The Little Gray Bird and The Little Gray Man

“There was a bird. A beautiful, enigmatic and unforgettable bird. It flew away.”

It was a cold raining night. The place was cold, dark and gloomy, a dank and lonely forgotten paradise. In the air the smell of wet grass floated. The smell of old forgotten wet woods lingered. The glistening smell of wet youthful eyes was hovered. The smell of a wet dried-up beating forgotten gray heart slowly drifted away as the time walked by, said goodbye to yesterday and with open arms regretfully welcomed tomorrow.

A man walked embracing the darkness and moisture of the silvery gray alley. He was alone and he was cold. It was raining and the man carried his umbrella, holding the tip of the parasol at his grip and the lengthy slender metallic gray on his shoulder.

The man stepped on a dark puddle full of gray water and his cold splash sprinkled and glistened silvery a tire of a parked broken down old vehicle. The gray echo of the cold step whispered at the surrounding to the ears of gray bystanders, young ones with gray enthusiastic eyes and old one with grey aged and wise hair. The man’s shoe glowed eerily gray as he looked back and down to the puddle which he failed to notice and looked forward once more and continued to walk towards the same old gray path. Each steps louder than the previous, he heard it, counted it, observed it, the place was animated yet he just glanced at each object he saw and moved forward, this time more cautious of the gray dying ground.

“Same old things. Back and forth, forth and back. Nothing has changed, they never move, it’s as if they’re all trapped in time, locked from moving on, jailed away from changes. Or am I looked in it too?”

A little gray bird chirped from the land above, near the glowing lamp post pushing away the gray feeling downwards and safeguarding the territory of the sky. A sudden movement swayed and flew above from the cable lines to electric post. Little gray birds each glowing eminently from the light of the lamp post, each stared grayly sorrowful at each land walkers, each intently waiting for a thing to change but failed to wait, flew higher and left the walkers continue walking in circle.

“Birds? Angels? Creatures like those above the city? Most interesting, we the observers are being observed. We, the ones who always get disinterested at boring stuffs, are boring to them. Very interesting,” whispered the man out of impulse as another man in gray over-coat looked at him. A young gray-dressed girl looked at the man and ran away toward the other end of the street kissing the gray darkness where the man with parasol and who stepped on the puddle had walked to.

“Poor little girl, I hope, you would be different from the people in this place. Grow wings and fly, like the mythical angels of the city above us.”

The busy gray street. The man proceeded cautiously not ignoring each gray tears following from the red cheeks of a tired little kid, worn-out of youthful strength and joy from the gray blows of his angry master.

“It’s sad to keep on watching and yet I mustn’t close my eyes or I can’t. I couldn’t close it, else I want to step again at a puddle. Only this time, it’ll be for the worse.”

The gray rain slowed down and tiny droplets glistened sidewalks. The gray colors turned silvery, it sparkled cautiously as sudden shadows bursts on the street from the lamp post. The little gray birds came back, each with renewed enthusiast to observe again the known observers.

The man held his palm out of the covering of the parasol. It stopped raining. He folded his sparkling umbrella and looked upward to the sky. The little gray birds are now back, spying on the man with a parasol, observed him as he glanced back, without any enthusiast to notice the observers, and flew to another spot above and continued to look.

The man saw the little gray birds looking at him. He paid no attention to the observers as a mother fell from the muddy slope slid towards gray working man. The working man failed to hold his burdens, let it fell on the fallen mother. They all looked toward the scene not one gray soul helped the woman but another gray working man walked near and helped put back the load on top of the working man who failed to carry his burdens.

“What about the mother? Who would help her? Would anyone save her?”

The man started to move to where the fallen mother was but walked off instead of helping her. He tried to look back but kept on walking. He sinned, he ignored to help the fallen mother and the little gray birds flew and stopped on cables and posts as they followed him. His steps turned from gray to dark steps, he knew he was a sinner for he had betrayed himself.

A tiny droplet of rain stomped on his head as the man looked upward and noticed nothing but clouds and the glowing silvery eyes of the little gray bird. Were the crying was the almost thought of the man but thought of why he was being followed by the sharp stares of the observers.

“Angels have come to judge me, are they? I have sinned, right in their very eyes. I’m a sinner. Who could have helped the fallen mother?”

Another droplet stomped on the man’s head this time a sudden force pushed the man forward and came from his gray shadow two gray-eyed children playing tag with each other. The two laughed and enjoyed the moment of their youth as they played at the darkness of the night. A car surged forward, fast like thunderstorm and unheard like lightning. The man failed to notice the car from his shadow. The gray light of the car hid from the many gray light of the gray shops on the street as the two gray youths played on. The two children was beginning to shed away their gray color, it was as if miracle. They were turning lighter, red in tone perhaps but it was the moment of life. An evolution of life from sadness to joy.

Another droplet and another one stomped on the man’s head as he looked up and noticed that the little gray birds have disappeared. He stopped walking and closed his eyes to only remember the gray picture of the fallen mother. A droplet of a very cold rain stomped on the man’s shoulder. A bird landed on top a parked car and looked at the man who shut his eyes.

“Sad, very sad. Was I who should have helped her? I’m worthless.”

Another very cold droplet stomped on his other shoulder and another one, and another one, until a million more poured. He was too late on unfolding his umbrella but succeeded on opening it. He was soaked, cold, and no longer gray but glowing silvery. The lamp post continued to glow and the man looked around and noticed the little gray bird that landed on a car’s roof.

The man looked at the bird, smiled a silvery smile, glistened by the rain and the lamp post, and a gray hand appeared from the gray shadow behind the car. It snatched away the little gray bird’s freedom and choked out of life by the deadly hand of the merciless hand.

A sudden flapping of wings echoed on the gray dark street. Friends of the dead little gray bird. The man noticed them and saw that they are staring at him with glistened silver eyes.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

A loud gray shout from an old woman defeated the echo of the flapping wings. The two gray youths full of life, with their energies glowing intense red youth-beauty, burst and completely colored their gray life. The gray light of the speeding car turned red but it glowed gray as it showed its tail light again. The street became full of life. The lifeless color gray was colored with red, the beauty and energy of youth. The two youth died but at least made a change. The man looked towards the accident but continued on.

“Why? Why must they die?”

The man glanced upward and saw silver eyes staring at him.

“Was it the payment for the one of the angel that got killed? I’m sorry, I could save him but I’m much regretful for the two children playing, unknowing of their demise.”

The man stepped again on another puddle, he was again alone. No one saw him almost tripped. No one saw him shed his tears on the accident to the two youthful children. No one saw him except the silver eyes of the little gray birds.

The rain stopped to pour and the little gray birds left and went elsewhere. The man stopped underneath an old gray lamp post, folded his umbrella and waited for the rain to pour again.

“I’m a sinner”

The man moved once again with a gray beard, gray hair, gray eyes and a gray heart. It started to rain and he let himself soaked to silvery glisten.

~.~ This was meant to be a birthday gift... and yet it seemed to be inappropriate as a present. I'll try once again.