Finch
I wish I could bake the imagery into my mind. Don’t forget. That little beak, made for eating seeds, open close open close. Don’t forget. Covered in blood. Open close, open close.
Batman came bursting into the room early this morning with that muffled meow that says “I’ve caught something”. He gives it over quite happily, a gift. Looks like some type of finch, juvenile male from the small amount of colour. Half asleep I can’t tell if it has any weight to it at all.
Its beak is covered in blood. Opening and closing I can’t tell if it’s gasping for air, trying to tweet or asking for help. Walking to the back door it doesn’t even flinch, resigned to whatever this fate might be. Maybe it knows I’m helping, maybe it’s given up. I step outside, loosen my fingers the tiniest bit and it’s gone. Flown away over the wall, normally they flop on the floor or don’t move at all.
I hope he’s well. Bloodied but not beaten.