Gaining Freedom

The following story was inspired by Michael's "Papa Can You Hear Me/Just A Piece Of Sky" on the "Music in the Night" album. The story is told from Michael's point of view... Except in this story, Michael is a raven.

The rains marked the begining of a new season and the end of summer. There was little I could do but listen to the whispering voices of my former companions as they flew by. This cage and what I saw from it was all that remained of a once glorious world that I knew.

My name is Michael. As ravens go, I was a sad specimen. For the last year- and-a-half, I had been locked inside this cage, which hung over a large valley benethe the shadows of a castle. Inside the castle, my keepers lived.

Neglect was the language of my keepers. Although they had not cut my feathers so to prevent me from flying, I could not have flown if I was freed. I had been starved on a mere cup of seeds which they brought out every other week or so. Why they kept me is still a mystery, and will always remain so.

I dreaded the coming of fall. Even now the rains were cold and the breeze carried the scent of faraway snow. My very life should have been threatened if not for the roof my cage hung benethe... Still, the wind freezes and carries the snow to places it would not fall otherwise. Only when the wind blew from the west was I safe in the lee of the castle.

And so, one week later as summer dissapeared completely and the cold began to stay a constant and irritating companion, my third year in this cage began.

It was winter when the torture really started. Long nights were made longer by the silence of falling snow and the absence of crickets and locusts, who's chirping would lull me to sleep during those warm summer months. Gray days were made grayer by the ice and snow that covered the branches of the overhanging trees... It seemed that all were alike, so that I could never quite seem to focus my eyes on a single branch. When the sun did shine, it's gaze was a cold one.

In winter, unlike the other seasons, the valley inspired fear in me. In the winter, I was trapped. The snow built walls outside the bars of my cage. To the west was the looming and shadowy castle inside which those who tortured me lived in comfort. To the east, the valley like a huge dead catterpillar lying across the countryside, and the leafless trees were ants that crawled all over it's body and devoured it even while mourning it's death. To the north and south, mountians. Real mountians. Not small rolling hills with ever-greens climbing to the top and clearings where rivers ran. These were huge mountians of rock and ice, angry and jagged in appearance that resembled a sleeping leper.

Then there was the ever-present bars. Then there was the swinging perch, the yellowed newspaper, the tiny rusted bell that hung from the roof of my cage. Then there was the empty food bowl and the water dish that collected rain and snow.

And so it was that winter, as I stared out over the dead valley, that I decided to escape. Birds are meant to soar with the wind and drink the sweetness of the breeze, not to fear its rough hands through transparent walls.

I must be free, for these eyes were meant for better things than tears.

I had observed how the locking mechanism worked in the past, and so was ready when one of my keepers appeared to re-fill my seed bowl a day later. I shoved a small twig into the side so that the door would not shut completely. But as fate would have it, the keeper, having a difficult time closing the lock, bent to get a closer look. He discovered the twig and removed it with a mutter of "How did this get here?"

After her succeeded in locking the door tightly, he looked at me for a moment. The from his pocket he produced a small bit of wire which he used to secure the door shut.... It was as if her knew I would try to escape.

As soon as the human left, I set about undoing the wire and lock with my beak. The wire was easily removed; I had it off in ten minutes. The lock, however, was not so easy.

I worked for hours on the lock with the taste of rust in my mouth. I would be free that day!! It was nearly night, and still I worked. But I could feel the lock giving way benethe the strain of my beak. And the hours paid off. Into the night I worked and as the faint whispers of an old grandfather clock in the castle struck one in the morning, the lock gave way benethe my sore beak, and the door swung open.

For a moment I merely sat and blinked as one will do if a bright light is shone at his eyes through the darkness. For that moment, I looked into the black darkness beyond, feeling almost doubtful that I should proceed.

But these feelings soon passed. I spread my wings, and leapt from the cage. Being still weak from malnutrition and being unused to flying, I soared awkwardly to a soft crash landing in the deep snow. But I didn't need to fly tonight, I knew. So I hobbled off to take refuge under thick ever-green bushes near my cage. That night I slept well despite the cold and needles that I rested on.

I was free at last.

When I awoke the next morning, I could not clearly remember where I was. I glanced out from the thick branches of the bush that I hid under. I saw, not five yards away, my cage. That which had been my captor was now naught but a rusty memory. My eyes were filled with tears of joy and for a few minutes I wept at the realization that I was again my own animal.

But I soon composed myself and, with the promise of a new life ahead, I fled. I ran and did not stop until I was safely past my keeper's house, past their orchards and gardens, past the things which I hated and which hated me.

Once I reached the forest beyond me keepers' estate, I knew I had to fly. My instinct told me where home was, but it would take months to reach it unless I would fly. I climbed up onto a large tree root and looked ahead. There was nothing but eldless trees. And as long as I was on this root, I thought, I might as well jump off.

I prepared my wings: cleaned and stretched them. After flapping a few times for practice, I leaped off the root. My wings, tired and numb from the cold though they were, were none to disobey the kind hands of Pan. And-I-flew.

Never had flying been so marvelous an experience, so life-giving. People assume that birds take flying for granted. Indeed, it is like walking to us, but we see it as a gift. Now, more than any other time, I felt a strong sence of respect and pity for those who could not fly.

I circled back, getting used to flying, and soared along the ground looking at my tracks in the otherwise untouched snow. Then, as I reached the house once more, I soared high on the wind around that cursed place, laughing.

Still laughing, I flew off into the horizon of the west... Home was far, but I was strong. What had fate in store for me?

"Catch me if you can!"

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