A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
You don't know how true this is until you've held a young bird... It was injured, and, well................
I am injured. I was shot, now I can't fly. But I have to, I have to try. I had to escape, to get away. I was being held captive by the humans. They kept me in their grubby, sweaty, rough hands. I had to escape. Every time I flapped, spikes of pain went through me, emanating from my wing. I didn't care. I had to escape. I'd rather DIE than let them have me. But alas, my attempts were fruitless, a crowd soon came, to accumulate around me, such as a storm accumulates in the east. They looked at me, as if I was an alien. But, I guess, I am. I am, just a flightless bird. Strange isn't it, the way the world works? I was handed to a different pair of hands, I made a break for it. I fluttered to the ground, and beat my wings. I got nowhere, but onto my side. A gentle pair of hands, a girls, picked me up. She stroked my head, but I still struggled. I wanted out, away, to be free. I struggled, beat my wings, flapped as hard as I could, but she still held me. She took me to a room, and an adult answered the door. She asked a few questions, and, as she was distracted, I made my escape. I huddled under a yellow bucket, hoping against hope that I was unnoticeable, but no, she picked me back up. We walked, out to the smell of fuel and oil. She set me down. I looked at her in disbelief. I gave her a brief thank you, and off I went. The great pain... so great... but still I tried... Birds are meant to be free! Free as birds! But I was grounded... All went black...
I feel... terrible... like I committed a murder or something terrible like that. I let an innocent young creature die. It didn't deserve it. It's head was so soft, and it was so cute. I could hardly bear it. I broke down in tears when I got home, and I'm still crying now...
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