Climate Change Short Story: In The House Of The Birds: grades 4-12

In The House Of The Birds by Steven Faivus, 2022

I was walking to school. I was late and I'm still trying to figure it out what happened.

Looking back, it started when a chattering crow flew down. I stepped forward, but its voice and gestures escalated. I stopped to see what it wanted. 

That I stopped seemed to calm her down – item one accomplished. But she wasn't done. Feathers fluffing blue-gray in the sun, it clicked and clacked, walking towards me with its head ticking side-to-side. I've always been pretty good at talking to animals.

"What is it?" I asked.

The crow hopped just in front of my shoe. It cast a straight on look to my eye then pecked and grabbed the brown plastic cap at the end of my shoelace.

I wasn't scared. I bent down and looked at her closely. 

"What's taking so long?,” she croaked.

I lowered my head. I didn't have an excuse.

"Follow me," she said plainly.

She hopped towards a no exit side street. After one glance towards school I followed. The crow took to wing and slowly flew down the short street, her wing finger feathers spread far apart off the end of the wing. I had to hurry to keep up. She stopped at the end. 

As soon as I scurried up, she darted left off the street onto a country trail I never knew was there. Within moments all signs of humans were gone. She flew and hopped while I stumbled to keep up. At first I noticed the absence of the city sounds – cars, leaf blowers, walk signs, electricity humming through the cords above. Suddenly I noticed the silence, and the cracking of my feet over dry leaves.

Then, bursting through the silence, layers of bird songs and calls. And insect drones. I didn't remember a forest near school, and the pull of the crow was wearing off. I thought about laying down for a nap.

The bird sounds were beautiful. Layered physically – with birdsongs, junco, jays, little chickadees, coming from treetops, hopping along nearby branches, twittering along the dry grasses, flying through the trees and soaring high above – and layered musically, with hawks high screech coming from up with the sparse white clouds, jay’s raspy caw in the trees, chickadee’s sparkly high cheeps hopping in the grasses. 

As I was noticing and relaxing into the symphony, the crow interrupted with its loud raspy caw-caw-caw. I looked its way as it hopped into a small opening in a brambly thicket. A few white feathers, like you might see blown against a log on the beach, floating around the hole.

Curious, and still following the crow, I knelt down and crawled through the opening. Thick little dark green waxy leaves and their hard fingery gray stems scrap against me as I push forward. 

After several feet pushing through the shrinking tunnel and several scrapes, I popped out into a large open space surrounded, including completely overhung above, by thick trees. 

I opened my eyes wide to adjust to the dim light. Twinkling thin columns of sunlight broke through here and there, but not enough to illuminate the space. Then, as before, as if someone turned up the volume knob, I suddenly noticed the bird sounds. The trees were not still, but crammed full with roosting birds. Squinting, I started to make out birds of all sizes and shapes, cooing, cawing, tweeting, singing. I smiled at first, but it quickly became too loud and chaotic.  

Pushing my upper body down into my bent knees like a little ball, defending against the sound, I must have conducted quiet with my body language.  

They went from triple forte to piano, quiet with a few gentle hoots. I slowly uncurled and stood looking up into the trees. What just happened? What is this place? Where’s the crow?

I made out more detail as my eyes adjusted. Squinting, I saw the crow had hopped up to a knobby indentation in the center of the foliage. She was perched quietly next to an upright big old ivory white crane with slate blue cheeks. It wasn't my presence that quieted the chatter - the stork rose her head for attention. 

“Ah-hem,” she started. "Very few humans can hear us speak." A small bird high above to the left gave a piercing high blast. The leader crane continued. "With gifts comes responsibilities." I squinted. "Why have you taken so long? We wait and wait, you almost start over and over and over again. It becomes frustrating and maddening.” 

"I don't have an excuse!" I called. "I'll get started now! Finally! I promise!” 

The calls and songs and hoots and caws started up again, not all loud together like before, but in undulating, bobbling waves. Then the screeches got too loud – at least for me – again. I covered my eyes. The old crane again quieted the crowd.  

"We have heard that before," the old crane continued. 

"Just give me one more chance," I quietly pleaded.

"We have also heard that. Several times.”

The squawks settled to a peep. An odd silence. What would I say next? A long pause. 

I looked up but could not see the ceiling. As my eyes adjusted, I saw small white feathers spinning and floating up high in the dim, grainy streaked light.

"We have decided to give you over to the cats," said the stork. "Let them decide what to do with you."

"Birds and cats don't mix," I thought. Clearly, this was not an every day event, so I guessed that the normal rules may not apply.  

Like in a dream, this made some kind of intuitive sense. My impulse was to ask questions but I checked myself and kept quiet.

"You realize, of course, that your mess spoils it for all of us,” the crane continued. A flash of a dream from the night before. A reoccurring theme in dreams for as far back as I remember. An ambassador from the hidden shared dimension contacts me – or I stumble into another dimension – to complain that our pollution was seeping into their world and throwing their cycles out of balance. It  struck me that this could be one of those dreams.

"Our hopes are on each of your shoulders. We appreciate the urgent action that each of you takes.”

I bowed my head. I knew it was true. There was no urgent thought nor action. 

There was a rustling in the canopy and out popped the cat. Her orange and white stripes glowed in the striped light. Often she was warm and friendly – even playful – but this was not the mood today. 

"You ran out of chances with the birds,” he began, “so they sent you to us to decide what to do with you." He pushed out a claw and moved it up to his face as if to sniff it. "It is quite rare."

"What is?" I asked looking at the cat’s green eyes.

"The birds failed to place you."

I looked down.

Birds cooed and cawed and sang all around us. They quieted when he spoke. 

"The birds are very wise and generous, unlike myself. We cats generally enjoy inflicting pain and tend to play with our prey. Now the fact that they passed you to us is not good news.” 

The mood soured. I wanted to leave. I didn't see an exit. I forgot how I got there. I remembered I was on my way to school. Was I getting late? How late was I? I had to get going. 

"Oh," the cat came down and got close to me, examining my face and body, "what have we here? What seems to be the problem?"

His curvy spots of orange and white, clean lines, soft free texture, looked not cute and friendly but menacing in the dim. 

He was a big cat, over 20 pounds, and he pushed out strong sharp claws, pushing a yellow claw against my cheek.

"So what seems to be the problem? What's the hold up?"

I looked down again, pouting. 

"Excuse me, my potential friend. I couldn't hear you. Please speak up."

"I have no excuse," I horsely whispered.

"I'm sorry, but at this point that answer will no longer do.” 

 I looked up from my deep floor gaze. I could see violence fly across his eyes and bristle his whiskers. What's he going to, slit my throat?

"Well, I suppose we will give you one more chance. One more little chunk of time my friend, you understand? But if you don't act decisively soon, I mean very soon, then we will find you and finish this. You understand? We don't want trouble, but you are bringing it to us. Now go. You don't want to be late for school."

The squawks and hoots came on full force again, blasting excitedly the end of our meeting. The walls of foliage all around shook as birds shook their wings and bodies. Feathers of all sizes and colors flew and spun spiraling down. Heavy purple and turquoise sparkles, all shades of brown, tan, maroon, greens, blue-greens, mauve, beige - tiny feathers, large rectangular feathers… 

The crow showed up, hopping onto my shoulder and croaking loudly into my ear. I was glad to see him.

"Let's go," he croaked. 

I glanced in the direction I supposed that school was in. "While we still can," she added, hopping onto the smooth compact earth in front of me.

She took off fast in the dim spotty light and I jump to follow. Quickly we were in the passage, back out into the bright light, the twinkly sparkly day. A large sleek black and white cat paced around the entrance. It stared seriously into my eyes, not backing down nor looking for pets.

I went to pet her anyway. She backed up to avoid my contact and swung a clawed paw, cutting a medium cut into the side edge of my palm.

"Don't forget," she growled. "We need action. Now."

"I'll see what I can do."

"And I'll see you soon.” 

The cat must have leapt off because suddenly it was gone. I heard the bell. Damn! I'm late! 

I rushed back, retracing steps. It seemed so much shorter going back. Down the short street, back down a few blocks to the brick front of the school.

"What were they saying I had to finally do?" I thought

"Stop playing." A clear voice said, my own voice, talking to myself like intuition. "You know exactly what they were talking about. Now get to it."

"Soon," I answered back in my head.

"I'll see you soon," the voice of the cat said in my head.

THE END