up and walked away. Eddie went on to form a social media company that became an instant hit, owing to the use of free subscriptions and total anonymity, guaranteed in writing and backed with a bond.

#

The Church of the Gooey Death and Discount House of Worship had an ornate motto over the portico. Carved into the granite, the words: “May the blue bird of happiness crap in your birthday pie.” The parishioners, for the most part, were a group of acerbic hipsters. Their average age, 25. They were white-collar workers, and made good money. The came together to form the church so they could dodge taxes and have a quiet building where they could burn doobies before Sunday fixie rides and rollerblading. They gave themselves unusual monikers, and outdid each other with their church regalia.

RICK

He sat in the shade watching a bird patiently wait for someone to toss a fry out the window. The company takes thirty minutes for lunch, whether you use it or not. Unfortunately the two burgers, one soda, and most of a large order of fries was gone in about four minutes.

Inspiration struck!

For twenty minutes he tied french fries to a long piece of twine, tossed the fries to where the bird could see them, the bird repeatedly swooped in, grabbed them, and tried to fly away.

Sky Fishing!

Another attraction for the carnival of the easily amused!

DETLEV

BIRD is what my autralian friends say to a nice girl. And BIRD is as well a movie by client Eastwood about „The troubled life and career of the jazz musician, Charlie “Bird” Parker“. We all know the BIRDs in the garden but in Hamburg the BIRD is „New York style bar & kitchen“ Where they believe in serving the finest burgers and steaks possible by using all fresh … – no not BIRDs. The BIRD project aims to develop a fully functional dynamic IP Routing Daemon primarily targeted on Linux.

So BIRDs are all over with many different feathers

TOM

Cloud CocoLand

“Pawlenty” “Nope”

“Jindal” “OH please not again.”

“Ok Jeb” “Have you seen the daughter’s rap sheet?”

In a cigar smoke filled room a small circle of men fell silent. “What the fuck was Christie thinking?”

They checked the Q Board: Under 5% for the Senate, the Congress, the General staff, and the Right Media.

“What about Fortune 500?” All 9%ers.”

“So we might as well run a dancing bear.”

“Funny you should say that.”

We do have someone with a 99% Q, strong showing with women, liked across all ethnic and racial groups. On paper a promising candidate, Anger Bird Red.

###

Teacher’s Pet

When I was in the 3rd grade our teacher was moving to a new city. She sadly wasn’t able to take her pet with. She had a writing contest to see who would be their new caretakers. I wrote about my grandmother’s parakeet. How it would sit on her shoulder when she called. I wrote if I had a parakeet I would let them sit on my shoulder. “Take good care of Frank,” said my teacher handing me the cage. Not ownly did I teach him to sit on my shoulder I taught him how to peck open a Carotid artery.

DERRY

Bird – by Chickory McMahon, Read by Derry McMahon

BIRD!!!! I want that bird, gimme that bird.

It is plump, there’s a lot of meat on that bird.

That bird would be delicious eaten raw, right here, right now.

Or that bird could be best grilled and lightly sauced, served on fine china.

I pace back and forth, watching the bird, waiting for the right position, the right trajectory.

I’ll need just the right angle to grab that bird. Ahh, there we go, I launch, I reach…

I slam into the picture window.

Alas, there will be no bird for me; only a can of processed cat food. Sigh.

CARMSIE

Bird

He arrived one spring, my bird. It was his song I noticed. He wasn’t a cheepy, chirpy bird. His voice was melodic, beautiful, magical. Like an exotic scent it filled the air, sweeping me away to places warm and distant. While his lullaby crooned the sun to sleep I looked for my bird. I had to see him. But, safe in his leafy haven, he hid. He was shy. Then one wind-chilled dusk, daubed with coloured leaves, there was silence. My ears ached desperately with seeking but he’d gone. I still wonder what he looked like, my bird…

JEFFREY

Civil Disobedience
by Jeffrey Fischer

We arranged to protest federal funding for the immensely profitable Sesame Street characters. As the tallest, I dressed as Big Bird. We also had an Oscar, a Bert – or Ernie, as I can’t keep them straight – and those two old opera dudes.

An old hippie wandered by, wearing a tattered Celtics #33 jersey. He said something about Sesame Street being “our street,” so Oscar yelled back, “Get a job, you birdbrain!” The hippie kept walking, flipping us the bird as he left.

After an hour, we went home. A little birdie told us the suits at PBS were parroting to the police the corporate line about trademark infringements and an arrest was imminent. I ditched the costume and walked off, free as… well, you know.

MUNSI

Birds

By Christopher Munroe

I want to make a movie.

Specifically, a Hitchcock movie from 1963.

I want to do a shot-for-shot remake of “The Birds”, set in the modern day, with a cast of contemporary actors, who will be forced to behave as though they were the actors in the original film.

The only difference will be the birds themselves, who will be computer-animated representations based on the popular video game Angry Birds.

The film will be in 3d.

Search your heart, you know this to be true. This is not a dumber idea than half the reboots that came out last year…

KIRIL

This Meeting is Called to Order

I am a bird, a pigeon to be specific, president of the Pigeon Anti-Defamation League, Long Beach Chapter, an organization created to fight for the rights of pigeons to do our thing unmolested, and not made fun of. We demand the same un-fettered access to public spaces that other critters have.

We also take issue with certain businesses who refuse us access, discriminating against Pigeons, and other birds, in their business model.
However, pigeons being pigeons, getting them to focus during a meeting can be difficult, especially if there is food around. Organizing a mass protest march is near impossible!

LIZZIE

When they got to the gas station, Bert had an idea, and ideas do tend to be dangerous, especially coming from Bert.

“Let’s rob this joint.”

At first, the other ones laughed. They were just going for a ride.

Then Ian changed his mind and, in a matter of minutes, all agreed it was brilliant. Rob grabbed a stick from the crates lying about. Dave slid his cap backwards. They were ready. They walked in. They screamed, threatened, took the money. They got famous. Their name was fierce, BIRD.

Oh, they got famous alright… in jail, and it wasn’t pretty.

SERNDIPITY

Much as I love technology, I’m not one to fall for the latest fad or the current trending app… I’m no spring chicken, and unlike the younger generation, who take to such things like a duck to water, I’m a bit of a goose at adapting to change.

Let’s talk turkey: I don’t understand Twitter and tweets, cannot play Angry Birds, and Phoenix Viewer just ruffles my feathers. Much as I’d like to spread my wings, it’s a chicken and egg situation, where my best efforts are a complete albatross.

My learning days are long gone… dead, as a dodo!

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

Mr Cinnamon

Mr. Cinnamon, with his bright yellow coat and sprinkles of brownish red fell off his perch at birth, then nursed back to health by a loving boy.
He was the strongest singer of the flock, with the most beautiful trill that soared through air. As day entered, he would burst into song to greet the day and his loving companion.

The boy’s heart and soul would take flight with the gift of song.

One morning, the boy found him at the bottom of the cage.
He and day break mourned the loss of his song, from a most precious bird.

Goose is cooked!

Pepe had a plan. He needed to buff up and decided to try that fad “bird diet”.
He would be the sexiest mutt in town in just 30 days!
~~~~~
Pablo’s destiny had changed! He happened on a goose that layed golden eggs!
Caging the priceless fowl, he went to pawn the first golden egg.

Pepe came home from the gym. Ma and Pops were madly searching the house.

“The goose, the goose is loose!” Pablo bellowed. “We need to find the goose!”
Pepe stealthily removed the white goose feather from the fur on his chin and joined the “search”

TURA

The urge impels me out onto the air, then up, up to the sky. I circle until it says, “this way!”, then on, on across the rocky desert. Lizards scurry below but I am not hunting them. The destination approaches, and I exult as the prey lights up in my vision, then diving down, down, until–

Thirty miles away a soldier shakily took his bionic helmet off and placed it in his lap. “You got him,” said his supervisor. “First time, right? You’ll get used to it.” He placed a finger to his lips and winked, “but it’s always good.”

CLIFF

We were working in the yard when I noticed an odd pile of feathers near some bushes. When the feathers moved, I realized that it wasn’t a pile. It was a hawk. He had been sitting there calmly watching us string Christmas lights around a tree. I decided to get as close as I could. The bird was staring into our side yard and as I looked around the corner, I saw a cat staring back at the hawk. Which was predator and which prey? I left them to work it out for themselves and I went back to decorating.

TAMMI

Stockholm Syndrome

He croons in my ear, soothing sounds late at night. I cluck my tongue back at him. We understand each other.

Sometimes, he is noisy, and I cover the cage with a blanket and put it in a closet out of sight and mind.

I may have forgotten him there for several days once or twice.

When I remember, I bring the cage out into the light. I change the seed cup, the water dish, and the paper lining.

After he has eaten, he flies out the open door to my shoulder.

He croons. I cluck. He forgives me.

REDGODDESS

Bird by RedGoddess

Monday is the worst working day! Lola is back to the daily grind at the hotel. Holiday festivities and romantic getaways with her lover are replaced by sore feet and demanding guests. She misses waking up to bird songs and sweet air instead of city traffic.

It’s time to reinvent herself, focus on paying down debts and aim her sights on a promotion. Work she can handle like a trained magician. But its not management, unless you are paid appropriately. No matter how hard she works, she knows it won’t protect her from disappointments. But she needs more from life.

NORVAL JOE

Owen was stunned from his landing on the stone floor of the throne room. Cindy sat on the throne shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She spoke but might as well have been a bird chirping for all the noise from the agressive goblins.
The rest of the company took up defensive positions. Elbownor worked at the princess’s bonds while Owen cleared his head. He scrambled to join them on the dais. He turned to regard the snarling goblins who inched hesitantly forward.
The slavering goblins rushed, but with a whoosh, the companions found themselves in the tunnel above.

I was pretty hard to get along with as a child. I never had any friends, and even my imaginary friends would desert me after only a few visits. Eventually I got an imaginary wiener dog. We were like kindred spirits and Hurley remained with me until he died at the ripe old doggie age of 17.
He annoyed my mother when he began bringing presents home. A lizard, a bird, even a bunny, their necks broken and bodies left neatly on the living room floor.
Killing the neighbors rottwieler was too much. After that Hurley had to stay outside.

SINGH

A Bird in the Bush
The road led to green ferns and bushfire-black gumtrees around the bend. Then, pinging like a submarine sonar began, or was it little goat bells about to break cover? Instinct put a rock in the boy’s hand. He threw straight into the heart of the tree. Freakishly, something yellow dropped to earth. Like a fetch-dog, he ran forward, kneeling with intense regret. A bellbird. Dead. His sudden tears could not bring this warm yellow fellow back to life. Powerless, he felt responsible, he felt the end of innocence and the shock of initiation into a new squawking avian life.

Caged
From then, birds flew pell-mell across his fate-path. They led him into the backyard aviary his father had built before deserting he and Mum one day. The boy stared at lovebirds kissing on their perch, while budgerigars and cockateels made friends with his head, and finches were orbiting satellites . Comforted, he crouched on his heels as they cracked seed, gargled water, preened, squabbled and warbled. He imitated their pecking-order behaviour and copied how they tucked themselves into feathery necks at sunset. During school, he preferred crouching down the back. Not surprisingly, this earned him the nickname of ‘Bird’.

Bird Years
Bird grew increasingly quiet in school. It worried his teachers. Neither did he mix with his peers, sitting apart. Instead of cheering for the school team, he stared at ground-zero sparrows, or followed uppity pigeons crash-landing on the telephone wires. Everywhere he went, he met and made friends with starlings, pigeons, magpies or mopokes. He sympathised with caged cocky and sclerotic parrot. He deepened his birds-eye view of things. Closing eye-lids, Bird wheeled with the gulls, soared with the sea-eagles, travelled through long-distance bird-vision to the other side of the cockatoo continent and beyond.

Mother Bird
She was deeply concerned about his low scores at school, his withdrawn manner with everyone and herself. She thought this was due to the desertion of her husband. She knew nothing about the death of the bellbird and his totemic bird world. She had not interfered, thinking that he was not out on the streets while out-back in the aviary. She even let him bring Braggers his favourite budgie into the house on his head or shoulder. But some change was needed, so she sent him to her parents for the holidays on the south-west coast near Perth, Western Australia.

The Colony
His grandparents were strangers he met for the first time. Pop had claw-fingers from POW years in German coal mines and ate honey, while Nanna had a clandestine relationship with the sherry cupboard. Bird saw, but was unmoved. The big reward of the trip was joining the returnee colony of magpies in the backyard. For years, Nanna had fed them meat-scraps They now numbered to 157. Remembering extinct Moa birds in New Zealand, he made his own feathered cloak and sat down warbling in bird bliss. Pop thought he was autistic, while Nanna was a bit bird-mad herself.

Birds and Girls
Puberty arrived. He grew into a wiry adolescent, but had little ambition to go on dates to the movies. Once, for a dare, brash Brenda from No 7 sat with him on the curb under the maple. The neighbourhood hid and watched. Her love-bird lips put salty wetness on his cheek as she took his hand to her breast, but he merely replied with coos and clicks, unstirred by her willing passion. Not one to give up, she said: “You are a real weirdo, Bird.”
But she secretly liked his shyness and was still willing to go all the way.

Workshift
Bird left school and got a job at the cannery. It was bean season. Somehow the metal tins spinning down wire runners worked hypnotically on him and he turned his head sideways with birdlike puzzlement. He’d always been sensitive to sharp ringing, but had locked away the grail of all sounds — the bellbird’s call. One day he would have to answer to it.
Then, his mobile rang.
It was Brenda: “I am picking you up after your shift.”
Somehow, they had become close. She’d offload her troubles and every latest sexual adventure, her ups and down. He would listen without judgement.

The Tattooist
One-day, passing through the arcade, he heard a high-pitched whining coming from a shop. He went in. A tattooist was at work with his electric pencil drawing a dragon around a man’s kneecap. With sudden insight he knew what he had to do. When the dragon man was gone, Bird pointed to the picture in the catalogue of a tall feather with bits of fibre disintegrating as a tiny spiral of inky-black ravens. He pointed to his shoulder. ‘Take off your shirt.’’ Said the tattooist. He stencilled on the design and soon Bird had his first totemic tattoo.

The Transmogrification
He went weekends for over a year. Brenda, helped plan his full body avian transformation. Starting below, the tattooist drew ostrich claws and feathered thighs. His front torso gradually became swirls and spirals of finches, swallows, wagtails, doves, honey-eaters, owls and blue falcons. He had them interwoven around a plum-blossom branch, while on the centre of his back, the electric gun grew a large tree. At its core was the yellow bellbird half-hidden, with a galaxy of perching fowls around it. The sound of the tattoo gun was the closest he and Brenda got to a sexual thrill.

Bird Mates
“This one looks really lovely,” Brenda said lying naked on the bed next to him. She was simply more relaxed with a man without her clothes. It hardly mattered to Bird, but he had learned to snuggle and appreciate human warmth. Still, he barely talked. It didn’t mattered to Brenda. She nattered on enough for both of them. As a sign of her affection, she also wore a redbird tattoo on her back shoulder. She ran her finger lightly over the raw surface of his massive feather-shoulders design, completed an hour ago.
“Wow! With wings like these you could actually fly.”

The Call
The tattoo-work done, the inner pinging began. It led he and Brenda to lookouts and tall buildings. The call of the bellbird told him to find the highest pylon of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, take off clothes and offer his bird-body to the wind.
“Bird!” she shouted. But she grabbed too late.
Like Icarus falling he entered the water clean as a blade between a ferry and a liner. His splash was insignificant compared to the churning of the big boats.
So ended the odd brief life of the boy who would be bird, the world none the wiser.

PLANET Z

It feels like I grew up watching Larry Bird and Michael Jordan, but those guys played in my teens and twenties.

Still, I cheered for the Dream Team and the ruthless way by which they defeated their opponents.

And then there was the Nothing But Net series of commercials for McDonalds, where the two superstars challenged each other to increasingly difficult and absurd shots for a Big Mac and fries.

By the time one won, the burger and fries were not just cold, but likely a health hazard.

As if the greasy fast-food wasn’t a health hazard to begin with.