Broken Wing

Mira was a bluebird who loved to fly. She loved to soar high in the sky, feeling the wind in her feathers and the sun on her back. She loved to sing with her friends, making beautiful melodies and harmonies. She loved to explore new places, seeing different landscapes and creatures.

She was happy.

But not for long.

One day, she was flying over a field of flowers, when she heard a loud bang. She looked down and saw a man with a gun, aiming at her. She tried to dodge, but it was too late. The bullet hit her wing, breaking it.

She screamed and fell to the ground.

She was hurt.

She couldn’t fly.

She couldn’t sing.

She couldn’t explore.

She was alone.

She was sad.

She lay on the ground, bleeding and crying, waiting for death to come.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, she felt something warm and gentle lift her up.

She opened her eyes and saw a boy with brown hair and green eyes, holding her in his hands. He looked at her with concern and kindness. He said, “Don’t worry, little bird. I’ll take care of you.”

He took her to his home, where he lived with his mother. He cleaned her wound and bandaged it. He gave her some water and seeds. He made her a nest in a shoebox and put it on his windowsill. He said, “You can stay here until you get better.”

He named her Mira.

He became her friend.

He talked to her every day, telling her stories and jokes. He sang to her every night, lulling her to sleep. He showed her his drawings and paintings, sharing his dreams and hopes. He taught her new words and phrases, helping her learn his language.

He made her happy.

But not for long.

One day, he came home from school with a sad face. He said, “Mira, I have some bad news. We have to move to another city. My mom got a new job there.”

Mira was shocked. She said, “But what about me? Where will I go?”

He said, “You can come with us, of course. You’re my friend.”

Mira said, “But how will I travel? I can’t fly.”

He said, “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way.”

He found a way.

He made a cage out of cardboard and wire. He put some straw and seeds inside. He said, “This is your new home for now. It’s not very comfortable, but it’s safe.”

He put Mira inside the cage and closed the door.

He said, “I’m sorry, Mira. I know you don’t like this. But it’s only for a while. We’ll be there soon.”

He took the cage and put it in the car.

They left the next day.

They drove for hours and hours, passing through towns and villages, fields and forests, hills and mountains.

Mira hated it.

She hated being in the cage.

She hated being in the car.

She hated being away from the sky.

She hated being away from her friends.

She hated being away from everything she knew and loved.

She was unhappy.

But not for long.

One day, they arrived at their new home. It was a small apartment in a big city. It was noisy and crowded. It was dirty and smelly. It was nothing like their old home.

Mira hated it more.

He took the cage out of the car and carried it upstairs. He opened the door of their apartment and went inside. He put the cage on his windowsill and opened the door.

He said, “We’re here, Mira. This is our new home.”

Mira looked around and saw nothing but concrete and glass. She saw no trees or flowers. She saw no birds or animals. She saw no sun or stars.

She saw nothing but gray.

She said nothing but “No.”

He said, “I know you don’t like it here, Mira. But we have to stay here for now. Maybe we’ll find a better place someday.”

He tried to cheer her up by talking to her and singing to her as usual. But she didn’t respond. She just sat in the cage, silent and still.

She stopped eating.

She stopped drinking.

She stopped living.

She died.