I’m going to recount a memory I want to forget, but its
impact was too powerful to discard.
Back during my middle school years, when I was living with
my mother and actually had a house to live in (Instead of an apartment), we use
to have a normal backyard. Except for the part where it was 100 yards from my
middle school. (I would always sleep in from late night viewings of adult swim and
still be able to make it on time.) Now the only reason why I include this in is
for the thing I found right across my backyard fence one morning.
A dead bird.
Not just a normal pigeon
or blue jay, but a black as night raven. Something that wasn’t common at all in
that neighborhood. It’s death? A stick forcefully shoved into its neck, with dried
up blood and muscle fragments on the back end of the stick to indicate it was
alive when the person did it. I felt so sick from the sight from it; I quickly plucked
it up and lobbed it into a nearby bush. (I did that merely to make sure my
other brothers didn’t catch the sight of it.) Never mention it to anyone, till
now.
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