My gaze drifts to its tail, the return fold pinched in place so hard there’s the faintest remnant of a bloody fingerprint. I turn the lark around so it’s facing the other way, breath catching when I notice a scribble of black that disappears beneath the pleats. Like someone responded before returning it.
I stare, swallowing.
What could a stranger possibly have to say that wasn’t implied by the pinch itself? Something like,“Hey, sorry. This lark has been flying around aimlessly for a while. I’m guessing the receiver has passed. Apologies for your loss.”
Do I want to read that?
Definitely not.
I place the lark on the ground and close my eyes, try to sleep. Catch a beak to the face three times, perfectly between my eyes. After the fourth, I bundle into a ball on my side, teeth gritted as I listen to the lark flutter skyward, wondering if I should just whip my arm around and bat it so hard it stops moving forever.
Why is it taunting me? I wish it would stop.
“STOP!”
There’s the soft thud of it hitting the ground at my back.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see it on its side, motionless, its beak so crunched into its face it looks as though it has no beak at all.
A swarm of guilt stings me from all angles.
It just wants to be read, Kyzari. Just read the damn thing and it’ll be content.
“Creators-dammit.”
Slowly, I unravel … roll … push into a sitting position and tuck my bedraggled hair behind my ears. I pluck the little lark up and pinch its crinkled beak until it’s pressed into place again, then unfold it one slow segment at a time until it’s lying flat in my hand.
Wow.
I refold the lark until I’m looking right at its beaked face. “Is this your idea of a pep talk?”
It wiggles, flipping onto its back like it wants to be read again.
I smile for the first time in … a while, shaking my head. “How did you get so much personality, huh?”
Another jiggle.
“Fine,” I murmur, unbinding the lark, reading its message—
Familiarity strikes like a slap to the face.
My gaze travels past the parchment, up the rough cell wall—like lookingdown on dark, sandy dunes from the sky. In the smooth dips between veined ridges of stone, I hunt the messy letters scratched deep, bouncing between the lark and the wall, finding undeniable similarities in they… thed… thet—
My blood chills.
Did a child write this response? The same child who was kept in this cell?
Did they getfree?
The backs of my eyes burn, as does the flame of hope reigniting behind my ribs as I read the message again.
No you don’t
This time, it settles in my chest differently. Less like a thorn, more like a gulp of crisp, clean air.
They’re right. I don’t need anyone.
I’ve lived in a cage my entire life. Whenever I hit rock bottom, I always find a way to break free and catch a breath. Desperation forges keys from the most unassuming things.
